#and really it's just that everyone is so goddamn frustrated and exhausted and overwhelmed and just....

[regular-lord-reckoner]

today's definitely one of those days where's it's like 'haha my mental health would benefit tremendously if i could move out!' but like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[azzibuckets]

drunken confessions part 2 [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: part two to drunken confessions where they’re both sober now

word count: 1.6k

part one | masterlist

Unfortunately, Azzi proved Paige right. For the next few days, she left the apartment before Paige woke up and came in after she fell asleep. Interactions between the two of them at practice were stilted, with Azzi refusing to even make eye contact with the older girl.

Tension between the two peaked when Azzi stopped coming home completely, making excuses to stay over at Aubrey’s place so that she wouldn’t have to face Paige at all. Azzi didn’t remember much from that night - she only remembered the fact that she’d been so stupidly drunk that she’d let her secret out, a secret she’d been planning on taking with her to the grave. Of course, Azzi knew she was being weak, a coward who couldn’t confront her feelings. But she was just so scared - not to mention humiliated that Paige might not feel the same way.

Paige felt like she was about to burst. The past week had been sending her into a frenzy, her heart beating erratically whenever she walked into practice and saw Azzi, who made it a point to ignore her the entire time. Her nights were sleepless, her mind too overwhelmed by images of Azzi in that tight top, grinding on her lap with her abs on full display, looking at her lips. She’d only been able to get a couple of hours of sleep after she took care of herself, relieving the ache in her core and exhausting her body.

For the fifth night in a row, Paige looked over at her clock and saw 2 AM blinking back at her. Fuck it, she thought. If Azzi’s the reason I can’t sleep right now, she’s gonna have to deal with it. So Paige grabbed her keys and jogged down the stairs until she reached the floor of Aubrey’s apartment.

She raised her first to knock on the door, but hesitated. She was sleep deprived and not thinking at right. Was this really the best idea? But Azzi’s taunting smile flashed through her mind again, and she surged forward, thumping aggressively on the door.

It took a few raps until the door swung open, revealing a tired Aubrey, who looked pissed to say the least. “What the hell, Paige?” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Your place better be on fire or else I’m kicking your ass.”

Paige pushed past her. “Where’s Azzi?” She asked, looking around

Aubrey shut the door, a deathly glare on her face. “In Dorka’s old room. Sleeping, like everyone else in the goddamn country is. Like what I should be doing.” Muttering curses under her breath, Aubrey returned to her room.

Paige kicked the carpet, now uncertain again. She looked a sight, with her hair a mess from having run her hands through it thousands of times out of frustration. She knew there were dark circles under her eyes, her makeup still on and a mess. But before her second guessing could turn her around and back into her own apartment, she forced herself to approach Dorka’s old room and knock on the door.

She heard light footsteps, and then a soft voice lazily say “Aubrey?” before Azzi peeked through the door. Paige’s palms started sweating as she looked at Azzi, who was wearing one of Paige’s oversized shirts and very small shorts that displayed her long, tan legs and left very little to imagination. She looked all warm and sleepy, and Paige’s heart skipped.

Azzi yawned, opening her eyes fully before realizing who was standing in front of her. Her eyes widened in shock, and she stepped back. “Paige?”

Paige didn’t know what took over her, but all of a sudden she moved forward, wrapping her arms around the younger girl’s waist and connecting their lips. Azzi let out a gasp of surprise, momentarily frozen before she started to kiss Paige back, her hands tangling themselves in the blonde’s hair.

They moved backwards, neither of them wanting to break the kiss as they fell on the bed. Paige was on top of Azzi, hands circling her sides and her hips, bringing her as close as she could but still not close enough.

Azzi let out a guttural sound as Paige moved to bite the sensitive spot on her neck, tongue tracing patterns into her best friend’s skin. “What,” Azzi gasped, “what are you doing?”

“I’m making you talk to me after shutting me out for a week,” Paige said throatily before resuming her kisses down Azzi’s neck.

“This doesn’t feel like talking,” Azzi whimpered she laced her hand through a fistful of Paige’s hair and tugged. Paige groaned at the feeling. “I think this is more convincing than talking.” She drew back, a smirk playing on her lips as she proudly took in the litter of bruises now covering Azzi’s neck like a canvas.

Azzi’s hands slipped under Paige’s shirt, absorbing the warmth of her skin until her hands stumbled across her bra. She looked up at Paige, whose pupils were dilated, her eyes hooded and face smeared with lipstick.

“Wait,” Paige gasped. “I think I deserve an apology before you get to see my tits.”

Azzi’s hands stilled, and she carefully removed them from under Paige’s shirt. She shivered, suddenly feeling cold. The older girl adjusted her shirt before silently taking a seat on the bed next to Azzi. Their knees bumped into each other, but neither made an effort to break the contact.

“Was me kissing you back not an apology?” Azzi attempted with a half-hearted laugh, but the look on Paige’s face remained serious.

“Wanna try again?”

Azzi winced. Her fingers nervously fiddled with her blanket as she thought of what to say. “I don’t know, P,” she whispered. “I’m just so scared. I can barely recall anything from that night, but I do remember that I admitted my feelings for you.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling too weak to be able to look at Paige while saying the next words. “And I remember that you didn’t say anything about liking me back.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered open when Paige’s hand gently wrapped around her own. One by one, Paige took each of Azzi’s fingers and kissed the pad of her fingertips.

“I didn’t say anything back because I wanted you to be fully aware when I finally told you.” Paige’s eyes studied Azzi’s. “I want you to know. I want you to know how much I fucking like you.”

Azzi exhaled, the rigidness leaving her shoulders. “So what does this mean for us?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know.” Paige swallowed. “But I do know that if we both like each other, and we’re willing to try and communicate with each other, then how could anything go wrong?” When Azzi didn’t respond, Paige tilted Azzi’s chin so that their eyes met. “We’ve known each other almost a decade, Az. We’re with each other for the long haul, whether as best friends or more.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “Do you trust in us?”

“Us?”

Paige’s gaze was steady. “Do you trust in us to not fuck it up?” She reached for Azzi’s hand again, this time intertwining their fingers.

Azzi studied their connected hands, relishing the warmth of Paige’s skin, the rough callouses on her palms and fingertips, the way their hands fit so perfectly together. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I do.”

“Good.” Paige tilted her head down, their faces so close that her breath fanned Azzi’s lips. “You gonna run away from me again, ma?”

Azzi blushed, her lips barely grazing Paige’s. “No.”

“Alright,” Paige chuckled. “You can see my tits now.”

Azzi shoved Paige, causing the girl to fall back and double over in laughter. “Shut up,” the younger girl whined.

“‘M sorry,” Paige said, wiping her eyes after she finished wheezing.

Suddenly there was a loud thump from outside, and the door vibrated. Exchanging curious glances, Paige climbed out of the bed and opened the door. Both of the girls’ mouths dropped at the sight of Aubrey, KK, and Ice in a heap on the floor, all of them with wide and guilty eyes like deer in headlights.

“What the fuck?” Azzi pushed past Paige. “Have you guys been listening in on our conversation?”

Aubrey glanced nervously at KK and Ice, who both looked away, suddenly finding the ceiling very interesting. Realizing she was on her own, she stood up, bouncing on her heels. “Uh,” she said, scratching her neck. “Well, when Paige came it wasn’t hard to guess what she was gonna do. And I made a bet with Ice and KK so you know, I had to call them, and we just happened to be near the door, and you guys weren’t exactly being quiet.”

“Oh my god,” Azzi shrilled. “You guys made a bet?”

Panicked, Aubrey gestured at her two teammates. “They did too! Don’t pin this all on me!”

Azzi charged at Aubrey, but Paige quickly grabbed her waist and pulled her back. “Woah there, Azzi, let’s calm down a bit.” She turned to Aubrey, trying to give her a stern look but ultimately failing at trying to stifle her laugh. “You all need to leave and stop sticking your nosy asses into our business.”

The girls grumbled but got up to leave. Aubrey turned to head back to her room, but hesitated before turning right back around. “Um, can you guys go back to your apartment too?” Paige and Azzi looked at her in confusion before she stammered, “I really don’t want to hear you guys fucking like rabbits while I’m sleeping in the next room over.”

Azzi grabbed the nearest pillow off the couch and chucked it at Aubrey, who scampered off into her room and slammed the door. Laughing, Paige grabbed Azzi. “Come on, babe, let’s go.”

[lovely-ateez]

I Hate That For You~

ꕥPosted: 3/30/22

ꕥGenre: Enemies to lovers, Angst, Fluff, Smut

ꕥPairing: Fem!Reader x Roomate!Wooyoung

ꕥWord count: 2.8k

ꕥWarnings: Pwp, Wooyoung is an asshole, reader is really going through it, yelling (from reader to Wooyoung and from Wooyoung to reader) language, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), it’s sweet at the end tho-

ꕥTaglist: @cappujinho​ @bobateastay​ @nevieatiny​ @onceonafullmoon 

ꕥA/N: Reminder that this is a work of fiction. Please be kind to your roommates!

“WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU PUT OUR COOKING PANS?” You yelled from the kitchen floor, rummaging through the cabinets.

You heard a disembodied voice ring out from your shared bedroom, matching your anger, “I LITERALLY DON’T EVER USE THEM! YOU HAD THEM LAST!”

“YEAH I KNOW YOU DON’T USE THEM THAT’S WHY OUR ROOM IS FUCKING LITTERED WITH TAKEOUT TRASH!”

You hated your roommate. He was loud and obnoxious and overwhelmingly rude. If you had the money, you would’ve moved out of the apartment ages ago. You had never been a particularly aggressive person before you met him, but every snide comment from him made you want to punch him. Alas, as a college student all of your money went towards tuition and food, and you were unfortunately stuck with him.

“I don’t know why you hate him.” Your friend San asked one night, “Have you seen Wooyoung? He’s gorgeous. Honestly if you don’t hop on that I will.”

You scoffed, “I couldn’t care less what he looks like. His personality is shit, he’s a slob, he brings a different girl home to fuck almost every weekend—not quietly, might I add—and is always mean to me. Am I supposed to just discount that because of his looks?”

“I just don’t get it. He’s always nice to me when I come over.” San propped a hand under his chin, a small pout on his lips.

“He’s seemingly nice to everyone except me.”

“And you really don’t know why that is?” San asked, eyebrows furrowing.

You took a sip of your iced tea, looking at him with exhaustion, “Not a damn clue.”

You heard Wooyoung loudly stomp out to the kitchen. Annoyed, you craned your neck to face him, “What do you want?”

“Quit making so much goddamn noise, would you? I’m working on something important.”

“Oh, like what?” You gave a bitter laugh, “Seducing your next girl toy for this weekend? Because you certainly aren’t cleaning your side of the room.”

“At least I have sex! Maybe that’s why you’re such a bitch all the time.”

Your eyes widened, an overwhelming feeling to crush his skull coursing through you. As you stood you saw a flicker of fear in his eyes and you would’ve laughed in any other situation.

“Out.” You uttered under your breath.

Wooyoung’s face contorted to an expression of confusion, then offense. No doubt a second away from firing back with some rude comment.

You took one step closer to him, noticing the way his eyes drifted downward to your hand tightening on the spatula you were grasping.

“I said.” Two steps closer, “Get. Out.”

To your surprise he didn’t fight back. Wooyoung pressed his tongue to the side of his mouth and left out a breath, nodding and walking to the door, slamming it on his way out.

The instant he was gone you crumbled. Falling to the floor you began to sob. You were hungry, stressed, and beyond exhausted. Your head throbbed as it always did when you were around him, somehow even worse this time. If you had the energy to feel sexually frustrated, you probably would’ve felt that, too. You didn’t want to admit it—and you hadn’t to anyone but yourself—but you did find him attractive. Very attractive. And you cursed yourself for that.

And okay yeah, maybe you hadn’t had sex in a long time and yeah maybe your resolve for fighting your feelings about him was starting to crumble, but you couldn’t admit that to him. You’d survived living with him for three months and you could make it one more, just until the semester was over.

The tears streaming down your face made it almost impossible to see anything, but you reached for your phone on the kitchen counter regardless. You texted San, begging him to come over.

In record time, you heard a knock at your door. Pulling yourself together, you got to your feet and slowly put one foot in front of the other.

Prying the door open, you were greeted with a sympathetic face, “What did he do this time?”

You led San to the couch. Shutting your eyes out of frustration and willing the tears to stop, you grabbed a pillow and held it tight to your chest. In between hiccups and sobs you retold the event, a few stray tears streaming down your face as you did so.

“Oh sweetie,” San wrapped you into a tight hug and let you bury your head into his shoulders, taking all the time from him you needed.

“How about we go out?” He asked, wiping a tear from your cheek, “We could go shopping or get boba or do whatever you’d like.”

You nodded, eager to do anything to get away from your apartment. And so, you left with San, spending the day ignoring the homework glaring your direction and sipping on far too expensive boba. By the time the sun was setting, you sighed, knowing you’d have to face Wooyoung once more.

“Think you’ll be okay?” San asked as you sat in his car outside your apartment.

“I’m gonna have to be. I have to go back sooner or later.”

San nodded, pulling you into a hug once more. “If he pulls any bullshit, I swear to god give me a call and I’ll beat his ass.”

You smiled at your friend. “Thanks, San.”

You felt dread creep over your body as you opened the car door and walked up to your apartment. You closed your eyes as you unlocked the door and pressed on the knob to open the door. Walking in, you saw Wooyoung propping his feet up on the table in front of the couch. A TV show you didn’t recognize was on screen.

“Oh god you’re back.” Wooyoung sighed, “I was really hoping you’d leave me alone for a while after yelling at me this morning.”

Feeling completely drained, your voice came out in a whisper. “Why are you so fucking mean to me?” You didn’t realize why his expression softened until you felt a few tears begin to run down your cheek. Again.

His voice was more gentle this time, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of you crying for the first time. “You’re mean to me, too.”

“Because I have to be! How else am I supposed to react when you call me a bitch or say mean things to me? Am I supposed to just take it?” You walked closer to him, determined to prove your point.

Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair. He stood up and took several steps towards you, his other hand resting on his hip. “You want the truth?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t know how to act around you.”

Your brows furrowed, “And? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I try to piss you off because you’re really hot when you’re mad, but I don’t know when I take it too far or how to stop.” His eyes darted between yours, gauging your reaction.

You blinked, not fully processing his words. “Then why do you bring girls home every weekend?”

His eyebrows narrowed, “Because I’m trying to make you jealous! It’s obviously not working!”

“Yeah obviously!” You crossed your arms, trying to hold onto the remaining anger you had, but you couldn’t help but notice what San had been talking about earlier. His sharp jawline, beautiful tanned skin, the way his tight clothes hugged his fit body...his plump lips which were looking far, far too soft at the moment.

Wooyoung noticed your staring and moved a hand to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes to lock with his.

“Kiss me.” He ordered.

“What?” You asked with much less conviction than you intended. You could feel your anger fading, being taken place by the fire igniting in your lower abdomen.

His face became more serious, “If you don’t want this, say so and we’ll pretend it never happened. I’ll understand.”

Slight panic set in, and in fear that you’d never get another chance, you kissed him hard. He instantly returned the kiss, letting go of your jaw and running his hands down the sides of your body. You shivered, his actions fanning the desire within you.

He chuckled darkly, “Cute.”

You whimpered and reached down to wrap your hands around his belt, grabbing it and pulling him closer to you.

“Nuh-uh. You’re gonna be patient, understood?”

“I don’t have to be anything.”

“Then I’m not gonna help you get off. You want that? Hmm”

You whined, reluctantly shaking your head. Wooyoung bit your lip and pushed you to sit down on the couch.

“Take your shorts off.”

You didn’t want to question how quickly you became submissive to him, or how desperately you wanted him inside you, because you couldn’t. Part of you felt like you couldn’t even fully process everything that was happening. You just wanted him to touch you, please you, give you something.

He smirked when you tossed your shorts to the side, eyes lingering on the blue lace panties you were wearing. He placed his arms on either side of you, lips beginning to dance down the side of your neck, taking in how you squirmed beneath him.

Wooyoung placed a few sloppy kisses on your neck that left you whining before leaning in close to one of your ears, “You’re completely soaked. Do I turn you on that much, princess?”

You closed your eyes, nodding eagerly.

“Use your words. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yes.” You squeaked.

You felt his fingers lightly brush the inside of your thighs, getting so close to where you wanted him to touch you, but never reaching it.

“Please.” You begged, out of breath even though he had barely touched you.

“Please what?”

You opened your eyes, “Please touch me. I need you so bad.”

He growled and ran a finger along your clothed slit, prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck, your hips bucking up into his fingers.

“Tell me,” He whispered, voice becoming deeper by the second, “How long has it been for you? A month? Two?”

You shook your head, “Over a year.”

“Ah,” Wooyoung chuckled, “This will be fun, then. Won’t it?”

“You better not draw this out.” You said, not at all sounding threatening.

“Oh darling, don’t tempt me.”

You huffed, removing a hand from his neck and running it down his chest before slightly dragging your hands over his clothed erection. His breathing sped up and you smiled.

Cute, you thought.

As if he could read your thoughts, one of his hands slipped under your panties, fingers rubbing agonizingly slow circles on your clit. You gasped, your hand halting it’s movements as you felt my brain fog over, legs already twitching slightly.

Wooyoung’s lips moved back to your neck, quickly finding your most sensitive spots and kissing them repeatedly. He pulled away to remove your shirt, then bra. Before you instinctively went to cover your chest, he took one of your nipples in his mouth, his hand toying with the other. Your back arched as you moaned his name, weaving your hands through this hair. His free hand once again returned to your core, playing with the clothed bud.

“Oh for the love of god take them off.” You complained, surprised when he actually slid your panties down your legs.

His dark orbs remained on your heat before flicking up to your eyes, “You’re so pretty, you know? I had no doubt you’d have a pretty pussy, too.”

You flushed, feeling embarrassed only temporarily before you felt his fingers brush over your slit, embarrassment disappearing as you watched as he lowered his head and took your clit in his mouth, sucking the sensitive bud.

“Wooyoung-g fuck. Don’t stop!”

He chuckled, the vibrations stimulating you further. He pushed a digit into you, curling it as he did so, soon pressing another in.

“F-feels good. Better than my—fingers.”

“You touch yourself, baby?”

“Yes,” you moaned, “When you’re not here.”

“Such a shame. Why don’t you ask me for help next time, mmm?”

His cocky tone both pissed you off and turned you on, both he was becoming very good at. “Shut up and eat me out, Wooyoung.”

He growled, a borderline primal noise that caused a whine to leave your lips, “Say please.”

Before you could say a word, he pressed two fingers into you, stretching you out. Bending down to ear, he spoke again, “Say please, my princess.”

Your resolve was wearing, and at this point you didn’t care what you said or how pathetic you sounded, as long as he got you off.

“Please!”

Wooyoung smiled and moved back to your core, swirling his tongue around your most sensitive areas. You’d lost count of the amount of times you had moaned his name and begged for him to continue, but you didn’t care. You only cared about release and you were so, so close. You knew he could tell, too, based on his movements.

“Let go for me, y/n.”

As you felt your release, Wooyoung rubbed small circles on your thighs, smiling at you sweetly.

“Take me into the bedroom. You’re not fucking me on this couch.” You managed to say through ragged breaths.

“You’re hot when you try to boss me around.”

“I’m hot all the time, fuck you.”

He let out a full laugh—why had you never noticed his dimples before?—and began leaving kisses along your neck again.

You sighed, “Okay this is absolutely unfair.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, before continued his actions.

“You’ve still got all your clothes on.”

He smiled, “Guess we’ll have to fix that then.”

Without a word he picked you up, carrying you princess style to your bedroom, plopping you on the bed.

“Why do we have to fuck on my bed?”

“We don’t have to fuck at all if you-”

“No wait, wait I’m sorry.” You pleaded, desperation taking over.

Wooyoung laughed, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding the rest of his clothes before climbing on top, eyes devouring every inch of you.

“You should stop wearing shirts. Like for good.” You traced your hands down his abs, watching him chuckle.

“You should just never wear clothes again, beautiful.” He leaned down to your ear, breath tickling your skin, “Are you ready, baby girl?”

You nodded.

“That’s not a yes.”

“Christ. Literally just fuck me please!”

Flipping you on your stomach, he grabbed your ass and raised it in the air. Wordlessly he entered you, groaning as he stretched you out. You felt his nails grip hard into your ass, but you could hardly care as his continuous motions were making your eyes roll back.

Stings of moans and pleads left your mouth, muffled by the bedsheets as he endlessly left you breathless. In the few moments that you were able to have conscious thoughts, you wondered if this was like drugs were like. You felt intoxicated, completely out of breath. And you wanted like hell for it not to stop.

You let yourself give into him fully. Letting go of all the tension and stress you’d built up for months.

What a place you’ve ended up with him. You let out a small laugh, knowing your friends would never believe you were fucking the man who had made your life hell for so long.

“You laughing at me?” Wooyoung asked, confused.

You turned to look at him. He was as beautiful as ever. His tan skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat, his usually styled hair a mess.

“You’re a lot more tolerable like this, you know?” You jabbed at him with a laugh.

Wooyoung laughed, picking up his pace as he found your clit and began to toy with it, “So are you, dear.”

In an instant, without any warning it seemed, you were cumming hard. His name was falling from your lips with incoherent moans. His motions continued as he rode you out through your orgasm before you pulled him away from sensitivity.

“You still gonna yell at me after all that?” You asked in a half-joking manner.

Wooyoung let out a groan, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. He nuzzled his head against your neck. “Not if you don’t yell at me first.”

You were silent, weighing on whether to ask the question in your brain, afraid of the answer. “Do you…do you regret it?”

Wooyoung looked taken aback, his face scrunching in confusion. “No, god no. Why?”

“I mean we weren’t exactly close before.”

Wooyoung rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling in thought. “No, not exactly. But,” He sat up beside you, running his fingers along your face, “I’d like to try to be. If that’s alright with you.”

Your heart fluttered. And for once, you let it. “I’d really like that.”

[dakotafoster]

ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ραιяιиg : katsuki bakugou x g/n reader

ɢɛռʀɛ: fluff ♡ crack humor

աօʀɖ ƈօʊռȶ : 2.1k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: a bit steamy

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 : When your boyfriend comes home intoxicated, he shows you a side of him that is reserved for only you. ✰

This will be my first one-shot on this blog, so please any constructive criticism will be really helpful! Hope you all enjoy. ッ

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

It was a chilly starry night. Japan from the balcony window had never looked so serene until now. The bright stars that dotted the dark velvet sky, giving the gloomy canvas a little bit of life--of light. It was somber yet luminous, they drew the lights of heaven and gave the citizens of below a meager taste of something so divine and sublime, a measly fragment of the beauty we long to see in ourselves and the world around it. It was magnificent.

A heavy knock interrupted your attention on the black before you, muffled whispers and giggles could be heard from the opposite side of the chestnut door. As you lifted yourself from the glass railing you took a brief gander at the clock sitting on the desk beside your TV. It read 2:43 a.m.

Wrapping a small nearby cardigan around your frame and rubbed your eyes of sleep before making a beeline toward the door, the muffled voices becoming clearer as your got closer.

“Dammit Bakugou, quit messing around and give me your keys!”

“Gotta find it in my ass first shitty hair!”

Swinging the door open your (e/c) optics landed upon a frustrated Kirishima who was wrestling a very drunk Bakugou for a silvery white ring of keys right outside your flat doorstep. Bakugou seemed to be having an absolute blast, giggling like a little school girl as he evaded Kirishima’s attempts to swipe the item from his grip, and Kiri was having none of it. They both seemed rather oblivious to your presence and persisted to look like complete idiots in the halls of the complex.

“Both of you stop it before you wake up the neighbors!”

Your harsh tone is what finally received their attention, gazing timidly at you with wide eyes frozen. In one last attempt to get a rise out of Kirishima, Bakugou swiped his palm brutally on the back of his friends head, his head flung forward rough smack and a grunt, mumbling something about Katsuki being a dick. You heaved out a sigh at the sight of your boyfriend, his face sheen with a thick layer of sweat and a radiant red flush adorned his cheeks and across his nose. His eyes still the blazing crimson you had come to adore so much puffy and irritated.

“Sorry ‘bout this (y/n)... I didn’t mean to wake ya but Bakugou has had too much to be alone right now, and I still have to take care of Kaminari so...”

Kirishima timidly began to caress the back of his spiky locks, giving you a sheepish grin and gave a quick glance at the blonde next to him who was struggling to keep himself from tumbling forward. Too exhausted to even argue, you simply waved Kirishima off and moved to grab hold of your intoxicated boyfriend. The strong aroma of what was seemingly Fireball mixed with rum made your nostrils flare in distaste, far from his usual caramel scent.

“It’s fine Kiri. Just get home safe ‘kay?”

“Yeah, have a goodnight (y/n)”

You slammed the door behind with a swing of your foot, you then proceeded to lead Katsuki into your bedroom with an arm wrapped around his bulky torso to keep him straight. He stumbled over his feet a couple times along the way there, leaning on you for support so he didn’t face plant or dive to the floorboards in any way. He was mumbling incoherently to himself, slumping against your shoulder which led to his breath brushing up against the side of your face and into your ear, the hot sensation produced a shiver down your spine. Katsuki interpreted this rather well, because he immediately attached himself to your neck and pressed soft, open-mouthed kissed to your soft spot. He knew exactly how to drive you crazy even if he couldn’t even fucking walk straight.

“I need you babygirl.”

“Not tonight ‘Suki, maybe tomorrow.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his searing hot lips against your pulse, his wet tongue slipping out everyone and then teasingly. You hummed softly and weakly cupped his scalding cheek to pull him from your nape, cursing whatever deity that made him so goddamn tempting.

“C’mon lets get you ready for bed hun.”

“Mmm... Babe...”

He groaned lowly as you sat him down at the foot of your bed, his large frame slouching over his knees. Crouching down you gripped his ankle and raised his seemingly massive leg into your lap, silently untying his shoes whilst feeling his vivid gaze burning holes into your skull. Placing his shoes to the side you began to fumble with his belt to get rid of his ebony jeans. Amid doing so, Katsuki had graced with a lazy smirk and casually reached his generous hands to your head, running his fingers through your (h/c) strands.

“Hell yeah, this is what I like to see baby.”

Fuck. The way the words fell from those lips made you utterly weak. Your face felt like it was on fire with how carnal his gaze was, you were sure you looked like a fish out of water with the shock and overwhelming arousment you were feeling. Nevertheless, it was short lived when Bakugou dropped onto the bed and burst into a fit of laughter and giggles just by your reaction. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle with a twitch of your brow, you gave a quick smack to his thigh and tiredly tugged at his jeans once he had calmed down. His endless taunting was never so apparent until now and frankly, it was debilitating and instigating all at once.

“Stay here. Please don’t try and get up, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Yeah.. Sure.”

He released a small giggle and his head rolled to his left shoulder, laying tired on his back upon your white duvet. You rose from your spot on the floor and exited the bedroom to get him a glass of water and some ibuprofen to somewhat relieve his hang over. You didnt think you’d return to find a very naked and very erect Katsuki laying splayed out across the bed, the remainder of his clothes discarded on the side of the bed and his arms crossed behind the back of his head, his sculpted six-pack presented to you in such a way it made you drool like a fucking dog.. And the same arrogant smirk he’d been adorning for entirety of his stay among your apartment, the same enticing glimmer in his optics.

“Oh my god Katsu! What the fuck?!”

You shrieked, averting your eyes to your feet and stumbled around to find his boxers or at least something to conceal his manhood. Bakugou cackled our in delight before he was met with his boxers on his face, picking up on a faint grumble and your feet stomping toward the nightstand next to him.

“Put on your damn boxers Bakugou! I’m too fuckin tired for this shit..” You hissed at your dopey, idiotic boyfriend as he just began to fumble with the garment and mishandle them up each leg, snickering throughout the whole process. “Okay okay... No need to yell. So much for trying to serve it to you like a Hot ‘n Ready Hotpocket.”

You’ve never laughed so hard in your damn laugh at that. He grinned at your shaking form, watching intently as you struggled to breath through each laugh and chuckle, snorts coming out every few seconds. God, you hated him and loved him simultaneously for doing this to you. You wanted to give in to his desire because Jesus the sex was with him was down right unbelievable. Man, did this hunk of a man know how to pleasure a woman and fuck was he exceptional at doing so. Although, at the same time you were tempted to knock his ass into sleep. Either way you couldn’t officially decide. After several moments you composed yourself, taking deep breaths as you made your way into your restroom. You managed to stifle a few chortles in the process of grabbing a rag and moistened it with lukewarm water from your sink, then returned thankful you hadn’t walked in on another naked Bakugou. Making your way around the king sized mattress you were pleased to find he had already taken the ibuprofen and the water both absent.

“Let me clean your face baby. It’s all sweaty and sticky.”

You mumbled out drowsily, sitting down beside Katsuki and tilting his chin up to face you and nimbly wipe his face clean. You looked up at him to make sure we wasn’t falling asleep and you froze, your heart erupted at the sight you were provided with. Katsuki’s face was free of his usual scowl, instead his eyebrows were relaxed, tilted upward and his lips in a small, soft smile. Those dazzling vermilion eyes staring into you, glistening with so much adoration and passion for you. You choked, mesmerized with how calm and serene he looked. The next words to tumble from his lips could’ve sent you melting onto the floor like wax.

“I am really really... Really in love with you (y/n).”

You believed every single word. You never even questioned it for a second in that moment. Really because you had no reason to discredit his love for you, he was a genuine man with a sharp and palpable tongue 24/7. You both were aware of that, and you didn’t complain. It was nice to have him so honest with you, and yes sometimes he wasn’t always nice with the way he expressed such honesty you had grown accustomed to it. Which is why you had been so shocked to see the brash and usually loud brute suddenly become so hushed and tender.

“I mean it princess. I love you so fuckin’ much. I know I don’t really show you how much I do like normal shitty couples, and i’m really fucking sorry for that but I love you with everything I got babe.. I know how much I can be a pain in the ass sometimes.. But.. I promise I’ll never stop lovin’ you, and I’ll show you every damn day just to fucking prove it. M’kay? Your fucking stuck with me until you’re too damn old to even try and fight me on it. I’m so happy I met you and I’m terrified at the same, ‘cause fuck babe I never knew I wanted love until now, until you. I never saw the fuckin’ point. So please jus.. Fuckin’ stay and be in love with me too.”

He refused to give you a chance to reply before he gingerly took your face into his hands and brought his lips to yours. The world fell away as you felt his soft, chapped lips against your own. The kiss with just as delicate as his words and touch, moving smoothly and overwhelming emotion. You immediately raised your hands to weave together behind his neck, pulling him in gently to deepen the kiss. In response to this, Katsuki rolled his tongue across your bottom lip in a silent request for an entrance. You whimpered, opening your mouth as his tongue began to explore your wet cavern, faintly tasting the alcoholic beverages from just hours before. His thumbs swiping tenderly across your cheekbones and your fingertips tangled themselves around his strong neck.

It wasn’t rushed or rough in any way, not like the many nights were he would intend on fucking you senseless, this is when he would truly let himself be vulnerable. Moments like these when he was so damn soft and loving toward you, and only you.

The kiss lasted for what felt like only a minute when in reality lasted 15 minutes. He left you seeking for more. Heaving for breath at the mere intensity of the make-out, resting his forehead against yours, noses brushing against each other gently. You both stayed like that for a moment, just basking in each other’s loving glow with stupid grins across your lips. You took your time taking in this hidden side of your boyfriend, loving each second of it while you still could before he would return to his sullen self. You reveled in every moment you lost yourself in his soft caress, were it was nobody but the two of you acting almost as one. In which you could feel close to him away from intercourse and instead with sensual kisses and grazes. Nonetheless, he was certainly the half that made you whole.

“I’m in love with you too Katsu’.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Thank you so much for reading! Request are open, and feel free to leave feedback or ask any questions! ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔ

- 𝖑𝖎𝖟 ☾ ✩

𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 : (𝟔/𝟐𝟏/𝟐𝟎 - 𝟏:𝟓𝟓 𝐚.𝐦.)

[kindahoping4forever]

All I Want For Christmas Is You // Ashton Irwin

Day 3 of Hoe For The Hoe-lidays! I hope everyone is enjoying the event so far, we’re having a lot of fun! Please be sure to let us know what you think either via ask or in your tags if you’re a kind reblogging soul 😉

Stay tuned today for a new Cal blurb from Cass on her @cal-puddies​​ blog and as always, each new piece will be linked on the masterlist below.

Warnings: Oh you know, just gifting Boyfriend!Ash with some good old fashioned road head for the holidays 😌

Word Count: 1785

Hoe For The Hoe-lidays Masterlist

Masterlist // Taglist and Ko-Fi linked above

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

“I would’ve taken you to get some real coffee if you’d asked,” Ashton comments grumpily.

You ignore his negativity, pecking his cheek. “It’s good! I mean it’s still gas station coffee but it’s not flavored or anything. Unsweetened and disgusting, exactly what you like,” you cheerfully reply, sitting the drinks in the cup holder.

When he’d heard you were planning to travel a couple hours away to pick up a gift you wanted to give your mother for Christmas, he eagerly offered to accompany you on your journey, even volunteering to drive.

The trip there went smoothly; he picked you up early, you stopped for breakfast along the way and had fun singing Christmas songs, sharing holiday memories and enjoying each other’s company. You’ve only been dating since the summer so every new fact you learn about each other is fascinating and the idea of spending time together is even more novel as the holiday season unfolds.

The rest of the trip, however, is a different story: you got caught up at your destination and your one-stop shopping trip turned into a multi-store, multi-hour tour of the mall, putting your return trip smack in the middle of rush hour traffic.

You'd hoped that your suggestion of pulling off the freeway to fill up the tank would’ve helped either his mood or the traffic but as you plop back in the passenger seat, wincing at the latest traffic delays, you concede your plan may have failed.

“That bad, huh?” Ashton guesses, seeing your face as he starts the car back up.

“Yeah… traffic looks pretty light if you skip the freeway and take the streets, though,” you offer positively.

“Traffic’s light because no one’s taking the streets unless they have to,” he scoffs. “Long stretches of road without anyone or anything nearby and it’ll add at least another hour, if not more to our trip.” He runs a hand through his long hair and over his tired face, scratching at his beard, frustrated.

You’re not used to him like this, so pessimistic and combative. You respond, much quieter than before, “Just thought it’d be better than white knuckling through another hour of bumper to bumper.”

He immediately notices your change in demeanor and reaches over to squeeze your knee. “Hey... you know I’m not mad at you, right? It’s just been a long day and stuff like this makes me a little crazy,” he explains.

“I know… I’m just sorry I turned this into a way bigger deal than you thought it was going to be, I didn’t mean to take up your whole day,” you shrug.

“I offered you my day, baby,” he corrects. He takes a sip of his iced coffee and makes a displeased face, yet keeps drinking it. “We haven’t seen each other much lately and I’m not gonna see you at all for the holidays so I’m not complaining about a few extra hours with you.”

He laces his fingers with yours, bringing them to his face to place a kiss on your knuckles. He gets back on the road and it takes less than 10 minutes of freeway traffic for Ash to agree with you about taking the alternate route.

His disposition may have lightened but he’s clearly not in the mood to talk so you flick the radio to the local Christmas music station. You hear him take a deep, steadying breath but don’t think anything of it as you quietly sing to yourself while you sip your coffee and answer texts.

The music simply exists in the background, neither of you paying it much mind until the opening tinkles of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” sound out through the speakers. You excitedly sit up in your seat to sing along but notice your boyfriend clenching his jaw, gripping the steering wheel as if his life depends on it.

You get through the first verse before you steal another glance at Ash and he looks inexplicably, comedically furious. You don’t want to push your luck based on the day you’ve had but you can’t imagine what the issue is. “Um, babe? Everything alright?” You tentatively ask, turning the radio down.

He takes another deep breath and says as evenly as he can manage, “Sweetheart. You know I care about you. You know I want you to be happy. I love when you’re happy. Nothing makes me happier than when you’re happy. But I swear to fucking GOD if I have to hear that fucking song one more fucking time I’m going to lose my goddamn fucking mind.”

You can’t help but burst out laughing. “What?!”

“Baby, it was on the radio a few times on the trip there, we heard it at the breakfast place, every goddamn store in the mall played it. I’m at my wit’s end," he insists.

“Was my rendition really that bad?” You joke.

A grin threatens to creep up his cheeks but he remains stoic. “Just trying to get us back to our respective homes with my mind and body in one piece.”

“Homes plural? I don’t even get to invite you in to make up for how today turned out?” You tease, walking your fingers up his thigh.

“You're not ready for a break from a grinch like me?” He asks with a faint smile. You feel a rush of serotonin shoot through you when you see the sparkle back in his eyes.

“Aww, I’m pretty sure I know a way to raise your holiday spirit,” you smirk as your hand settles on his crotch.

"That so?" He laughs coyly, enjoying the build up.

You drape yourself over his seat, attaching your lips to his neck while you palm him. "Long stretches of road without anyone or anything nearby?" You quote his words back to him as you hastily undo the button and zipper of his jeans. "Sounds like a perfect opportunity to help relieve some holiday stress."

Ashton inhales sharply as you pull him out of his boxers, attentively massaging his tip between your thumb and forefinger. "You know you don't have to do this just because of earlier, baby," he states softly.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek before ducking down to lick a long stripe all the way up his shaft, suckling gingerly at the head when you reach it. You let your spit collect in your mouth and fall onto him when you pull off to say, "Oh, I meant I'm doing this to relieve my stress but you're right, I can see how this would help you out too."

He laughs loudly and you think there may not be a sweeter sound in the world - at least not until you hear the awed way he mutters your name when you slowly slide your mouth down his cock, almost making it all the way to his balls before you start to choke and pull up.

You hollow your cheeks and bob your head, tongue working him over in your mouth just how you've learned he likes. His hand rests gently on top of your head, occasionally tangling his fingers in your hair but careful to never apply pressure. It enters your mind that part of you wishes he would and you moan around him at the thought.

Ash can't help but quickly cast his eyes down to take a peek; he groans loudly at the sight of you in his lap with his cock nearly buried in your throat. You swirl your tongue around him as you pull up, hand cradling his balls.

"God, baby… feels so good… your mouth is fucking heavenly," he sighs breathlessly.

You press your legs together at his praise, regretting you didn't wear that skirt you'd considered this morning, wishing there was some way you could relieve the ache between your thighs before you got home.

He must've noticed your struggle because suddenly he's asking, "Being such a good girl turning you on, baby? How wet has sucking me off made you?"

You whine, pulling off with a loud pop. "Ash… been wet since I first thought to do this," you admit, stroking him while you catch your breath.

"Poor baby," he replies with a smirk. "Can you behave and wait to cum until we get back? Or are you so desperate for my cock that I'm gonna have to pull over and fill you in the middle of this goddamn highway?"

Your head spins, overwhelmed by arousal. "Only ever wanna be good for you," you whimper, sloppily kissing up and down his length. "Wanna be good and make you cum." Your declaration has barely left your lips before you're sucking him again, with renewed intent.

"Fuck, baby, yes… wanna give you my cum, you deserve it," he babbles as your mouth works him, up and down, up and down.

You pull up to pump him again and out of the corner of your eye, you notice his blood moon tattoos practically jumping off his skin with how tightly he's beginning to grip the steering wheel.

Before you even have a chance to teasingly comment, Ashton's breath hitches and with a sharp cry of your name, his cock is suddenly throbbing in your hand, cum shooting up and onto the shoulder of your sweater.

You giggle in shock but act quickly, moving to try and get him back in your mouth, a task made difficult by the forceful pulses of his orgasm; you can't help but moan as you feel the stripes of hot cum hit your cheek before you're able to wrap your lips around him, sucking the final drops from his tip.

He finally lets out an exhausted huff, followed by an elated chuckle. "Jesus, baby, I'm sorry," he apologizes, looking over in disbelief as you shift back to your seat, trying not to make a mess of the car, digging through the glove box for tissues. "That came out of fuckin' nowhere."

You wipe your face, snickering, "You're telling me." You use your water bottle to dampen a tissue and start carefully dabbing at the stain on your sweater. "To be fair, you did say you wanted to give me your cum. So. Mission accomplished, pal."

He cackles, stealing another glance at you, unsure if this memory will ever leave his mind. "Gonna make you feel so fucking good when we get back," he promises breathlessly.

"Decided to come over to mine after all, then?" You tease with a smile.

Ash squeezes your knee. "I've got favors to return, my dear," he giggles. "Plus, we need to go online so you can pick out the new sweater I clearly need to give you for Christmas."

————-

Taglist issues again so my apologies if you get notif’d more than once (or not at all)

@mymindwide​ @suchalonelysunflower​​ @pxrxmoore​ @loveroflrh​ @ghostofmashton​ @sexgodashton​ @feliznavidaddycal​  

@castaway-cashton​ @ashtonlftv​ @cashtonasfuck​ @megz1985​ @ashdork-irwin​ @angelicfluffs​ @findingliam-o​ @youngbloodchild​  @irwinsbetch​ @everyscarisahealingplace​

@wiildflower-xxx​ @metalandboybands​​  @realisticnotes​​  @makeamovehemmings​​ @golden166​​ @burstintocolor​​

@mfartzzz​​ @babyoria​​ @petunias-pet​ @youngblood199456​​ @notinthesameguey​​ @seanna313​​  @zhangyixingxing1​​ @stardust-galaxies​​  @zackoid​​

@lovelybonesetc​​ @xsongxbirdx​​ @justhereforcalum​​   @ashtonangst​

@laura66sos​​ @calumrose​​ @karajaynetoday​​  @pilunb​​ @jazzyangel242​​ @babylon-corgis​​  @heyheyhaleyd​​ @calmsweetcreature​​

@spicycal​​ @talkfastromance4​​  @holystxne​​

@meetmedowntown​​ @myloverboyash​​

@irwindoll​​ @cheekysos​​ @carrielfisher​​ @lukedorkyhemmings​​ @creampiecashton​​ @lovelywordsblog​​

@trix-arent-for-kids @uh-huhh-honey @tobefalling @aladyofalbion @likehuhdude

@curlycalums​​  @cxddlyash​​  @reddesert-healourblues​​

@fedorable-killjoys​​  @iamcalumswhore​​   @i-like-5sos​​   @Too-et-moi215

@photochic18  @kouska901 @Indermeow  @dantord

[anbudrky2021]

Ch 5: Three Days

The 𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔢 Sound of 𝒯𝒽𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 │ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕆𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕠𝕟

No smut warning in this one. Next one there will be :) Please click here for series description and TWs. 💕

I woke up to the sound of Nat at my door. She let herself in and sat down comfortably on the edge of my bed. “Hey sleepyhead, you missed breakfast..” she handed me a muffin.

“Oh,” I sat up, groggy and confused. “I must have slept through the alarm,” I noted, looking at my phone.

“That’s ok. Wanda is waiting in the lab with Shuri when you’re ready.” She gave me a kind smile. I smiled back. More tests. Like a lab rat.

“You’re not a rat,” Natasha laughed. “You’re a human going through something strange. We’ll figure it out.”

I laughed as well, “Ok. I am going to get up.” I said, finishing my muffin and moving the bedding. I got up and around, brushing my hair and teeth; I changed into some leggings and a t-shirt. I slid on my sneakers and sighed. “Alright. I’m ready.” I noticed Natasha was looking at her phone, confused. “Everything ok?” I asked observantly.

“Yeah, just a message from Tony I don’t understand.” She rolled her eyes and placed her phone in her pocket.

I bet it’s about Thor’s mission to observe Bucky. I scoffed at my own thought.

“No it’s about something else,” Nat replied, smiling softly.

“I really need to get this fixed,” I groaned.

We reached the lab in time to run into Thor wandering out of the wing. “Ladies,” he nodded his head in politeness, but continued walking without stopping. I blushed.

I counted his steps as he walked away, hoping it would keep me from projecting any thought I might have.

We entered the main area and saw Shuri in another room, through the glass. She waved at us to come to her. We walked together to the room and sat down in the chairs provided.

“So I was up...all night,” she began, looking somewhat exhausted but excited at the same time. “I have some ideas and Wanda volunteered to be like...”

“The control group,” Wanda interjected. I jumped at her voice, not realizing she had been in the room.

“So I am the experimental group?” I said, a little nervous.

“Yes, but you knew that already.” Shuri rolled her eyes and continued. “I have some tests I have already started with Wanda and would like to conduct with you, to see the difference in the firing of neurons, etc.”

“Ok...” I stared at her.

“Basically we’re going to compare her brain activity to yours, since she’s the closest example of someone who can use your same powers.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s another place to start..” she sighed.

I don’t want to be compared to Wanda. I do that myself enough. As soon as I thought it, I regretted it; I didn’t need Wanda and Nat to go on their ‘you’re beautiful as you are’ crusade. But nobody responded. Either I was being ignored or I hadn’t projected.

After about 15 minutes of setting up, a few projections, and some frustration, we were ready to start the first test.

Shuri had created a slideshow of different scenes, people, and words. Each of them had a purpose, according to her, and could hopefully help her figure out triggers or stressors within me and Wanda. Wanda had already completed hers.

“Ready?” Shuri asked. “Remember, some of these may be...upsetting or emotionally jarring. So let me or Nat know if we need to stop.”

Nat was beside me in the room, whereas Wanda and Shuri were on the other side of the glass, next to the computer.

“Ready as ever I guess...” I took a deep breath and watched the screen change.

The first few were almost funny; a cow, a dog, basic things.

The next few were more interesting; the compound, a field, the jet, knives

The knives made me uncomfortable but I tried to stay calm.

“The knives set off a different part of your brain,” Wanda said through the glass. Shuri shot her a look. “I wasn’t supposed to say that; sorry!” Her eyes were wide and animated. She was adorable sometimes.

Scott Lang, Tony, Bruce, T’Challa, Shuri scrolled on the screen, one at a time.

Wanda, Natasha, Clint, Thor

My heart was starting to race and I was not comfortable.

Steve, Pietro, Vis, Bucky

I didn’t move, I didn’t think, I didn’t say anything. Bucky wasn’t on the screen; he was in the next room with Wanda and Shuri.

“Can you leave,” I heard Shuri say, “Thor was looking for you anyway. Go find him.” She wafted him away. He made a point to look at me and smile. I didn’t smile back, only turned my head back to the screen.

Peter

“Can I take a break please?” I asked immediately.

“Uh, sure...” Shuri looked at Nat and nodded. Nat helped me remove the different testing measures and I left the room quickly. I took deep breaths but I felt like I was dying.

Wanda came out of her room and walked toward me. “Hey, you did a great job...” she soothed me, taking me into her arms. “You were so good.” She rocked me a little, allowing for me to calm down more. I was able to take a deep breath and collect myself.

“Sorry. I know the point is to identify brain...stuff...but that was a lot for me.” I shook my head with disappointment in myself.

“It’s understandable, Y/N, you’ve been through a lot and you haven’t necessarily had closure...” she rubbed my arm. “Are you ready to come back?” She pointed at the door.

“Yeah.” I took another breath. Ready to leave is more like it.

“Quitting isn’t an option today,” Wanda retorted.

I laughed but knew she was right.

We did some more tests for a few hours. Some emotional, some physical, some logic-based. By noon, Wanda and I were exhausted in every aspect of the word. Shuri let us leave but Nat stayed behind to help her work on the test results to find any patterns or relevance.

Wanda and I chose to take a walk on the Palace grounds to get some fresh air and sunshine.

“That was...a lot...” she said softly. It was hard on her, too. After losing her brother and her mom and dad... “I didn’t realize how much I missed Pietro..” she sniffled, wiping her face on her sleeve.

“Yeah, it was...” I rubbed her back as we walked.

We walked in silence for a while. We got to see some kids playing, a dog wandering around, and Steve down in a field with Bucky, sparring we supposed.

I did not mention the tight feeling in my chest when I saw Bucky fighting; I just walked and counted my steps.

“Y/N, why have you been projecting numbers?” She asked as we reentered the Palace.

“What?”

“Well it’s always a different pace, but it’s always numbers.” She looked at me quizzically.

“Oh, well I am trying to count footsteps instead of letting my thoughts project. I guess I am projecting the counting...” I laughed a little.

She smiled. “You’re so creative, you know that?” I smiled back at her as we parted ways. I headed for my room.

By dinner time, I was starving. I walked out of my room and headed to the dinning area.

“Y/N, wait up!” Steve called after me. I turned and waited for him. “How did today go?” He asked, thoughtfully.

“It was tough but hopefully worth something.” I gave him a forced smile.

“Bucky told me he walked in on you guys working. He felt bad about it, you know...” he looked at me wearily.

“I don’t care,” I smiled at him, pretending to not care even though I wanted to punch him for mentioning Bucky.

“Hey! Please don’t punch me,” he feigned fright by putting his hands up in surrender.

“Steve. I just-” I inhaled deeply. “I think about Bucky every day. I think about what happened all the time. I don’t want to think about him or it any more than I need to...” I trailed off. “Thank you for relaying that, but I don’t have the capacity to care about what Bucky feels.”

Steve nodded with understanding. “I gotcha.”

We walked into the dining room. Where, of course, Bucky was seated.

Goddamn it. This mother fucker.

Everyone looked at me. I blushed. Of course I projected that. I counted my steps as I walked to my seat, between Steve and Wanda.

Natasha sat across from me, next to Thor and Shuri. Bucky was on the other side of Steve, out of my sight at least.

As I ate, I counted my bites of food. I counted the number of rolls on the table. I counted the number of freckles on Steve’s arm. Anything to distract myself.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. Quit with the counting!” Bucky sat his fork down harshly. “Just tell me what you’re thinking so you don’t have to distract yourself and annoy everyone!” He looked around and past Steve, right at me.

Everyone was staring at us. “Buck, I didn’t hear anything...” Steve whispered to Bucky.

“Neither did I...” Nat interjected.

“So only Bucky heard the projection?” Shuri asked, interested.

“No,” Thor’s voice now echoed above theirs. “I heard it, too. I just assumed everyone did and I’m not as ass.” He glared at Bucky.

I was blushing and completely confused. I stood up and walked off without a word.

I heard large steps behind me but ignored them until my wrist was caught by a large hand.

“Y/N, are you ok? That was futile. Bucky was out of line.” Thor looked concerned.

“I’m fine. Please let me go. I’m just so tired.” I started to tear up. My mind was overwhelmed and my emotions were completely out of sorts. I needed my mommy. Thor let go of my wrist and nodded. “Do you want company? I can sit and talk or-“

“No. Thank you. I just need time. I’m going to go...Um, I’m going visit my mom..” I turned on my heel and left him behind.

I walked for about 30 minutes in one direction before approaching the cemetery. I took a deep breath for calmness and then entered the lot.

I walked among the rows, feeling more and more nauseous the closer I got to her. Finally, I saw her stone.

T’Challa had a special marble figurine commissioned for her. It was on top of her headstone. It was beautiful and exuded her brilliance tenfold. I smiled as I fell to my knees in front of it.

The sobs that left me the moment my knees hit the grass were earth-moving. I could feel my body tensing and writhing as my tears fell. My shoulders heaved with every cry. I slowly drifted closer to the ground until I was laying completely on top of her grave. My tears watered her grass.

I don’t know how much time passed, but I had fallen asleep on my mother’s grave. When I awoke, my head was pounding and my eyes felt like stinging, melting glass shards. I sniffled and sat up, looking around. It was dark. I sighed and looked again at her figurine.

“Mom what do I do? Everything is worse. It’s all getting worse. I’m projecting in the wrong ways or not at all. I feel so exhausted. I’m being triggered by everything. I need you, mom...” I listened to the wind in between the graves and stones. The breeze passing through crevasses.

I laid down on my back and looked up at the sky. It was beautiful. I smiled and remembered a moment with my mom in which we went star grazing in Wakanda. He laughed for hours and had the greatest conversations.

I wish Thor was here. He’d love this. I bet he would say something about the Asgard sky and then horribly describe it. But he’d be smiling and that smile...

I blushed thinking about his smile. But then I caught myself. But what about Peter. I groaned.

I looked more at the stars and continued to fight back and forth between thinking of Thor and Peter. I was so engulfed in my thoughts I didn’t hear the gate to the cemetery open and close.

“Y/n.” Thor voice was soft and respectful.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” I screamed and jolted upright. “You scared me to death!!!” I fell back onto the ground.

He laughed and said “this would be a good place to drop dead..”

I chuckled. “I suppose so...how’d you find me?”

“Earlier you said you were visiting your mom. You’ve been gone for hours...and then...” he looked at me strangely. “I started...seeing what you’re seeing. Like I’m you...” he sat beside me, elbows on his crooked knees.

“And then...Peter called me. He was freaking out asking if you were ok. Because he was seeing the same thing I was...” he looked down at me.

I looked at him, feeling nauseous again. Immediately, without warning I turned my head and vomited just out of moms burial site.

“Woah!” Thor held my hair back and soothed me the best he could. “Are you ok?”

“I-no-I don’t think-“ and I was done. I passed out in Thor’s arms and didn’t wake for three days.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

summer sizzle | allnighter, jon moxley

[ prompts used ] 

“Don’t mind me, just enjoying the view.” + exposed + sweet + hands against the wall + lace - these all came from varying lists that I’ve collected over time. I own nothing but the scenario and the originalfemalecharacter used within.

[ warnings ]

18+ only. Unprotected sex. Breeding kink if you squint (iykyk), body fluids, biting a little bit, gentle romantic smut this time.

[ tag squad ]

@kyleoreillysknee​

@rampagewriting​

@writertoo18​

@thatnerdwriter​

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure​

@chasingeverybreakingwave​

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif​

@sassymox​

@mondaynightmcintyre​

@wardl0w​

@wrestlingthot​ 

@missjenniferb​ 

@unabashedwrestlefics​ 

@cabotcoves​ 

@mafiadaddypaulheyman​ 

@adampage​ 

@cowboyshit​ 

@xwicker-manx​

[ tag doc - masterlist - about page ]

                           JON MOXLEY in A L L N I G H TER,

“Fuck stilettos. And double fuck hairpins.” I grumbled as I tore at the hairpins holding my hair in place, letting it tumble down my back. I kicked off my stilettos and flexed my toes in thick, plush carpet as I wandered over to the spot I’d sat down my luggage. 

Grabbing the bottle of wine I picked up on the way in, I poured myself a glass and I peeled off the majority of my clothing, leaving me in only a lace pair of panties and the stockings and garter combo I’d been wearing tonight just to kind of feel like a bad bitch.

Pay-per-view weeks are the actual worst. Especially on us stage managers. See, while the guys and girls are out there putting on a show, we’re left with all the prep work. Making sure everyone is in their places and whatnot.  And tonight had been filled with glitches. Spots that should not, under any circumstances have happened, let alone over concrete. People missing their cues to go down to the ring by a minute or two.

The entire night just seemed like one neverending miscommunication amongst the team working and it was frustrating. All I wanted to do was drink some cheap wine, watch some bad cable and lounge around half naked. Maybe even order wings. 

About the time I’d dialed down for room service, I heard the door being knocked on. Staring at it with a raised brow, I grabbed for a gauzy pale violet robe and tied it, slinking over towards the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone and there was literally no way the rack of ribs I’d just ordered myself from room service were already here.

,, probably just one of the girls.” I dismissed any other possibility than this, because on occasion, one or two of the girls on the roster stopped by to talk and hang out. Usually Britt or Anna. I honestly assumed that when I threw the door open, one or the other would be standing on the opposite side of it.

When I did and it wasn’t, well… I slammed the door shut all over again in a hurry, calling through it, “Sorry! I thought it was Britt or Anna Jay. Fuck. Just a minute.”

I dashed around, finding a longer shirt. If I wasn’t 99 percent sure that Mox hadn’t already seen hotter bodies than mine and I wasn’t so goddamn mentally and physically drained, I’d have bothered with the formality of pants. He’s the one who knocked on my door.

They get what they get. If they don’t like me bopping around in a tee shirt and panties, they know how to leave me alone.

“Not that I’m complainin.” Mox called through the door, “But I’m fuckin tired and it’d be nice to get some fuckin sleep.”

I threw the door open, a brow raised. “In my room?” I was confused. What the hell was going on?

I remembered Britt complaining that this hotel was frequently overbooking itself and people wound up having to share rooms a lot and then it hit me. That was probably what this was.

Awesome. On top of everything, I was now going to have to suffer through a night of lingering sexual tension… I cast a gaze at the ceiling, briefly wondering what deity I’d pissed off. First the train wreck that was backstage during the pay per view tonight and now, having to share a room that I won’t lie, I wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers.

Who I’ve maybe flirted with back and forth on occasion. Who I suspect flirts right back with me.

“Our room, apparently.” Mox stepped into the room, chuckling as his eyes settled on me and then darted down, fixing on the bottle of wine in my hand. “Rough night?”

“You were there, Jon.” I mused, raising the bottle to my lips. The door to the elevator down the hall slid open and the scent of barbecue ribs filled the air, my stomach growling upon scent. He sniffed the air and eyed the cart being wheeled towards the door of the hotel room before casting a glance back at me.

“Ya mean you eat somethin besides salad?” Mox muttered, chuckling quietly as I continued to stare intently at my ribs as they made their way towards me. The cart came to a stop outside the door and I stepped out, shutting the door behind me as I signed for the order. Mox pulled the door open and stepped out of the way, letting me wheel the cart into the room. Almost the second the door was shut tight behind me again, I was tearing into the covered dishes, tearing a rib apart from the rack and devouring it while groaning. 

Mox’s eyes fixed on my mouth and he bit his lip, muttering something to himself and shaking his head. I honestly didn’t have a fuck left to give on this particular night. I was tired and hungry and hell bent on eating. I tore away another and held it out to him, teasing with a playful smirk, “What?”

“Nothing.” Mox took the piece I held out to him and stepped away abruptly. Wait, did I just pout because he stepped away? It had me a little shocked for a second. I quickly pushed it out of my head and flopped across my bed, grabbing for the remote, turning on the television set. I sat up and reached for the phone on the nightstand beside my bed, killing the music. 

As I did it, I could almost swear I felt his eyes glued to me. I didn’t dare turn to look back at first and when I did, rather than catch him watching me, I caught him tugging the form fitting gray tee shirt he was wearing up and letting it settle on the floor next to his bed. He wandered over to the cart filled with food and got himself another rib and then he flopped down on the bed opposite mine.

The tension in the room was so heavy. I almost couldn’t breathe. I tried to ignore it, just sit there and keep eating my ribs and drinking my wine, but the silence was getting to be too much.

He cleared his throat and I jumped a little, rolling over to look at him. “Yeah?” I asked, taking another rib and biting into it, waiting on him to say whatever it was he’d been about to. Metallica shattered the silence and I grumbled, diving for my cell phone.

“What now.” I grumbled, annoyed. By the time I’d actually gotten my hands on my phone, it was silent. I checked the call id anyway and just as I figured, it was my ex. Probably drunk dialing again. Which was definitely the last thing I wanted to deal with tonight.

Mox coughed abruptly and as soon as I realized what my impromptu little dive exposed in the form of my entire lace covered ass, I felt my skin burning all over. I tugged down the tee shirt and poked out my tongue and he grumbled quietly about my lack of pants with something else behind that, much lower. I couldn’t hear it. “If it bothers you, maybe don’t look.” I sassed, poking out my tongue. The tension was subsiding, however, the air in the space still felt heavy somehow… Filled with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I was just enjoying the view, kitten.” his voice had a certain teasing drawl to it’s usual velvet gravel rasp and I felt my legs clench just a little bit before I could process just how his voice actually gets to me. I pretended not to hear and I wiggled around on my bed, trying to get comfortable again, winding up propping on my elbows.

I huffed at the way my bangs flopped back into my eyes and I grabbed for the remote, trying to focus on the tv set, but it was almost mission impossible, what with breathing temptation sprawled out shirtless on the next bed.

We sprang up at the same time, heading for the cart full of food and found ourselves body to body. Just to keep from whimpering, I raised the bottle of wine to my lips, taking a rushed gulp. Nearly choking. He reached around me clumsily, patting my back until I stopped, snickering quietly about it.

“What was so funny about that?”  I pouted slightly, cocking my head to the side to gaze up at him.

“Nothin.” he muttered the word, leaning in a little. His eyes were locked on mine. We were migrating closer. Maybe I started out taking a step back, but when my back met the wall, I let out a quiet groan as soon as his hands settled palm down against the wall on either side of my head, pinning me between.

As his tongue darted out and trailed slowly over his lips, I swallowed hard, barely stifling a whimper. His hips pressed into mine a little and he reached down, toying with the collar of the oversized tee shirt I’d thrown on when he knocked.

“Jon?” I gasped out quietly, my eyes fixing on his. Darting down to his mouth and lingering. And out of nowhere, this strong and almost overwhelming desire to pull his mouth down against mine surfaced. 

I tried and tried but I couldn’t shove it down. His mouth was inching closer, slowly. Almost lazily. When his tongue shot out and rolled over his lips again, I gulped and when I took a breath, it was shaky. Enough to jar me a little, have me raising an eye at myself. 

“Don’t you get tired of dancin around what happens when we’re in a room together, kitten? Because fuck… I’m exhausted.” 

I nodded, my brain and mouth still trying to come to some kind of agreement and formulate actual words at this point. I’d never really stopped and thought about it, nor had I taken Jon Moxley seriously at any time whenever he flirted with me, because, well.. But now that I was stopping to think about it, the tension that always lingered between us was almost draining. I mean, sure… I did my best to ignore it. And keep him at a safe arms length.

Now that I couldn’t. Now that I had no way to escape it… I was starting to notice all these little things. Like just how fucking blue his eyes were up close. The little quiver to his lip right now. The way his hand felt rough against my hip when he lowered it from beside my head and squeezed my hip tight, grinding me right against him, his head lowered, nose buried in the crown of my head as he took a few long and deep breaths.

Kind of like he was trying to pull himself together.

It was not the side of Jon Moxley I was most used to. The side that was always taunting and teasing, laughing or being an idiot. Or an ass.

This was something different. More serious. Deeper.

When I felt him strained against the thin basketball shorts he was wearing, I gulped and a whimper slipped out of my mouth.

Ice blue eyes turned almost inky as he locked them on my body and did it again, snapping his hips against mine. I reached for the bottle sitting on the dresser nearby and his hand reached out, circling mine and steering the bottle to his own mouth. He took a long sip and I guided the bottle back towards my mouth. His eyes locked onto my lips intently.

“If you want to do something, Jon…” I sat the bottle down, staring up at him, a bit of a smirk forming. Because I still doubted that anything would actually come of it.

Until it did. The low throaty growl shattered the air between our mouths as he leaned into me, pressing my back right up against the wall and allowing me to melt against his body. My hand raised, fingers dragging close cropped hair and his mouth collided with mine all while he rocked his hips into me over and over, one of his hands on the side of my face and the other lowering, gripping bare thigh and raising my leg to his hip. 

His tongue pushed my lips apart, slipping between. I could taste the wine and the barbecue sauce from the rack of ribs we’d been sharing. My free hand found his shoulder, my nails digging lightly. Our breaths were harsh and they lingered. My hands moved over his biceps as I leaned into him heavily. My legs suddenly felt like someone swapped out all my bones with butter and I was in danger of puddling on the floor.

And I won’t even get into the fact that I was so wet I knew I had to be soaking through thin lace. Or that my cunt was throbbing pretty much in time with my heart right now. I rubbed myself against him as the kiss deepened to a point that I couldn’t tell whether we were breathing on our own or for each other and he muttered lazily against my mouth, “Get it now, kitten? Do you know what I want right now? Or do I have to spell it out?”

At this point, he didn’t, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make things just a shade difficult. As his lips broke from mine and ghosted over my pulse, my eyes fluttered and I gasped out at last, “Yeah. Tell me, Jon.”

A hand resting against the side of my face lowered between us, slipping beneath the hem of my oversized tee shirt, resting palm down against my cunt as he gave a squeeze that had me whimpering and rocking against his hand. I exhaled sharply, licking my lips as I locked eyes with him. His mouth was back against mine again, teeth latching onto my lower lip and tugging, the hand on my cunt continuing to rub and squeeze as he growled into my mouth, “Fuckin soaked through those pretty little red panties already, hm?”

I felt my skin heating all over in a blush and all I could do was whimper as thick digits brushed the lace barrier currently separating his fingers from my dripping cunt to the side. As his fingers worked me open and pressed against my clit, rubbing slow and hard, I whined and rocked against his fingers in a desperate bid for more friction. Anything to make the throbbing ache settled between my thighs die down. “Had my eye on you a while now, kitten. And I ain’t stupid. I know you’ve been flirting back.”

“I have.” I panted as I rocked harder, faster, my eyes fluttering open and shut as a blinding wave of pleasure began to build and his teeth grazed my pulse, sinking down into my neck. Biting my neck is definitely a way to get me going real fast and in a hurry.  It caught me off guard that I wasn’t offering up my usual thousands of good excuses why not like I’d normally do in the past whenever Mox came on just a little too strong for me and then it hit… I only push him away because there’s something about the way he makes me feel everything entirely too much that scares me a little. See, I like playing it safe. And I know enough to know that Mox is dangerous as they come.

“All you gotta do, kitten, is tell me to stop.” Mox caught my gaze, the fingers on his free hand tucking beneath my chin as he stared deep into my eyes. His mouth caught against mine all over again, lazily and not even a full connect and damn it, I wanted more. I needed him kissing me again... Even though he said it and I knew he meant it and I knew that stopping was probably a good idea given what I now realized, I also knew that I was not about to stop him.

Not when I wanted him. Craved him on a level that blew my mind to even comprehend.

“And I haven’t. I’m not going to, either.” I mumbled the words again just as his fingertips brushed open my folds and slipped inside. The heel of his hand pressed right up against my clit, rubbing with each scissoring movement of his fingers and I whimpered, rocking against. My arms went around his neck, one hand settling at the back of his neck to pull his mouth deeper into mine as the other hand rested on his muscular shoulder, fingertips digging in just a little more with each thrust of his fingers deep into my dripping cunt. I pouted when he drew out his fingers and he chuckled, pressing himself full into me as he nodded to the bed.

“Tonight was too goddamn rough for me t’ even consider tryin this standing up.” he explained in breathy pants against my mouth and neck as he slid me up his body and stepped over to my bed, gently tossing me on top of it, leaning down, his fingers going straight for the hem of his shirt as my legs circled his waist and he positioned himself between them. I lowered my hand to the waistband of his sweats, tugging and giving an impatient whine. He caught the pleading look in my eyes and chuckled, biting his lip as he leaned down and into me, raising me up, getting the tee shirt completely away from my body and tossing it to the side.

“If you want something, kitten.. Fuckin take it. It’s all yours. I’m all yours.” the words were spoken in this tender tone that before tonight, I never would’ve readily associated with Jon Moxley in any shape or form. He bucked himself against me clumsily and I hissed, my legs tensing at his sides, locking as they tried to pull him flat against me even more. 

“Take it, huh?” I mumbled as I gripped his jaw, guiding his mouth away from my tits and back up to my own mouth, “That’s really all I have to do?”

“Mhm.” lust blown blue eyes locked on me and this time when he bucked himself against me, it was harder. With so much more urgency. Fingertips caught in the band of thin lace panties and the silent tear lingered heavy in the air a few seconds as he pulled the ripped material away from my body and tossed it to the floor.

My first instinct, of course, was to throw my hands up over my tits and torso because of the softness and imperfections. They didn’t bother me, but I’m no idiot. I know that there are other women in his past that looked a lot more appealing than me and maybe knowing that bothered me a little. His, of course, was to lower my hands, eyes roaming me hungrily. A low growl slipping out of his mouth as he licked his lips. “Don’t cover yourself up, kitten.”

I nodded, my  tongue dancing over my lips as I gazed up into his eyes. My hand raised, fingers catching in his waistband all over again, tugging impatiently. Once I got them down past his hips, he let his sweats hit the floor and kicked them off at the ankles and as soon as my eyes settled on the lack of underwear or the way his thick cock sprang free, I swallowed hard, trying to pull him back down against me with my legs all over again.

He settled on top of me, hips pinning mine flat against the mattress. His hands moved up my body, his mouth blazing a trail right behind it, stopping as he squeezed my tits together and rolled his tongue across both my nipples, letting his teeth catch as he stared up at me, hints of a smirk playing at his mouth. The groan that came out of his mouth was enough to have me whimpering. The way he combined gentle kitten licks to my skin with harder and harsher bites was.. Enough to have me arching myself up against him. Or trying to, it was a little harder to do with his hips pinning me against the mattress.

“Jon.” I panted against his throat as my teeth scraped against it, “C’mon. Need you inside me.” my moan hung in the air between us as he pushed himself into me, shallowly at first, going still, his teeth and lips against my skin, nipping and licking, sucking and leaving as many marks as he could behind on the surface of my skin. The way his body felt pressed against me had me even needier because it just felt entirely too good. Entirely. Something I could get used to easily.

“Need me, hm?” he mused, pulling away to look at me while catching his breath. I raised a hand as I nodded, fingertips dancing over the outline of his mouth. “I said it, didn’t I?”

“You fucking did, kitten.” he muttered in a low growl as his teeth nipped at my fingertips, making me whimper a little. His mouth dove down to mine, meeting it all over again in a deep and passionate kiss and I rocked myself up into him, his cock slipping between my folds and making me moan, my fingers dragging his scalp and digging into his shoulders as my legs clenched his sides.  He thrust into me slowly, inch for inch sinking in, his fingertips digging into my hips as he groaned against my throat, “Goddamn, kitten. So fucking tight around me.”

My eyes fluttered and I whimpered, my back arching as I gazed up at the ceiling and braced myself, getting used to the way he stretched and filled me with dots dancing in my vision as my orgasm only continued to build and intensify. I could hear the wet sounds every single time he pulled his cock out and slammed it back in deep, hard.. Slow. With enough drive behind the movements of his hips that I felt like I was being fucked deep into the mattress. His hands left my hips and wandered up my body, catching hold of my hands and holding them flat against the pillow under my head and I gasped out against his neck, begging for more. Faster.

His hips snapped against mine almost frantically, his teeth locked onto my neck, sucking. When he broke contact with my neck, his mouth was on mine again, hungrily. The soft smacks of our kisses growing louder and more desperate. “Kitten, fuck.” he groaned as my hips rocked to meet his every thrust. I raised them a little and the new angle had him slowing down just a shade, his mouth against the bridge of my nose and his hands letting go of mine, going down to my hips to hold them at the angle I’d risen them to, driving into me slower.. Harder.. Deeper. “Wanna fucking fill you up.” that growl got lower and his words left me whimpering, frantically trying to meet his pace as my lips latched onto his, capturing them in a needy and rough kiss. “Do it then.” the words left my mouth before I could stop to really consider what I was that I was saying.

Not that it mattered.

My orgasm was building at an earth shattering speed now and Mox seemed to pick right up on it, his cock striking right up against my g-spot over and over as he bottomed out inside me. Our eyes locked on each other and I whimpered at the way his eyes practically glowed with this soft lust when they met mine. My hand raised, briefly resting against his cheek as his hips stammered and I could feel my pussy clenching around him. “Let go, kitten, c’mon. Let go for me.” Mox urged, his voice more groan than anything.

I could feel him burying balls deep as he slammed back into my pussy, his hands squeezing my hips, his breath catching in his throat. My own orgasm ripped through me and I clung to him, my hips struggling to keep up the pace he set between us but not caring, too gone on the high I was feeling to bother. He fucked me right through my own orgasm and into his own, his cock throbbing, his seed overfilling and he kept plowing into me, gradually slowing, his mouth all over my neck and against my mouth, his teeth catching on tender and kiss swollen lips.

He came to a stop at last and he fell back against the mattress, immediately reaching out, pulling my body atop his with his arms wrapped around me tight as he chuckled against my mouth. “Not too tired on me, right kitten?”

“A little tired.” I gave a soft laugh, my body settling close against his, my mouth brushing his mouth as his hands wandered down, giving my ass a squeeze as he rocked himself into me and gave a quiet growl.

[mischiefandi]

A Shitty Love Song (Part 3) - Stiles Stilinski

No Shame

A/N: hi everyone, here is part 3, im sorry i couldn’t post it yesterday. part 4 will be out next saturday! ty for reading, hope you enjoy it

Summary: Y/N is a 17 year old girl who struggles in an epic battle against herself. Whether it is amor’s icy grasp or life’s unexpected course that forces her to finally open up, only one thing is certain. The truth cannot be long hidden.

Warnings: mentions of underage drinking, swearing, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks (if this triggers you in any way, please be careful)

Word Count: 5k

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Y/N)

Series Masterlist

(picture is not mine -> credits to @ sanjeevgrover on unsplash)

“I need you. I need you.”

Stiles’ cries had not escaped Y/N’s mind in the past two and a half weeks. On a loop, they played back, the words looming behind every action, every conversation, every thought. Never before had she heard pleas quite like the ones stuck in her head. It had been a real shock seeing her friend in such a state of panic and terror. Being Stiles’ friend, you couldn’t help but notice his anxious quirks and habits, but he had never lost control like that. At least, never in front of other people.

So as the weeks rolled into winter exams, Y/N found herself struggling to stay focused on her studies, her mind often wandering off in unwanted directions. She thought of Stiles, and of his distress, and she thought of those troubling words that still lingered in her mind. But most of all, she thought about how she still had no idea what happened. She had asked, multiple times, but Stiles had shut her down, providing fleeting excuses that she just wasn’t gullible enough to believe.

“Maybe he’s embarrassed.” She had thought to herself. And perhaps this was true. But if that was the case, did it mean he didn’t trust her? Was he uncomfortable around her? Did he regret showing that side of him and if so, what did that say about their friendship?  As always, Y/N’s mind overflowed with questions and hypotheses, and there was nothing she could do about it.

As the moonlight shone through her bedroom window, Y/N stood from her chair, her fingers furiously drumming against her chin as she focused, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, uh…New York…” she recited, another overwhelming wave of stress hitting her for the third time that evening.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back in frustration.

She was nervous. Tomorrow was the last day of exams, and she couldn’t mess it up. She generally had good grades in History, but the past few weeks had been exhausting and she truly was reaching her breaking point, making it more and more difficult to study even the simplest dates and events.

Y/N walked over to her art corner, her gleaming eyes glazing over the patterns of black and grey carefully applied to the canvas of her latest painting. She sighed, burying her face in her hands.

This abstract piece had been started at the beginning of winter exams, but she still hadn’t finished it. It wasn’t really that she didn’t have the time, it was something else. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but something was stopping her from completing the painting.

Whenever she stood in front of the canvas, unsure hands hovering above her color palette, her fingers retracted. It was a frustrating predicament, constantly coming back to the same issue and not knowing how to get out of it.

Y/N was so tired with it all. She was tired of the studying and the overwhelming waves of anxiety, and she was tired of not hearing from Stiles. She was tired of not finding a way out of her artistic rut and she was goddamn tired of feeling trapped.

Without warning, her eyes filled with water and for a split second, time stood still, before the tears overflowed, chaos crashing into her. Her breathing accelerated and she bit down on the inside of her mouth, pain erupting through her cheek.

“No, no, come on. Stop it,” she whimpered, the tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

She had reached her breaking point. Slowly, she lowered herself down onto the floor, her back pressed against the foot of her bed. Her toes curled as she gripped the carpet beneath her, the soft fabric a small comfort. Y/N shut her eyes and winced, chaos burning inside of her stomach, and she forced herself to raise her finger up to her nostril, pressing the tip against her humid skin.

“1…2…3…” she gasped as she shakily breathed in the cool night air seeping through her bedroom window.

“1…2…3…” She exhaled loudly but slowly, forcing every last drop of air out of her lungs then back in as she started anew.

Slowly but surely, she felt her muscles start to relax, her weary toes uncurling. The chaos had thankfully subsided.

“This one barely even lasted a few minutes.” Y/N thought to herself, resting her head against her bed. She soothingly wrapped her arms around herself and continued to breathe, the exaggerated inhalations helping tremendously.

A few minutes of silence had passed when suddenly, the familiar buzzing of her phone made Y/N’s quiet bubble pop. Grimly, she made her way over to her phone sitting on the wooden surface of her desk and her red-rimmed eyes glazed over Allison’s name flashing through the bright screen. She answered instantaneously.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Y/N! How horrible is studying going?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out a sharp laugh.

“Decently horrible. How’s it going for you?”

“Well…it could be going better,” Allison chuckled, her warm voice lighting up the room.

“We’re just so tired! Who the hell came up with the idea of making us sit through two whole weeks of exams?” huffed Y/N.

“It’s not that bad. I don’t know about you but my dad’s been acting like my butler.”

“Wow, well, if your new butler wants to start working for me as well, I don’t mind,” Y/N teased, Allison’s laugh echoing through her phone.

“So hey, I was talking with Isaac earlier today and we were thinking, why not hang out by the Hale House tomorrow after exams are done. We could have a bonfire and just celebrate the end of the trimester?”

“Oh my god, that sounds so fun,” Y/N gasped, her heart doing a backflip inside of her chest. She needed to see her friends.

“Yeah! I’ve missed our hangouts,” said Allison.

“I know, I have too. Hanging out and just chilling with everyone by a fire sounds perfect.”

“God knows we deserve a break.”

“What time were you and Isaac thinking?”

“I’m not sure, maybe around 7?”

“Yeah, no problem. What do you need me to bring?” asked Y/N, one hand resting on her hip.

“Um, maybe just a couple of blankets, I’ll text you if I think of anything else. Lydia’s bringing some drinks and the boys are handling food.”

“Okay, great. I can’t wait.”

“Me neither. Good luck with History tomorrow!” Allison exclaimed.

“You too. Goodnight, Ali,” replied Y/N before terminating the phone call.

She slumped into her desk chair and sighed slowly before straightening her back and passing a shaky hand through her hair. She was going to study and nail this exam. And then, she was going to have a blast at the bonfire.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

The excruciatingly demanding day had come to an end and Y/N felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her weary shoulders as she inhaled the cool evening air. The sun had gone down, all that was left was her shadow, following closely behind as she rode to the woods. Her History exam had gone really well considering how difficult it had been to study its content. Exams were over and done with, and the highly anticipated winter holidays were finally here, much to Y/N’s relief. Everyone needed this well-deserved break.

Y/N turned a sharp right onto the gravel trail leading up to the core of the forest, her heart beating with excitement. The chilly air whipped her face as she rode faster, her bike disappearing in a blur of dark trees and thick bushes as she inched closer and closer to the Hale House. Briefly tilting her head up, Y/N’s eyes caught a glimpse of a shooting star zooming through the night sky and disappearing into its dark backdrop in a flash.

After what seemed like an eternal bike ride later, she could finally hear the sounds of laughter and happy chatter echoing around her, and she grinned, entering the large clearing and jumping off of her seat. Her bike crashed onto the ground as she leapt in Lydia’s arms, breathing in the smell of fresh strawberries in their warm embrace.

“Finally! I was starting to think you’d never get here,” exclaimed the redhead. “You don’t pack lightly,” she added, gesturing at the large duffel bag hanging from Y/N’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Ali asked me to bring blankets,” Y/N replied, chuckling.

“Hmm, well our Mom thinks of everything,” joked Lydia.

“What did you just call me?” inquired a soft voice, and Y/N turned, her eyes falling onto Allison’s smirk.

“Oh come on, you know it’s true. You’re basically our mom.”

Allison giggled and put her arms around her friends’ shoulders, leading the pair towards the bonfire a few feet away.

“Well, I gladly accept the title,” she said, her voice light as the sun.

As Y/N got close to the fire, warmth fanned over the few inches of her skin not covered by her clothes.

“Y/N, you’re here!” said Scott, smiling widely, his eyes gleaming through the thick flames of the bonfire.

“Let’s get this party started,” Isaac whooped, his hand reaching for a can of cheap beer, knocking it back in mere seconds.

Y/N grinned at the group. Kira was seated between Scott’s legs, a bottle of coke in her grasp. Isaac pulled Allison down next to him, planting a sweet kiss on her cheek. Y/N’s kind eyes finally settled on Stiles. He was sitting next to Scott, his back pressed against a log, legs spread freely in front of the fire. Their eyes met and he smiled softly, her heart swelling with affection. She calmly sat herself down between Lydia and him, and conversation soon lit up the clearing, the group’s voices bright and excited.

“Can you believe it’s already winter break?”

“Seriously, I feel like we should still be in October,” replied Y/N as she handed Lydia some blankets to pass around.

“How did your exams go?” asked Scott, his eyes flicking from one person to another.

“Decently,” shrugged Isaac, Stiles scoffing at his words.

“You called me up at 2 in the morning asking me if it was true our next exam was Geography and not Econ,” he mocked and Allison laughed out loud, her head thrown back.

“I see I’m not the only one he wakes up in the middle of the night,” she teased, resting her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder, their fingers intertwining.

“Okay, there were some organizational issues, but we fixed them and agreed not to mention them. Ever again,” he replied, shooting a deadly glare at Stiles.

“How do you feel about your exams, Scott?” asked Y/N, swiftly moving the focus away from the guilty blabbermouth seated next to her.

Scott nodded, his bottom lip tucked back in his mouth.

“Honestly, I think I did pretty well. Biology went much better than I thought it would so that’s great. Thank you again, Lyds, you saved me,” he added, sending a grateful look at the redhead who smiled in response.

“You did the work, Scott. It was all you,” she replied.

“I’m actually pretty sure I flunked Biology but the rest was fine,” Allison said. “How did History go, Y/N?”

Y/N grinned widely before bowing before the bonfire, Lydia scoffing at the gesture.

“Yours truly is officially the queen of History.”

“Hey, congrats! Who’s your History teacher?” Kira asked.

“Uh, Mr Hebowitz. You’re lucky you don’t have him, he friggin sucks.”

“Well, I’d take him over my dad any day. Seriously, if I have to hear one more embarrassing childhood story brought up in class, I’m gonna burst.”

“Yeah, that sounds bad,” Y/N winced.

“I gotta say it’s pretty entertaining though. I didn’t know you were so big on martial arts,” said Stiles.

“Yeah, I read this book about a femme fatale superhero with a katana and I just thought that was so cool. So I begged my parents to let me take martial arts lessons and I loved it!”

“Woah, that’s so awesome. So you’re basically a super ninja?” Isaac inquired, his expression serious and unphased.

Lydia laughed, her head shaking repeatedly.

“More like a samouraï but close enough,” she said.

“Yeah, sorry. And before you ask, no- I don’t know the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” teased Kira.

“Isaac isn’t really familiar with anything so cultural, isn’t that right, Isaac?” Stiles piled on, grinning sarcastically.

“Isn’t that right, Isaac,” the sandy-haired boy childishly mimicked, “Shut up, Bilinski.”

“I will have you know, I am proud of that name. It got me on the lacrosse field.”

“And which of your numerous exploits can you recall from said lacrosse field?” said Y/N, intently watching his face with an amused expression etched on hers.

Stiles met her gaze for a split second, lips pursed, then shot back to Isaac.

“The point is lacrosse is great,” he cried out.

Laughter erupted in the clearing as the fire crackled, smoke rising up into the frigid night air. The group passed along bottles and cans of beer, discussing the previous weeks with excitement. It had finally sunk in that the holidays were here.

“Okay, as much as I love reliving our painful school experiences, I propose we play a drinking game instead,” suggested Isaac, mischief painted across his face, his eyes glinting brightly.

“I’m down, it’s been a while!”

“Let’s do this,” Y/N cheered, clapping her hands together in excitement.

“Never Have I Ever?”

“Yeah, why not?” said Stiles with a nod.

“Okay, never have I ever had a girlfriend?” asked Y/N.

“Evil genius,” growled Isaac, as the boys all put a finger down. Y/N gulped at the sight of Stiles’ thumb going down, ignoring the discomfort she felt as quickly as it had come.

“Never have I ever…blacked out at a party?” Isaac inquired, shooting a glance at Y/N.

“Ali!” she scolded.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d mind! I mean, everyone saw you…” the brunette replied, guilt spread across her face.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get my revenge.”

“For what it’s worth, it happens to the best of us,” Scott joked, sending Y/N a friendly smile.

“Come on, next question!”

“Okay, okay. I got this one,” said Stiles, his amber eyes contemplating the individuals seated around him through the bright flames of the bonfire. “Never have I ever…gone skinny dipping.”

Kira suddenly choked on her coke, harsh coughs escaping her throat as the group laughed, colour flooding in Scott’s cheeks. He looked down at the ground in embarrassment, his lips curled into a nervous smile.

“Wow, I did not see that coming!” exclaimed Y/N, giggling at the couple.

“Okay…next question,” Scott replied, anxious to move onto someone else’s embarrassing stories.

“No no, this is a fun topic. Any other fun places you guys have hooked up in that you want to tell us about?” insisted Isaac, grinning widely, evidently proud of his drinking game skills.

“It’s no Hale House hookup,” declared Lydia as she took a sip of her beer, her eyes widening in shock when Allison sent her an aggravated look, shaking her head repeatedly.

“What now?”

“You did it in the Hale House?” Y/N shrieked.  

“Isaac, I had no idea you were such a freak in the sheets,” Stiles mocked, his mischievous grin sending the group into a fit of laughter.

“I can’t believe you just said that, Lyds.”

“Well to be fair, you did expose Y/N.”

“Yeah see, Ali, karmically, it evens out.”

“Fine, I forgive you.”

“I still can’t believe you two hooked up in those ruins. Weren’t you afraid of- I don’t know…dying?” asked Stiles.

“We all do crazy things when we’re in the moment.”

“Okay, but come on, creepy house sex?”

“Guys, leave them alone,” Kira said, giggling at the sight of Allison’s reddening cheeks.

“I don’t know, I’m finding this pretty entertaining,” Y/N happily replied, beaming as she watched her friend squirm.

“Oh yeah? Well what about you Y/N? Anything you want to tell us?” asked Isaac, grinning slyly from ear to ear.

Y/N’s heart stopped mid-beat, a knot tying in her stomach as everyone’s eyes turned to her. Suddenly the air around her seemed cooler than before, and she couldn’t help but feel trapped under her friends’ curious gazes, waiting for her to answer the not-so innocent question.

“I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said timidly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“So, you didn’t hook up with someone at Danny’s party?”

“What?” exclaimed Scott, almost spitting out his drink. “At the rave?”

“Ali, what the hell?” Y/N hissed, her brows furrowed in confusion and disappointment.

“I didn’t say anything! Honestly. How did you know that?” the brunette demanded, turning her head in Isaac’s direction.

“I saw the hickeys at school on Monday, so I assumed. Was I wrong?” the boy replied, sending Y/N a look.

“It wasn’t a hook up! And anyway, it didn’t mean anything. It was just some random guy and I was drunk. End of story,” Y/N gruffly declared before downing the rest of her beer with a noisy gulp.

She sent Stiles a glance, hoping to see some kind of reaction. Whether he seemed shocked or embarrassed, it didn’t actually matter. All she wanted was something, anything to finally piece together that eventful but blurry Halloween and leave it be. Only, her heart sank when her eyes rested on an impassive face, Stiles’ expression utterly unreadable, blank as a white sheet of paper. Either it truly had not been him, or he didn’t care, and for some unknown reason, both possibilities were painful to think about.

“Still, it’s pretty adventurous, especially coming from you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N asked, eyes wide with shock.

“Well, it was your first kiss wasn’t it?” Lydia inquired gently.

Y/N eyes glazed over the curious faces watching her closely, and she felt her throat close, the air suddenly thick and difficult to breathe in. She looked down at the frozen ground beneath her as she clutched the blanket wrapped around her body, and she spoke again, her voice timid and unstable.

“I guess so. But, like I said, it’s really not that big a deal.”

A few seconds of silence passed before Allison finally broke the uncomfortable void, clapping her hands together, snapping everyone out of their daze.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”

Y/N sent her a grateful glance and smiled widely, the emptiness in her stomach swiftly grabbing her attention.

“Yes! Let’s eat.”

The group laughed and talked, their voices echoing throughout the clearing in the night, their shadows dancing playfully in the deep hues of orange and red emitted from the flames before them. Chocolate marks leftover from smores were licked off of fingers and light beer and coke was swallowed effortlessly. Soon the evening quieted down and groups formed, peaceful conversations spoken in soft voices overlapping and mixing with the warm crackles of the fire, alive and breathing.

Y/N laughed with Lydia as she sipped on her drink, her eyes occasionally crossing Stiles’ gaze. He seemed tired but still he grinned at Scott, their chuckles as warm as the bonfire. Slowly, she shifted closer to him, her fingers turning blue from the cold hidden away in the front pocket of her big hoodie. The boy smiled softly at her before letting his eyes revert back to the ground, his hands fidgeting with a twig. She watched his movements in silence as she thought about what to say.

Scott had his back turned to Stiles now, whispering sweet nothings in Kira’s ears, making her giggle sweetly whilst Isaac, Allison, and Lydia talked about past parties and marvelous memories. For a moment, it seemed like the only people there were Stiles and herself, comfortably sitting next to each other without speaking, yet at peace.

Finally, she spoke.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” she began, her eyes gazing deep into the flames before her. “But I want you to know I would never judge you for something like that. I don’t- I don’t know what you think went through my head back there but, it was nothing…bad.”

Her words were met with silence and she bit her lip, wondering if he was ever going to answer.

He wasn’t.

She nodded to herself and took a deep breath, the combined scent of earthy woods and fire filling her nostrils.

“I don’t judge you because I have them too,” she murmured, her voice cracking slightly.

She saw him turn to her out of the corner of her eye, but refused to meet his gaze, keeping her own cautiously fixated on the bonfire.

“My family moves around a lot, so…meeting new people, having to start fresh in new schools all the time, it was just really hard. I’d get very anxious and I started having panic attacks. They’d happen in class, at home, in bed, anywhere really. I tried to hide them from my parents but eventually my teacher called my dad one day and told him I’d been skipping class- which I wasn’t. It was just that every time I’d get to school, my heart would start beating so fast and I’d have trouble breathing so I’d hide out in the girl’s bathroom and wait ‘till it calmed down.”

Y/N kept talking, feeling the weight she had carried for so long slowly lift itself from her weary shoulders, relief spreading across her body.

“So…my parents confronted me and I told them about it all, the panic attacks and how anxious I felt, and the missed classes. All of it. It was a good thing cause they knew, so I didn’t have to hide it anymore, but- they didn’t know how to help and eventually the panic attacks got worse. We moved to another town for my mom’s job and that’s when it got really bad. I wasn’t able to sleep or eat, I felt numb and tired and I didn’t even know why.

“I was just constantly struggling and it felt like I was never gonna feel normal ever again. And then…we moved to Beacon Hills and I met you guys, and I don’t know why it was so different but I don’t feel as anxious when I’m with you. I feel good. And I haven’t felt that way in a long time,” she finally said, her heart beating at a hundred miles an hour.

For the first time in her life, she had willingly told a friend about that darker side of her, the one she was so ashamed of, the one she had always taught herself to hide away from anyone else. It was terrifying beyond belief, but it was so alleviating.

Again, Y/N waited patiently for a response, for anything but the cold silence she had gotten used to expecting from him. And finally, after what seemed like a terrifying eternity, it came.

“My mom died from something called frontotemporal dementia when I was 9. It’s a brain disease that has no cure,” Stiles muttered, his hands still fidgeting with the twig, his long fingers shaking slightly, though Y/N couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or something else.

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I don’t really talk about it, not even with Scott. Everyone knows about it, I just- yeah.”

Y/N finally met his gaze, sending him a gentle smile of encouragement and his amber eyes bore into hers, as if searching for something in her beautiful irises.

“As a kid, I’d get really bad nightmares because of it. Night terrors, stuff like that. And then I started getting panic attacks too. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was a mess and when I finally did sleep, it was more of the same,” he continued, his voice wavering with emotion as he tried to keep his cool.

“That’s intense.”

“Yeah,” he laughed dryly, “intense is one way to describe it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

“Probably for the same reason as you,” he replied with a lopsided smile.

“Touché.” Y/N chuckled softly and Stiles did too.

He then paused, looking down at his dirty sneakers covered In dirt and dark ash.

“It’s not something I’m proud of- and on some level, I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”

Y/N frowned, her brows furrowing deeply as she pursed her lips, perplexed.

“Why though?”

Stiles looked up at her, his expression serious and unphased, his gaze so intense the world around her faded with his answer.

“I didn’t want you to think that I’m weak,” he said in earnest, his voice steady with candor.

Y/N’s heart tore a little, his words revealing yet another part of him she hadn’t seen before. He was insecure. And she had had no idea.

You think you know someone, but you won’t truly know that person until they bring down their walls and reveal themselves fully to you. This is precisely why amor works so steadily, slowly creeping up your body and wrapping itself around you, inch by inch. It grows with every facet you uncover, it matures with every conversation, every laugh, every secret. Amor isn’t sudden and superficial. It is the most tantalizing and intrusive thing that will ever enter your life, and it will hijack your entire system, turning you into a slave unaware of his or her condition.

Right then, amor grew a little more.

“Stiles, I could never think that. Hey,” she said, placing her hand on his knee, the boy’s world magically shattering at the sudden and unpredictable gesture.

“You are strong and you’re resilient and I will never judge you- because I care about you,” Y/N declared steadily, her eyes piercing through his. He watched her closely, as though he was trying to catch her in a lie, but she wasn’t lying. She meant every word and this fact sent him into a whirlwind of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to describe, not even if he tried.

“I care about you,” he replied earnestly, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Obviously,” Y/N teased, removing her hand from her friend’s knee and curling it into a ball before shoving it back under her blanket, the cold air meeting her skin in a harsh embrace.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let that get to your head.”

“Pshh.”

Finally, late in the night, the pack members got up and packed their things, shoving the blankets and rubbish back in their bags before throwing water onto the firepit they had created for themselves. The group slowly walked out of the clearing, following the path back towards the road, chatter still illuminating the late night air. Scott and Isaac playfully howled together in unison, walking ahead of the group, as Kira, Lydia, and Allison followed, discussing the evening and the beautiful memories they had created together.

Behind them strolled Stiles, with his hands in his pocket, and Y/N, slowly walking alongside her bicycle, the pair chatting peacefully as the night came to an end.

“Hey, before we go home, I just want to say this,” Stiles said, stopping in his tracks, turning around to face Y/N. She looked at him curiously, wondering what was so urgent for him to tell her.

“I’m all ears,” she replied, grinning at him.

“I didn’t say it before, and I should’ve. Thank you for helping me that day. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t reach out.”

“Sti, you don’t have to apo-“

“-But I do. You didn’t deserve it,” he said decisively, cutting her off.

Y/N’s eyes bore into his, the grin etched on her lips turning into a tender smile.

“I appreciate you saying that. But Stiles, I meant what I said. I will always be looking out for you. So, if it happens again, or if you ever need to talk, please, remember that I’m here,” she insisted.

Stiles’ expression softened at her words.

“I know you have those moments too, and I want you to know- I…”

“Yeah?”

“I-“

“-Guys! You coming or what?” Their friends’ loud voices knocked both Y/N and Stiles out of the moment, the pair snapping their heads towards the pack already many feet away.

“We should probably catch up with them,” Y/N said, slightly disappointed Stiles hadn’t been able to finish his sentence, her mind racing with intrusive thoughts she desperately tried to ignore as he nodded at her, his lips pursing.

At the end of the path, when they had finally found the road, the friends exchanged tight hugs and last goodbyes, their smiles wide and their hearts swollen with affection. The evening had been wonderful, and the memories they had created would never leave their minds, too exciting and remarkable to ever be put to rest.

Stiles walked over to Y/N and wrapped his long arms around her, his nose breathing in her peach-scented shampoo as she rested her head on his shoulder.

Y/N felt his heart thunder against her chest and for a split second, time stopped again. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his body and the smell of leather mixed with firewood, inhaling deeply against him. Eventually, they left each other’s embrace with a soft smile and the group parted ways, each member heading home in the cool winter air.

As Y/N was about to start riding, she felt her pocket vibrate against her stomach, her hand reaching for her phone instantaneously. Her eyes focused on the bright blue light of her phone screen and she felt her heart leap in her chest at the sight of the captivating words she had just received.

Stiles: what I was gonna say was

Stiles: I will always be there for you

Stiles: get home safe

She smiled widely, colour flooding her cheeks as she reread the texts, her mind unable to focus on anything other than Stiles. Amor had won again.

A/N: i worked very hard on this series, so if you enjoyed reading it, please reblog it, even if you dont have a large following, it would really help me out a lot <3 thank you for reading ! love u guys

if you would like to be added to this series’ taglist, please send me an ask :)

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[destroy-the-cannon]

Chapter Three: A Detestable Obsession

Hello hello hello! This week’s chapter is exciting because it’s in Olivia’s POV this time. I’ve decided that I’m going to alternate it from now on, which I think was the best choice. I was hoping to be able to get to the derby and really get things going, but I had to cover a bit of backstory, the masquerade from Olivia’s perspective. I think it’s a good one this week!

Taglist: @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @kingliam2019 @cordonian-literature @kamilahsayeet2063

Story Tags: Eventual lemon, sexual tension, enemies to lovers, slow burn, idiots to lovers, weapon loving women, woman loving woman.

Story Warnings: Swearing.

Olivia let out a long sigh as she wiped the last of her makeup off. She started on pulling out the million little pins from her hair, dropping them into the dish on her counter. She was absolutely exhausted, and not nearly as satisfied as she’d hoped to be.

I’m sorry, Olivia. I don’t want to hurt you.

I’m Lady Paige Langley.

She let out a frustrated growl as the events of the night played in her mind. Too many surprises had popped up at once, and she felt knocked off balance. She had swaggered into court with a loud look-at-me kind of confidence that made the weaker girls tremble, and she had left looking no more impressive than a deflated balloon.

I’m sorry, Olivia. I don’t want to hurt you.

Her time with Liam had started out fine. She had grown up with the man, so of course she knew how to work him. Coy smile, low laugh, dart the gaze towards his lips. She had popped out her hip and chest and watched how his eyes fell predictably to her cleavage before moving quickly away. He’d been stuttering like an idiot, which she’d taken to mean that he was liking what he saw. Until, that is, he finally stilled, ending the fidgeting and stuttering. Instantly, she knew that something was off. She had seen that look on his face before, and she knew what it meant for her.

“Olivia, listen-”

“Liam, l-”

“No. Please, this needs to be said.” She hated the way he squared his jaw and finally, finally held her eye. He had made up his mind on whatever he had been struggling with.

“Olivia. You know how much I care about you, and I’m glad you’re here, but this isn’t what I want. With you. If you prove to be the best candidate, then of course I’ll choose you, but I would be choosing you as a queen, not as a wife. I say this now because I don’t want…” He paused.

“I don’t want you to look back on this ten years from now and feel betrayed. Or like I led you on. You’re my friend, and you always will be, but I just don’t feel anything more for you.”

He might as well have put a goddamn knife through her chest. He wasn’t subtle, or vague, or wishy-washy. He had essentially just told her that he never loved her and didn’t think that he ever would. They were barely half an hour into the ball, and already it was completely ruined. She hunched her shoulders, feeling suddenly too exposed in the night air.

“Is there someone else?” It was a last, desperate attempt to regain control of the situation, and they both knew it. There was a horde of other women on the other side of the palace doors, each one more eligible than the last. But this was personal. This was him saying wasn’t him saying that Olivia Vanderwall Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos, wouldn’t make a good queen. This was him saying that Olivia, just Olivia, wouldn’t make a good wife. But maybe someone else would.

“Whether or not there is someone else, my feelings remain the same.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” He started fidgeting again, but she stopped him with a look.

“You owe me that much, at least.” Liam stopped and nodded hesitantly.

“You’re right. The truth is, there might be. I don’t know if she feels the same way, but I…” A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, and Olivia’s heart squeezed painfully.

“She’s got something about her that’s just so... different. Incredible. She’s smart, and ridiculously strong, and-” He stopped when he noticed her expression. He cleared his throat and looked away bashfully.

“Sorry. Wrong audience, I know.” Olivia sighed and tilted her face up towards the stars. The moon was nothing but a sliver in the sky. “I should go. Your time with me is running long.”

She turned to go back in. Just before she closed the door behind her, she heard him call it over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Olivia. I don’t want to hurt you.” She clenched her jaw and pulled the door shut behind her, leaving him alone in the cold air.

I’m Lady Paige Langley.

Olivia was sipping on champagne when she heard the herald announce the new girl. She didn’t bother to look up from her drink, even as the gasps and murmurs echoed through the room. Whispers of envy and shock flitted around her head like butterflies.

Hm. Must be a pretty one. The girl was announced with Maxwell Beaumont, so she must’ve been his date, some pretty little nobody he’d fallen for in a bar somewhere.

Sighing, Olivia swirled her glass absentmindedly, watching to see what the old fixtures of these types of events were doing. It was the same as always: Drake was in a corner practically snogging a glass of whiskey he’d managed to scrounge up, Hana was making polite conversation with an old, half-dead looking duke, and Kiara and Penelope were whispering together in a corner.

After her conversation with Liam, Olivia barely had the energy to stand from her chair, let alone walk about the room and mingle. She downed the last of her drink in one quick gulp, hoping it would give her the strength she needed. All she had to do was keep a low profile, do some eavesdropping, and introduce herself to the newbie. Should be easy enough. She adjusted her dress and pasted on an enticing smile, scanning the room for a figure she couldn’t recognize.

She spotted her target, a dark-haired woman in the corner talking to Drake. From the look on his face, she must have been chewing him out over something. She wore the angel outfit that went with Olivia’s devil costume. Interesting.

She came up behind the woman (Paige, wasn’t it? Olivia couldn’t quite remember how she’d been announced) and stood for a moment, waiting to catch Drake’s eye. It was always funny to watch him notice her: his features would go big and frozen, like he’d just seen a ghost. He seemed strangely wrapped up in his conversation with the girl, though, so Olivia took another step forward.

“Pardon me, but I must steal her away.” She shot a devious grin his way as Drake finally reacted, vague panic spreading on his face.

“Um, I’ll just…” He flew towards the bar. As soon as he was gone, the girl spun around to face Olivia.

In retrospect, the duchess didn’t really know what she’d been expecting. Some seemingly overwhelmed goody-good, maybe, excited to spend a night in the one and only royal palace. One of the girls Maxwell would bring in to these events and then probably never see again, a girl who wouldn’t have the guts to compete. A lost little calf, marveling at how the other half lived.

But that’s not what Olivia saw. The woman before her was no delicate little thing, as she’d expected. She had a kind of roughness, grit, that the other nobles there could never even dream of knowing. Kario akys, they said in Lythikos. Warrior’s eyes.

Her eyes travelled the rest of the woman’s shape. God, she was gorgeous, almost infuriatingly so. For a moment, Olivia said nothing. What could she say? Her usual fear tactics weren’t going to work on someone like this. She had been counting on Paige being a meek commoner, terrified to stand up for herself. But this woman clearly wasn’t going to take any bullshit. Even in a lacy angel outfit, she stood like a fighter, just the sort of stance that made Olivia’s heart hammer. She started to speak, her voice a low tone.

“I am Lady Olivia Vanderwall Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos.”

“I’m-”

“Lady Paige Langley. Yes, that’s right. That’s why I’m here.” As soon as the other woman spoke, the trance was broken. Olivia shook her head slightly, trying to regain control of the situation. She searched for something she could do to fix that, something she could say-

It came to her. She chatted idly for a minute or so, making sure that the girl really was planning on entering the race, before planting the bomb:

“When you go to meet the king, here’s what you’ll do…”

* * *

Finally, Olivia pulled the last pin free from her head. Her crimson hair pooled around her shoulders as she shook it out, the riot of color a sharp contrast against her pale skin. She paused a moment to stare into the bathroom mirror, trying to anchor herself somehow. Her face was completely free of makeup, and she wore only her pyjamas and a silk robe. Just yesterday, she had been so sure of herself, positive she was better than everyone there. But the face staring back at her seemed so fragile and lost that it surprised her a little. Maybe even worried her. She had no friends here anymore, and she’d ruined her chances of making an ally of Paige. She was alone again, and only in the solitude of her room could she admit how much that was starting to frighten her.

Or maybe she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. She let out a groan as she straightened, banishing her doubts from her mind. The derby was tomorrow, and that was where her most important obstacle lay: the queen. The queen was really more important than the king, in a few ways. If she didn’t approve of you, she would let you know. It would become impossible to win unless you somehow made it up to her, which, seeing how stubborn she tended to be, was quite the challenge. A few of the girls would probably even drop out, which meant that the competition would be growing that much smaller.

Climbing into bed, Olivia reviewed her mental checklist. She had an appointment at the boutique scheduled for tomorrow morning, an alarm set so she’d wake up in time, a period to do her makeup, some time for breakfast…

She yawned as exhaustion settled on her bones like a heavy blanket. Turning off her lamp, she tossed over in bed, trying to use her last moments of consciousness to cobble together some sort of plan. Her two biggest problems right then were Liam and Paige. She needed to figure out some way to get Liam to start falling for her, and some way to get Paige… out of the competition. Olivia would never be able to focus with the girl around as a distraction. Her heartbeat seemed to speed up as she remembered gazing at her, having that one moment before she got her wits about her, a moment where she could just look and want and appreciate.

As sleep closed in, the duchess couldn’t help but wonder where everything had gone so ridiculously wrong.

* * *

Sun streamed through the windows as the beat of traditional Lythikanese war drums pounded through the room. Olivia let out a low grumble as she rolled to reach her alarm. Shutting it off, she lay in bed for a moment, trying to collect herself. It was the morning of the derby at last, a golden opportunity to get herself back on top. She knew she couldn’t risk being late, but the bed seemed to swallow her up as she tried to roll over and out.

Finally lugging herself across the room, she went to begin on her morning routine. Brushing her teeth and washing her face were important, obviously, but the focus of the day was makeup.

Some noblewomen searched for weeks to find the perfect makeup artist to hire for an event like this. The best and most promising ones were usually snapped up a month or so in advance, which meant that you had to start looking early. The artists would travel with the women to the various duchies, and fix up their makeup to suit whatever the day’s activities held. This was, of course, in addition to the team of other specialists that were typically used: a stylist to accompany you to the boutique each morning, a dietitian to make sure you didn’t fall ill during a trip, a facialist to recommend the best products to keep your skin glowing, and so on.

Olivia, though, hadn’t bothered. Partially because she knew Liam didn’t really care about all that, and partially because she found the whole thing to be dreadfully over the top. If there was one thing Olivia despised, it was a lack of independence. Draping herself across plush chairs while someone she hadn’t exchanged more than five words with rubbed, buffed, and polished away at her sounded like an expensive hell. She was perfectly capable of doing her own makeup and picking out her own outfits, thanks very much. It didn’t even make any of these women more likely to win. It just made them feel more secure in their chances.

Rubbing sunscreen into her skin, she went over her plan in her head. Once she arrived, she would meet with the press and talk a bit about who she was, her plans for Cordonia, why she was different from the rest. She’d walk around for a short while, grab a drink, and settle in to watch the races. The queen was coming to speak with everyone once the races were finished, so she’d have a bit of time to herself before then. Hopefully she’d be able to spot Paige as well. No doubt she’d be good and mad about last night, hopefully mad enough to make some irrational decisions. Hopefully she’d scream at Olivia, or push her, or even throw a drink in her face. Olivia could then play the victim to the press, Paige could drop out, and the two would never have to see each other again. Expect, perhaps, when Paige was invited as a guest to the royal wedding. Oh, how satisfying it would be to watch the girl kneel before her throne. Olivia grinned as she finished up with her lipstick, grabbing her purse. Making her way to the boutique, she sighed in satisfaction as she imagined her entrance to the derby. The press would swarm her, desperate for a quick word or photo. She would positively glow in the sun, and even Liam would have to notice and be awed.

She threw open the doors to the boutique, breathing in the mingling scents of a thousand expensive perfumes from visits past. She was relatively early, so only a small, terrified looking girl remained. Olivia shot a sneer her way, and she dashed out so fast she crashed into a servant in the hall. Laughing, Olivia strode to grab her outfit off the rack. Red was her signature color, but not really derby appropriate. She had picked out a floral fit-and-flare with blue and yellow roses, something elegant yet fun. Her hair was going up in her signature braided bun, complete with…

She threw open the doors to the boutique, breathing in the mingling scents of a thousand expensive perfumes from visits past. She was relatively early, so only a small, terrified looking girl remained. Olivia shot a sneer her way, and she dashed out so fast she crashed into a servant in the hall. Laughing, Olivia strode to grab her outfit off the rack. Red was her signature color, but not really derby appropriate. She had picked out a floral fit-and-flare with blue and yellow roses, something elegant yet fun. Her hair was going up in her signature braided bun, complete with…

It was the derby. You had to wear a headpiece. But as Olivia stared down at the obnoxiously cheery looking bird that sat in a nest of feathers, she had to suppress the urge to chuck it out the nearest window. ‘Bright’ and ‘cheery’ were not words one typically used to describe a Nevrakis’ wardrobe. ‘Terrifying’ and ‘awe-inpring’ were much more within Olivia’s comfort zone. God, the things she did for her goals.

Adjusting the pin in her hair, she checked herself out in the mirror. Perfect. She looked perfect. Her morning was starting to shape up, at last-

“Okay. Here we are. Remember to pick something that the queen would like. That’s the big goal here. I’ll meet you in the car in like and hour, ‘kay? We’ll be parked out front.”

“Cool. See you then.”

Olivia froze. Goddamnit. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. There was no getting out of this now. She stepped out from behind the dressing room curtain.

“Paige. What a pleasant surprise.”

[twofacedbelief]

Blessed Warmth DLAMP Soulmate AU [part 2]

read on AO3

idea comes from @ravenwashere1776

Patton has always loved the four dark marks on his body, and he can’t wait for when they’ll blossom into colour as his soulmates touch him for the first time. Those four dark marks are not the only signs of his soulmates on his body, but the others are related to how they will find their soulmates. There are so many different soulmate connections, and Patton loves them all. He loves the name written out neatly on his wrist (Logan), the purple drawings and notes that sometimes covers his arm, the mark on his shoulder that will match one of them, and even the sentence that sometimes worries him; “If you don’t let go right now, I will scream.”

Roman is frustrated by how little he has to go on when it comes to finding his soulmates. Except for four different symbols, he only has a name, a sentence, and the occasional purple ink from someone who hasn’t even attempted to arrange a meeting. He wonders if the fourth one even knows that they see whatever they write. It would have been very helpful if he was able to write back, but no luck. Or he was repeatedly ignored. At least the sentence is unique; it’s definitely not every day that you hear “Eat the rich.”

Virgil is not actually sure how many soulmates he has, but it’s at least three. He doesn’t like not knowing, and he isn’t even sure what his own soulmate connection is. Whatever it is, it must be onesided, and that’s just awful. He has no idea if they hear the songs that get stuck in his head, feel when he gets hurt, can taste what he eats, or if what he doodles on his arm shows up on them. He’s honestly thankful that one of them has the sentence connection; he’s not going to be able to mistake his soulmate for the wrong person when the words are “Eat the rich.”

Logan greatly appreciates the simplicity of his soulmate connection. He has four names written out in four different handwritings; Patton, Roman, Virgil, Dee. If he ever meets someone with one of those names, it’ll be easy to inquire if they’re his soulmate.  Even in the case that it might simply be a strange coincidence, he has three ways to prove that it isn’t; the one symbol, the purple ink, and the rather rude sentence - “I’m twenty-five, bitch.”

///

Dee hasn’t thought much about soulmates since he was in high school, and he’s definitely not going to start doing it again today. It’s winter in New York, which means snows, and his heater thought it would be a brilliant idea to break during the night. Waking up in an ice-cold apartment has put him in a very bad mood, as did having to get five sweaters over his head just to get some resemblance of warmth back into his limbs. He has never been more thankful that his dad took up the knitted sweater for Christmas thing after having read the Harry Potter series.

It’s with great reluctance that he puts on his winter boots and zips up his warmest jacket. He adds a soft scarf to the ensemble too, just to be safe. He has no idea when during the night that his heater broke, but there is a very big risk that he’s been in the cold long enough to be sick. On the slim chance that he hasn’t, he’s definitely not going to risk it by going outside. He curses himself for not already owning an electric heating blanket. A space heater would probably be the better option, but it would also be more expensive and likely harder to find.

He really needs to look into getting a better job, especially since the one he has so far has denied all his transfer-requests. What’s the point of a Los Angeles office if they have him stuck at the New York one? They don’t even pay that well! Or maybe he needs to get better at budgeting. No, it’s definitely the pay that is the problem.

Dee grumbles into his scarf the whole way to the store. He sneezes from the temperature change once he enters, and starts regretting the number of layers he’s wearing. The store actually has heat, making him go from being frozen to feeling like he’s in a sauna. He’ll just have to be quick. With renewed determination, he heads towards the part of the store most likely to have the electric blanket that he so desperately needs. He rounds the corner into the right aisle just in time to see that there is only one blanket left on the shelf, and some other person is about to take it.

Normally, Dee likes to consider himself quite witty and otherwise pretty good with words. This time, he has no care for what impression he might make. He needs that blanket - he refuses to walk to another store today.

“If you don’t let go right now, I will scream.” he threatens. He probably doesn’t look like much, being only 5ft and almost drowning in the layers he’s wearing, but he’s not going to let the blanket go without a fight.

“Oh thank god, I don’t need to call the cops!” the stranger replies, relief obvious in their tone. It’s not the answer that Dee had expected, but the words are strangely familiar to him.

Ah. Soulmate. That makes sense. It also doesn’t make his day better in any way, because he still needs that blanket.

“I’m still going to scream if you don’t give me that blanket.”

“I’ll buy it for you,” the stranger offers. “My name is Patton.”

“Dee. I can pay for my own blanket.”

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Dee. I live with the rest of our soulmates if you would like to meet them.”

Patton both sounds and looks nice, and during any other circumstances, Dee would probably enjoy teasing him. This isn’t any other circumstance though, and Dee is barely aware of the conversation. His eyes are locked on the blanket that Patton is still holding. He thinks they might be moving in the direction of the check-out, but he’s honestly not sure.

“You could come over now,” Patton continues. “Everyone is at home. Or we could exchange numbers! I just can’t believe that we finally found you.”

///

Dee thinks that he must have agreed to come with Patton, as next thing he knows, they’re standing in the elevator of a much nicer apartment building than the one he lives in. He’s cradling a bag protectively, so he can only assume that Patton did buy him the blanket. He hopes he remembered to say thanks, as it would be far too awkward to suddenly show gratitude now.

The elevator stops. Patton leads him out of it, and towards a door at the end of the hallway. The door is open, and he remembers Patton saying that the other soulmates would be there. It’s very strange to go out for a blanket and end up meeting not one, but all four of his soulmates, Dee thinks.

He awkwardly enters after Patton; the apartment is quite big, and it definitely has a functioning heater. If possible, he would love to just take a nap before having to go through the whole we’re soulmates but we four already have a relationship and you’re an outlier thing. It’s pretty negative of him to think that way, but it’s hard not to, what with the four actually living together. Either they’ve known each other for years, or their pre-existing dynamic is amazing. Dee doesn’t want to get in their way.

“You need to stop taking in children.” a new voice says, and Dee looks up to see a man dressed in a black button-up with a dark blue tie, and jeans. His hair is slicked back, and Dee thinks he can see one real tattoo peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves. The row of names on his wrist immediately tells him that this must be Logan.

“I’m twenty-five, bitch.” Dee says. It’s not the most polite way to introduce himself to a soulmate, but he doesn’t appreciate being called a child just because he’s short in comparison. He’s also definitely starting to suspect that he has a fever. It would be a really good idea to take off his jacket.

“My name is Logan, not bitch.” Logan answers in a deadpan tone that makes Dee giggle into his scarf. He’s strangely proud over the fact that he’s the reason that Logan has bitch written somewhere on his skin.

Patton is unwinding Dee’s scarf for him, having already taken off his own outerwear. Dee would feel embarrassed, but he thinks he has a right to be overwhelmed by everything that is happening. Especially when a new person peeks out from the kitchen. Their skin is a lovely shade of light brown, their hair is a styled mess of reddish curls, and Dee thinks he spots a golden septum piercing.

“Do I need to defend your honour?” the person jokes, their voice warm like honey. They step further into the hallway, and Dee gets a proper look at the sweater that they’re wearing. It’s a nice shade of red, with a golden crown on it. A golden crown that sparkles. Princey is stitched in cursive writing underneath the crown. Maybe a nickname. It would be stupid if the person was a real prince. The states might not have a royal family, but other countries do, and they get money for what - doing nothing? Being born royal? It’s absolute bullshit, in Dee’s opinion. There are much better things the money could go towards, like the homeless.

“Eat the rich.” is what Dee states, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. He looks down as he registers what he said. Huh, Patton had taken the bag from him. He’s not even wearing his jacket any longer. When did that happen? Maybe he should take off his shoes.

“Ooh, I like him!” a fourth voice calls. Dee looks up, but he doesn’t really see anything but a blur of black and purple.

Even without his scarf and jacket, he’s still feeling far too warm. He’s not sure if it’s the layers of sweaters or the fever he most definitely has. His eyelids feel heavy; a nap has never seemed like such a good idea before. This is really not how he wanted his first meeting with his soulmates to go, but it’s too late to do anything about that.

“I just wanted a goddamn heated blanket.” Dee sighs. His eyes close and he feels his body start to fall, too exhausted to stand up any longer.

[thetriggeredhappy]

Hi! Love ur work! Scout is scared n feel overwhelmed of his feelings for both Demo and Snipes. Scout likes to talk about himself, sure, but not about his feelings, he doesn't know how to, he thinks that if he tried to show or express his feelings he'd be a mess at explaining it and hed be made fun of. And he knew no one would put up with his shit, right? No one liked him, the team didn't like him, Demo and Sniper didn't like him..., *right*? But, what if scout couldn't hold it in no more? -🐑

tentative name for this ship since i haven’t been able to find one anywhere--either Caffeine Shot or Caffeinated Cocktail

(warnings for mention of alcohol and brief mention of homophobia)

-

Okay, so—okay. So it wasn’t exactly one of those problems that he could call home about where he could be like “hey Ma, how did you always get the grass stains out of my baseball pants?” and she would go “cold water regular wash then rubbing alcohol and a rinse or just wash and bleach if it’s white, dummy” and that would be that. And it wasn’t exactly one of those problems that he could call home about where he could go “hey Ma, I’m kinda worried about life stuff and kinda wanna talk it out but it’s embarrassing so I wanted to talk to you specifically” then followed by like an hour long conversation laden with both of them rambling and getting sidetracked.

And it wasn’t exactly one of those problems where he would go to Medic like “hey Doc how come since I started working here I feel jumpy and exhausted all the time” and Medic would prescribe better diet and exercise and an actual sleep routine alongside having more prep time before and after battle to warm up into it and back down afterwards. And it wasn’t exactly one of those problems where he’d be playing poker with the guys and go “hey so I tried to go on a date again and it went bad again because she got annoyed with me and left after like half an hour” and they’d give him wildly different advice and play out wildly ridiculous scenarios just riffing off of each other and joking around and he didn’t really know what to do any differently but at least he felt better.

He was actually pretty sure he couldn’t talk to anyone about this, and he was actually pretty sure that he was going to drop dead as a result.

Because yeah, there was the spare guy from math class in high school or upperclassman on the track team who Scout would look up and down and kind of a little bit sort of wanna make out with, but that was like, one guy, and only for maybe an hour at a time, and he didn’t have to talk to them if he didn’t want. So he could go ahead and take that secret little tickle at the inside of his ribcage and shove it deep deep down and desperately try not to think about it or talk about it to literally anyone.

And it worked great! It was a great system! Because he didn’t not like girls, girls were great, he’d totally go out with girls and be more than satisfied, so nobody needed to know that somewhere in the very back of his mind, guys were also kind of a little bit on the table. Like, when in the movie where the guy spins the bottle and it lands on another guy and they both flinch and spit in disgust, Scout would always go “I mean, I would do it” in his head. Like, he would say yes if someone asked and he knew they could keep it quiet. Like, he was always a little bit jealous of the people back home who were out and proud and could kick around the South End holding hands with dudes and seeming not particularly scared about it.

But this wasn’t some guy in math class or on his track team. This was a crush on someone he shared a base and fought a war with. Worse, two someones. Worse, two hot someones.

Worse, his best friends.

That was the part he felt the worst about, when it came to his crush on Demo and Sniper. He felt so guilty, all the time. Out getting drinks on the weekend and trying not to stare too hard when they laughed at his jokes, so different and so distinct and so nice. Trying not to blush when they assured him that they didn’t think he was annoying when apparently everyone else on the planet who he’d ever tried to date had disagreed. Curling his hands into fists instead of reaching over to lace his fingers together with one of them. Both of them. Biting and chewing his lip to absolute goddamn shreds like he used to do in middle school to keep from saying anything embarrassing and getting caught. They trusted him on some level, and there he was, glancing at them and looking at them and feeling like his heart was going to swell up and spill out of his mouth any second and they had no idea.

It would help if he knew how to talk about any of this. He didn’t know how to have tact, or how to talk about things like an adult. He generally did one night stands at most, partially because most people couldn’t stand him for much longer than that. He was frustrating to be around, contrary, always mouthing off, loved to argue too much, liked playing dumb games. And he tried to be up front about that with people, but either they’d check out of that conversation around then and leave him be, or they wouldn’t believe him and they’d ditch him somewhere down the line.

He wasn’t in a lot of relationships.

Maybe that was part of the problem, is he didn’t ever wanna dive too deep with people, was always just joking around or making light of stuff and not taking it seriously because he had to expect whoever he tried to date to leave him in the dust the second he got to be too much. So that meant he never really... learned how. How to talk about things seriously, how to have those conversations. Even his usual pick-up line, the walking right up to someone and asking if they wanted to have sex with him, that felt so non-serious, so much like a joke, even if it was a really great way of establishing “hey I’m not necessarily looking for a long-term relationship right now with you but this is what I want and I’m gonna be entirely up front and you can shoot me down right here right now and you won’t look crazy or weird at all”.

After however long of being friends with all the guys, but in particular Demo and Sniper, it felt almost disrespectful to reduce things to a joke. But he didn’t know if he had it in him to set up what he wanted to say and be super honest with them and get all vulnerable, not when he was so sure that he would probably be shot down.

Like, just because they hung out with Scout voluntarily from time to time, that didn’t mean they would want to date him. Who knew if they even liked guys? Probably not. Who knew if they even actually liked him, personally? Also doubtful, as far as Scout was concerned. That would make them two of very, very few people who would even just put up with him when they weren’t required to.

It was... frustrating.

He just... he knew that if he told either of them, they would be understanding, probably. Sniper didn’t have it in him to be outright rude to anyone he considered his friend, and Demo always seemed to know what Scout meant when he rambled about anything. They wouldn’t be mad.

Still, his brain continued to hit him with useless “what if”s on what all could go wrong for him, and they held him back from doing or saying anything at all.

Months of that. Entire months. And ultimately, he was too much of a coward to crack open that particular can of worms. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

It was a work night, so Sniper insisted they don’t get properly blasted when they went out drinking, but they did have a nice solid buzz and a nice healthy appetite, so they’d dragged their asses to a truck stop diner (the nearest place open so late that wouldn’t give them weird looks), and they’d squeezed into a booth a little away from the bulk of things to keep from having to watch their words in case the topics switched over to talking about work.

And it was like it always was—easygoing, friendly. Steady rhythm, steady laughter. Scout got teased on the regular for his face going red whenever he slipped up or forgot a word when speaking and Sniper had to fill in the blanks, and Demo got flicked with the fry bits left on Scout’s plate whenever he had a particularly good zinger, and Sniper got put on blast for his unique vocabulary that he claimed just “wasn’t an American thing”.

And Scout sat there, across the booth from the two of them, pulse quickening, hands kind of sweaty, wishing he wasn’t such a coward.

“Know what’s got me thinking?” Demo asked, nicking some food from Sniper’s plate and ignoring his grumble of protest.

“What?” Scout prompted.

“How you,” he said, pointing at Scout with a fry for emphasis, “haven’t gone on a date in ages. Used to be that you couldn’t hardly do diner runs because you had a date to catch, these days you’re the one suggesting them.”

“Yeah, well...” Scout shrugged, trailed, the cogs in his heads throwing up smoke as he desperately tried to think of an excuse.

“Bloody got his heart taken, doesn’t he?” Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, nah, he’s given up on Pauling,” Demo corrected before Scout could pick that idea up and run with it. “Told us months ago.”

Sniper turned that raised eyebrow to Scout, who shriveled a little bit. “Well. Didn’t know about that. But that’s not exactly who I was talking about.”

His heart dropped to his toes. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Well, there was that month or so after you started slobbering over Pauling where you were like this, and weren’t dating, and were acting like a right mess,” Sniper shrugged, and god damn it, why did he have to be so observant. “And then there was a gap of time, and now you’re back at it, but apparently not for her.”

Demo was also looking at Scout, and he sunk in his chair, face on fire. “Well. Not like it’s a total mystery,” he admitted. “Been a bit obvious about it.”

“You figured it out too?” Sniper asked, blinking, as Scout tried to figure out whether he could make a break for it. “Thought you didn’t know.”

“How could I not know?” Demo scoffed. “Blushing like a damn schoolgirl, laughing at every joke—“

“Forgetting words, making excuses to go drinking—“ Sniper agreed.

“Getting flustered over compliments—“

“Paying for meals—“

“I, okay,” Scout scoffed, maybe the worst bluff of his life. “Who exactly do you two dummies think I’ve got a crush on, then?”

“Him,” they both said, jerking a thumb towards each other, then they were both blinking, heads spinning around.

“Why would he have a crush on me?” Sniper asked.

“What makes you say that?” Demo asked at the same time.

Scout was barely visibly over the edge of the table, hiding his face in his hands.

“You’re the one he’s always running a mile out from base for to knock your damn door down to get you to go to breakfast,” Demo pointed out.

“You’re the one he’s always pestering with the scheme of the week and bugging to set off some fireworks with after hours,” Sniper pointed out.

“Yeah,” Scout agreed, voice a squeak, knowing he was caught.

“Well, which one of us is it, lad?” Demo prompted.

“Yeah,” Scout agreed, mortified.

Silence, for almost twenty seconds. “Oh,” Sniper finally said quietly.

“You’ve... got a thing for both of us?” Demo asked hesitantly.

Scout nodded.

Another silence. When Scout briefly peeked through his fingers, Demo and Sniper seemed to be having a non-verbal discussion that appeared to morph into an argument of some kind, both gesturing and mouthing words at each other in turn, occasionally jerking their heads towards Scout meaningfully.

“I’m sorry,” Scout mumbled.

“Don’t be, lad, nothing wrong with that!” Demo was quick to assure, and reached over across the table. Scout met him halfway, and Demo squeezed his hand tightly. “Look, we—we can figure something out! Right, Mund?”

“Right,” Sniper was quick to agree, also reaching across the table, following Demo’s lead. “It’s—it’s bloody 1971, mate, right? Modern era and all, we—we’ll figure it out.”

“What, like... like, all three of us?” Scout asked, blinking.

“Sure! Why not?” Demo shrugged, and he had a great point. Why not?

Scout was quiet for a few seconds, processing. “...Feel like we’re skipping over the part where—you’re—you guys like me?” he asked, surprised.

“Bloody showing up to a diner at two in the buggering morning just to spend time with you, aren’t we?” Sniper pointed out, grinning a little.

“...Shit, you totally are.”

“So? That sound alright with you?” Demo asked, raising his eyebrow.

“...Yeah. Yeah, it does. Fuck yeah! Yeah,” Scout agreed quickly, waiting for the catch. The addendum.

Apparently the addendum was that then when they went back to base they hung out in Demo’s room and made out a little bit, and y’know what? Pretty good addendum.

[deathlikesdeep-dish]

The Razr (Zoro AU Scenario)

Hi guys!

I’m so flattered that I’ve had some people join me here on this fun writing journey!! I truly truly do a little happy dance every time I get a follow. :D 

I keep meaning to just sit down and write a quick lil somethin somethin, but it always ends up longer than I intend 😅

This is a headcanon I came up with about Zoro having a crazy outdated flip phone that he refused to get rid of and his friends finally forced him to get a smartphone so he could use GPS. 

It turned out a little more serious and emotional than I originally intended, but I’m pretty pleased with it!! Would love to get y’alls feedback. 

xx

Warnings: obscene amounts of fluff, language 

Word Count: 1862

“Zoro, where the fuck are you??” Nami yelled on the other end of the phone. He could hear the irritation in her voice.

He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. “I really don’t know, Nami. I think I made a wrong turn,” He paused and sighed. “Or two? Shit, I don’t know.”

Zoro could hear Nami yelling on the other end of the line, and he placed his phone in the cup holder, knowing that this might be a while. He hit his head a few times on the steering wheel of his car, closing his eyes as he waited for her to finish screeching. He was used to this. He knew that he wasn’t the most directionally adept member of his friend group, but he got by….when others were around.

What made matters worse is that Zoro absolutely refused to get rid of his ancient, bulky flip phone, a fact that Nami never failed to bring up in situations just like this. He didn’t see a point in getting a new phone when his old one worked just fine. He thought back to a conversation he’d had about it just the other day with his friends.

-

“Bro, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Their newest friend Franky said upon seeing Zoro pull his phone out of his pocket. “A fucking Motorola Razr? That thing has gotta be 10 years old!”

“It’s actually 12 years old,” Luffy chimed in with a laugh. “It was Kuina’s before it was Zoro’s.”

“Kuina? Who’s Kuina?” Franky asked. Zoro tensed up at the mention of her name, and the room went silent. Even Luffy noticed that he’d made a mistake in bringing her up. Zoro squeezed the phone tightly in his pocket.

Kuina was Zoro’s older sister. Five years his senior, Kuina had used the phone as her own for several years before she upgraded and passed it to Zoro. At first, he resented that she always got the newest stuff, and that he got the hand-me-downs. Now, he wouldn’t dream of letting it go. Kuina had died in a tragic accident just a couple years back. She was only 25. This phone was one of the only things that she had ever given him that was hers, along with the family katana that had been passed down for generations.

“Sorry, Zoro,” Luffy murmured, stuffing a bite of food into his mouth uncomfortably. Zoro simply grumbled in response with a shrug.

“Still,” Nami ventured tentatively. “Maybe it would be helpful for you to get a smartphone sometime soon. They all come with GPS systems built in.”

“And what’s wrong with a map?” Zoro snapped back.

“Well, nothing…” Nami said.

“Unless you can’t actually read it!” Luffy shouted out, not able to help himself. He cackled. Zoro shot him a glare, and he laughed even more. He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Yeah, well whatever. Next time I get lost, I’ll get a fucking smartphone. Deal?” Zoro said, to get them off his back more than anything.

Nami’s eyes lit up conspiratorially. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you mean it, Zoro.”

Zoro waved her off. They all knew that he certainly wasn’t going to purchase his own phone, so it was a moot point. It worked perfectly fine. Plus, it was hers. He’d keep it as long as it worked.

-

He was pulled from his reverie by Nami yelling his name.

“ZORO,” She yelled. He picked his phone back up and placed it at his ear.

“Goddamn it, Nami. I fucking know I suck at directions, please stop bitching at me,” He growled.

She started to say something, but stopped herself with a sigh. “Ugh. You exhaust me.” She replied.

“What else is new?” He snapped back.

“Whatever, Zoro. I just can’t believe you got lost on the way to your own birthday party.”

“Like I even care about this shit anyway,” He said. “It’s you and Luffy that always insist on throwing a party in the first place.”

“Hey man, don’t pretend like you don’t like eating food and getting shit-faced.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He knew he didn’t have an argument there.

“Can you see a street sign anywhere?” Nami finally asked after a few moments when there was no reply.

Zoro looked up towards the streetlight and squinted at a sign in the distance. “Yeah, it looks like I’m at the corner of Alabasta and Logue Town drive.”

“Thank Christ,” Nami sighed. “You’re not that far. I’ll send Franky and Sanji to go get you.”

Zoro groaned. “Why does Sanji have to come? Doesn’t he have a fucking cake to bake or something?”

“They need to go out and get a few things from the store,” Nami said. “Listen, you’re the one that’s lost. Suck it up.”

“Ugh. Fine. See you soon.” He hung up, not wanting to hear anything else.

It took Franky and Sanji about 10 minutes to get to him.Thankfully, they just decided to have Zoro follow behind them in his car rather than ride together. Zoro wasn’t sure he could stop himself from punching that jackass directly in the face if he said anything to him.

They finally got back to Robin’s house where they were having the party. Robin was for sure the most adult out of any of them. She’d already bought this crazy historic home and had a job at an archeology firm while everybody else was living in shitty, thrown-together apartment complexes, eating pizza rolls and beer for every meal.

Sanji had looked like he was going to start some shit when they got out of the car, but decided against it when Zoro gave him a look. Plus, Sanji thought, it’s the guy’s birthday. Probably should lay off for one night.

Everyone was pleased to see him, and only gave him a moderately hard time about getting lost on the way to his own party. And despite himself, Zoro gave in to the jovial atmosphere. A few beers certainly helped. By the time he and Luffy had teamed up to play beer pong against Law and Usopp (“Sniper-king, my ass,” Zoro had thought to himself on Usopp’s third consecutive loss), Zoro was feeling pretty damn good. These were his people. They’d been the ones that were there for him. Even when new friends were added to the group, they’d always fit in. Luffy was the usual recruiter, and he somehow managed to find some cool-ass people.

The best time to give Zoro any gifts, Nami had discovered, was when he was sufficiently plastered enough to not object to them. Zoro was always more affectionate and willing to be the recipient of attention when he was drunk.

“Alright!” Nami announced over the blare of the music. “It’s present time, you degenerates! Sit your asses down!”

Franky turned the music down from his smartwatch, lowering it to a dull roar. Zoro was feeling warm and smiley, so he didn’t object when Robin lead him to the couch in the middle of the living room to receive his gift.

“What did y’all fuckers get me this time?” Zoro laughed, slurring a bit as he talked.

Nami rolled her eyes and Luffy just bounced excitedly from the armchair across the room. No matter how much he had to drink, it would seem, Luffy was always one big ball of energy.

“Remember,” Nami said, handing him a small, delicately wrapped box. “You promised.”

Zoro furrowed his brow, confusedly. “I promised?” He started to open the box, a bit nervous all of a sudden about what he would find under the shiny paper.

When he finally finished unwrapping the box, he froze. In his hand, he found a brand new iPhone. He looked up at his friends, knowing how much something like this cost.

“Guys, this is ridiculous,” He said, not knowing exactly how he felt.

“Stop,” Nami said, holding a hand up.

“Yeah, we all pitched in! Even Sanji!” Luffy grinned from his chair. “So no take backsies!”

He looked up at the room full of expectant faces, flushed from the alcohol and the good company. There was a pit in his stomach. On the one hand, he was angry. They knew how he felt about his phone. They knew what it meant to him. It wasn’t just a stupid phone. On the other hand, he was touched. Touched that his friends had come together to help him out. He found himself putting his hand in his pocket, thumbing over the ancient flip-phone that had once been hers.

“Guys, my phone works perfectly well,” He managed after swallowing. “This is completely unnecessary.”

“C’mon man,” Usopp clapped his hand on his shoulder. “You know it isn’t unnecessary. Do you need a reminder that you got lost on the way to your own party tonight?” He laughed.

Zoro remained silent, one hand gripping the new phone, and the other deep in the pocket of his pants.

“So, of course, we figured that you’d feel this way,” Robin chimed in. “So, that’s only one part of the gift.”

Zoro snapped his head towards Robin, the crease in his brow deepening. She pulled out another box from behind her back and handed it to him. This one was slightly larger, and a bit heavier. He peeled back the wrapping paper.

“It’s a shadow box,” Franky said. “So you can still keep your old phone, too.”

“Just on display on the shelf,” Nami said. “Instead of in your pocket.”

“We know how much it means to you, mosshead,” Sanji grumbled from the doorway. “You don’t have to get rid of the old phone. So, just accept the gift already.”

Zoro felt himself get teary-eyed. He told himself it was the alcohol as he wiped his hand over his eyes before tears could fall down his cheeks. “Thanks guys,” Was all he could manage.

Knowing that he needed the attention off of him, his friends just laughed and cheered, turning the music up to get back to the party. Franky spent the rest of the evening helping set up Zoro’s phone and showing him all of the functions that he would have access to. Zoro was still so overwhelmed, but he tried to make himself pay attention. Finally, and most importantly, Franky downloaded Google Maps and showed him how to use it. Zoro pocketed the phone with a slight smile and a ‘thank you.’ It felt heavy and big in the back pocket of his jeans. His heart felt heavy too. He couldn’t help but feel like this was the end of something. But somewhere, he knew that Kuina would be looking down on him, so happy that he had found such thoughtful friends.

Luffy raised his glass for a toast. “To Zoro! And never getting lost again!”

The rest of them raised their glasses, looking over to Zoro expectantly as they waited for him to raise his glass too. He reached for his beer and raised it slightly with a smirk.

“You motherfuckers are gonna regret this,” He grinned finally. “Getting lost was my only character defect. Now I’ll be unstoppable.”

[oforamuse]

say it (spit it out)

‘you guys shouldn’t have worked out- nothing about the two of you make any fuckin’ sense and yet...it always comes back to you two.’

or, the one where mickey finally calls mandy and tells her about the wedding.

set somewhere between 10x11 and 10x12

read and comment on ao3

Mickey sighs and stares at the scribbled numbers on the crumpled receipt in his hand. It's been sitting in the back of his wallet, untouched, for months.

His breath hitches, and he figures it’s finally time.

He dials the number hesitantly, his fingers trembling slightly with every touch to the screen. He didn’t think he’d find this so scary, which considering the amount of times he’s been at the receiving end of a gun, is bizarre to think about.

He gulps. He brings the phone up against his ear and leans back against the Gallagher’s kitchen counter. It’s a blissfully peaceful morning in the usually busy and somewhat manic Gallagher house, everyone else seems to be out - not that he’s keeping track of people’s schedules, he just lucked out. Ian’s at a meeting with his P.O, it was almost impossible to get him out of the house this morning - neither man wanting to move from their cuddled position in the middle of the bed. It had taken his alarm going off six times before Mickey had practically pushed him off the mattress and onto the floor, claiming he would pre-emptively divorce him if he doesn’t shut that fuckin’ thing up, already (there was a promise of a blowjob later, though.).

The call clicks through. There’s a rustle of noise and Mickey’s breath catches in his throat.

‘Mandy.’ Mickey says, it comes out gruff and low. They haven’t spoken to each other in years - he hasn’t even seen her since one of the first months the first time he was locked up. She didn’t try and reach him in Mexico, heck, he doesn’t even know which state she’s in. It’s been years since Ian saw her too, he claims. There’s a gulp on the other end.

‘You’re out.’ She states simply, skipping pointedly over the sentimentalities of two siblings that haven’t spoken nor seen each other in years. He could’ve probably expected it years ago, back when they were kids, but over the years they fell apart, no longer giving each other the support they probably should’ve. Her voice is held and tight, there’s an edge to it he can’t quite place, it’s unnerving.

He wonders what she looks like now, somewhat wracking his brain trying to place how much he remembers when he last saw her. He looks down at his left hand gripping the side of the sink, his engagement ring glinting in the light. It’s a stark contrast between the angry dark ink on his knuckles, the constant reminder of his roots and where he was grown from. The dark and hollow family tree he’ll never fully be able to escape from, no matter how much he’s tried. No matter how much either of them have tried. Being a Milkovich will always be there, following him closely behind like a shadow he can’t quite shake.

The silver band on his finger suddenly feels very heavy. The type of heavy that sits in your stomach warmly, grounding you to the floor. Mickey’s ridiculously fucking happy.

I’ll marry you, course I’ll fucking marry you.

Is she happy?

���Yeah.’ He breathes into the receiver, it’s shaky and caught. ‘Got out, uh, month or so ago. Overcrowding or some shit.’ It’s a lie, but he doesn’t know how much Mandy knows about Mexico or rolling on the cartel. Heck, he doesn’t even know if she knows Ian got locked up too. The thought makes something in him shift, it’s uncomfortable and overwhelming, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

‘Congrats.’ She says, ‘I guess.’

It hangs awkwardly in the tinny silence between them. Mickey suddenly feels his cheeks flush and feels horribly, horribly vulnerable. He doesn’t even know why he fucking bothered to call, it was a dumb idea-

‘Last I heard you were in Mexico.’ She continues, and there’s a car honking loudly out in the background. It sounds like she might be on a balcony, perhaps in the middle of the city somewhere. Maybe, thousands of miles away. ‘How’d you swing that?’

Mickey lets out the breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding and it flows out broken through his teeth, his lungs deflating. ‘You know about Mexico?’

‘Dad.’ She replies, and it’s dull and heavy. This takes him sharply by surprise like a stab to the gut, they both fucking hate their father.

‘Didn’t realise you guys were still talkin’.’ He swallows, trying to conceal the heavy lump forming  in his throat. He always figured Mandy was like him, ready to cut off contact with their family as soon as she had the means to. It’s a shock to find out different.

‘We’re not.’ She replies firmly, and Mickey gets the clear message that she’s not going to give him any more details to play with. She exhales on the other end and Mickey pictures her blowing out smoke into the crisp air, watching it ascend up towards the sky as she so often did.

Fuck, he could use a cigarette.

‘Why’d you call?’

‘Can’t a guy call his sister? What’s with the 20 fuckin’ questions.’ Mickey gruffs, but he knows it’s not a ridiculous question. They don’t do this. They don’t keep up with each other’s lives. It makes something in Mickey’s chest ache dully, but he knows they could’ve probably gone the rest of their lives without exchanging another word. ‘You gave me your fuckin’ number.’

‘Yeah, and you’ve never fuckin’ used it.’ She snaps back, it’s exasperated and weighty. He can see her frustrated, twisted face, her hands clenched at her sides. It’s a sight he's seen so many times before.

‘Excuse me for being locked up and on the goddamn run.’ He bites back, ‘Not much time to chit chat between prison sentences and pushin’ coke for Mexicans...’ His fleeting anger trails off, and they breath slowly together, knowing they’ve both played an equally big part in neglecting the other.

Mandy lets out a thin, exhausted laugh, it comes through tinny and static. ‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’

He rolls his eyes, ‘I’m calling now, okay?’ Mickey sighs, his hand adjusting it’s tight grip on the phone. He feels like he might accidentally snap it in two. 'Not sure why it was left to me, but whatever.'

He feels like he might accidentally snap in two. He swallows.

Might as well get it over with.  

‘Ian and I-’ He starts, his left hand gripping the side even tighter, knuckles whitening against the silver band.

‘God, you really couldn’t keep away could you?’ Mandy interrupts, it’s airy and light yet coloured with something heavier. Something low and fiery sparks in his stomach. He knows Mandy’s never been entirely supportive of his relationship with Ian - not because she disapproves or anything, but because she knows how badly he fucked him up when they were kids, it’s hard to come back from that. He’ll always be her piece of shit brother that knocked up a whore, got married, and fucked around her best friend. He doesn’t even think she has a clue about what happened with Svetlana, not that she should, not that he'd ever tell her. He doubts that Ian’s ever crossed that line either.

‘Shut the fuck up-’ He bites back, teeth gritted, despite knowing it’s 100% true - he couldn’t keep away even if he tried. He doesn’t even know who he’s kidding, he got his ass thrown back into the joint purely so he could be with Ian. He never wants to stay away.

‘You whipped bastard.’ She says, and Mickey could put money on her smiling right now, a big toothy grin that she only wheels out for special occasions, he hears it in her voice. The pent up tension deflates ever so slightly, bringing him back down to earth.

‘Whatever.’ He grunts casually, though his cheeks flush with red hot embarrassment and he sends a quiet thanks out into the universe that there’s no one else here to witness this.

‘So...’ Mandy starts, her voice hanging expectedly. ‘You and Ian are what?’

He can’t help the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile, because of course he can’t stop himself from smiling when he thinks of Ian, he feels like a fucking teenage girl.  

‘We’re getting hitched.’ He says, his shoulders falling down in relief. He’ll never get tired of it.

Mandy makes a strangled noise from the other end. ‘No fuckin’ way, you’ve finally put your big boy pants on, huh?’ She quips humorously, but it stings, ever so slightly. ‘That divorce from your first wife finally roll through?’

He knows it’s supposed to be a joke, one of Mandy’s often ill thought out comments, but he can’t help the way his hand trembles.

‘Fuck off.’ He snaps because he’s not thinking about that period of his life today, no thank you, that is not the conversation they’re about to have. He hasn’t thought about Svetlana or the baby or the weird home that he and Ian crafted together for those few months, all those years ago. It hurts too much to think about, to think about how quickly it all came crashing down around him, burning and crumbling to the ground. Ian’s mania, getting locked up, that horrible, horrible day out in the front yard.

He used to think a lot about it when he was in Mexico, he’d see a young couple and it would hit him like a baseball bat to the skull that he would never get to have that again.

Maybe, just maybe, he gets to have Ian back for good now. Maybe the universe is done ripping the only good and solid thing in Mickey’s life away from him.

‘You gonna come?’ He grunts, shifting the subject away from the painful ache in his chest. It doesn’t work.

‘It gonna be in Chicago?’ Mandy sighs, and Mickey already knows the answer.

‘Yeah.’

‘Nah.’ Mandy breathes, ‘There’s nothing left for me there.’

It should hurt more, Mickey realises solemnly, but it doesn’t.

He understands, he gets it.

Lots of shit went down for Mandy in Chicago, lots of shit went down for him. He knows what it’s like to walk around with a name like Milkovich on your back, like a target, like a shadow. He doesn’t blame her for needing the space, the distance, a different air to breathe. He’d want the change too if his heart wasn’t so intrinsically rooted here, if he hadn’t spent years fighting just to get back to this point - the safety of Ian’s love and the solid walls of the Gallagher kitchen. He’d never thought he’d think of this house as some sort of paradise, but after years of struggling against the tide, it’s nice to be able to breathe again.

‘I’m real happy for you, Mick.’ Mandy says and Mickey can hear her swallow deeply though the receiver. ‘And Ian- fuck, I can’t believe you guys.’

‘What?’

‘You guys shouldn’t have worked out- nothing about the two of you make any fuckin’ sense and yet...it always comes back to you two.’ She says brokenly, her breath held and tight. She lets out a hollow, sad laugh. ‘Never actually thought you two were the real deal.’

Mickey doesn’t know what to say. He breathes, waiting.

‘Always figured Ian could’ve done better, especially when you got locked up...thought you’d just been, you know, fucking him around.’ She continues and Mickey has to swallow down a sharp, automatic response as she rallies through. ‘Guess I was wrong though… that asshole always was a little self destructive.’

‘Guess we both are.’ Mickey quietly but firmly and there’s a pause before they both let out broken and hesitant laughs. The moment is melancholic and filled with the knowing that they all deserved more out of life. ‘Just thought you should know.’

‘Thanks.’ Mandy says, after a moment. ‘I’m happy for you guys.’

It hangs there sadly, both of them aware of the struggle it’s been.

Mickey hums, unable to find the words, his thumb stroking the wedding band softly.

‘I’ve gotta go.’ Mandy sighs, and he can hear her rustling down the other end. ‘Thanks for calling, Mick.’

‘Yeah.’ He breathes, unsure whether he wants the conversation to end here or not, but pushing down the need to say anything else.

‘Congrats.’ Mandy swallows, there’s a beat and the line clicks off. He closes his eyes, and breathes.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, phone still pressed up against his ear, but he breaks when he hears the door rattle open moving quickly to wipe at his eyes. He opens the fridges and grabs a distracting beer, it’s cool against his skin. Someone trudges up the front staircase, their footsteps following all the way to the upstairs landing. A door slams. Carl, maybe?

He opens the beer and chugs it down in one go.

It stings.

[poes-and-things]

Bugs on Skin

It wasn’t a good day.

I’d stubbed my toe twice working around the kitchen, and Leo’s constant shadow act was driving me up the wall.  The air was clammy, sticky, making my skin stick to my shirt but it was the middle of December.  My hair was tied up on my head, but the weight was creating a headache.  Down, it was overheating my neck and getting in my face.  I normally hated doing dishes, but this had turned into some means of torture.  I abandoned them after getting halfway through, knowing he would finish the rest.

I moved to the bedroom to hear my phone start vibrating on the bed.  A message from Makenzie.  A tone deaf message from Makenzie.  A reply to an annoyed message I’d sent her hours previous.  Her annoying response of “At least you have a boyfriend” made my blood boil as hot as the air in the room.  I tossed it aside and moved on.

I hadn’t felt this way in a while.  Things had been really good, amazing, since we’d moved in.  It had taken a while—he wasn’t very trusting by nature.  But things had started to change at work.  My parents were jumping down my throat.  We’d been in the apartment for six months now and I needed to get the hell out of there.  I needed to go for a run but that was something I had never gotten into.  My skin crawled like bugs were wandering the surface of it.  My breath was coming out in little gasps.

He slammed the door when he got home.  I heard his cry of apology right after it happened, the thud of boots on the floor, the crinkle of plastic as he wandered with groceries into the kitchen.  I could hear Leo’s nails hitting the tile floor, the clinking of his tags as he moved.  I could feel my blood boiling under my skin as I picked up discarded clothes off the floor and tossed them into the hamper.  I could feel the water push against the flood gates, ready to break through.

“Hey honey,” his voice said, dragging over my skin like nails on a chalkboard.  I think I visibly winced.

“Hey,” I ground out, dry like chalk, gravelly as if it had been caught in my throat.

“Did you have an okay day at home?  I’m sorry I had to leave…” his voice trailed off as I pushed past him to take our clothes to the washing machine, our hamper overfilled and needing to be taken care of.  Leo kept out of my way.  I’m sure he shared a look with Ian.

I started shoving clothes into the machine.  I could feel him hovering behind me and I just needed him to go, to clean the fucking dishes, to do SOMETHING that wasn’t watching me and making the number of bugs on my skin increase tenfold.

“Honey?” he asked, softly, barely a whisper.

I wasn’t like this when he left.

“What?” I spat.

“Nothing.”

The pressure left.  The sink turned on and my shoulders rolled involuntarily against the discomfort of the water on the metal sink, the clanking of the plates.  My breath escaped me in a huff.  I threw more clothes into the machine.  The hamper was full of white and light pastel colors.  I shoved around the cabinets, found detergent.  Slammed it into the machine.

The water turned off.  I took a deep breath.  I moved the dials, turned the machine on.  Ground my teeth at the sound of it working.  God I hated this.  I wasn’t a housewife.  This wasn’t my life.  This couldn’t be what I was destined for.

A hand touched my back and I shrugged out of it, turned and ran into a wall.

His smell overwhelmed me.  Soft and strong at once.  It reminded me of that morning, lying in bed, my head on his chest as he laughed at something dumb I said.  His hands had stroked my arms, fingers rested in my hair.  The thought of it made the bugs on my skin crawl faster.

“What is happening.  Talk to me,” he commanded, the gruffness of his voice punctuating the seriousness of his concern.  I wanted to scream at him.  I wanted to hit him.  I couldn’t even look at him.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.  What is happening.”

“NOTH. ING.”

My eyes looked up into his.  I could feel mine burning.  His were cool with concern and annoyance.  The blue was light, catching the awful fluorescents of the laundry room.  He hadn’t changed out of his uniform.

“Bullshit,” he said again.  A soft word.  Said with love.  I wanted to smack him.

“I need space.”

He shook his head.  “No.  Talk to me.”

I tried to turn away but his hands grabbed me to keep me there and I could breathe fire.  I wanted to scream from the roof.  I wanted to beat his chest.  I wanted to kick and to pull and to break something.  For the love of GOD I wanted to break something.  I cried instead.

Which made him panic.  I watched as his expression shifted from concerned annoyance to worried panic.  The tears rolled down my cheek silently.  I knew I looked ridiculous, my expression screwed up into one of anger with hot tears rolling down my face.  I looked insane.

He released me.

“Put shoes on,” he commanded.  “We’re getting out of here.  Go to the car.”

The last thing I wanted to do was listen to him, but he arched an eyebrow, daring me to resist.  I huffed instead, angrily wiped at my face, enraging the bugs, and brushed past him to grab a pair of tennis shoes.

He took care of Leo while I waited by the car.  My arms were folded over my chest, my leg kept moving to the rhythm of the feet on my skin.  Very fast.  Staccato.  A scream rested in my chest, waiting to be released.

Moments passed.  He had changed into a pair of jeans.  Motioned for me to get into the truck.  I did.  Sat close to the door.  He told me to choose the music.  I put on Five Finger Death Punch.  He said nothing.  I watched the landscape as we drove.  He said nothing about my attitude.  Nothing about work.  Nothing about my lack of coat in -10 weather.  My skin was crawling.  My eyes had already leaked tears of weakness.  I wanted to scream and he was sitting there silently.

He pulled into a parking spot outside of a building it took me a second to recognize.  He reached into the backseat of his truck, into the clutter I intentionally ignored, and pulled out a couple cases.  His guns.

“Get out,” he said.  I stayed put.  “Sophie, I swear to God get out of the goddamn truck.”

I looked back at him to see a carefully neutral face.  I wanted to hit him.  I opened the door and got out, my feet hidden in snow, my leggings immediately wet.  My arms, naked to the air, wrapped around me.  I moved forward, knowing the building would be warm.  Something hit my head and fell in the snow.  His sweatshirt.  I put it on.  Enveloped by him, by his smell, I took a deep breath I didn’t realize I was holding.  The hand around my heart that I didn’t realize was there loosened a bit.  Relaxed a touch.  I focused on the smell, not the feeling of the bugs as I followed him into the shooting range.

He set me up in the lane next to him.  Gave me his .9 mm.  The guy working the place had given me glasses and a set of headphones.  I hadn’t wanted to wear them but a look from Ian and they were donned.  He also gave me two boxes of bullets.  Told me he was in the lane to my right if I needed him.

The first time he took me to the range I was nervous and stumbled a lot.  Back then, it had been years since I’d fired a gun.  He had to remind me what to do.  I remember it being very hands on, very quiet, very calm.  I remember making out with him in his truck afterwards.  The food we got even later.  The sex we had in his kitchen, on the couch, against the wall.  I remember going to the range weeks later and being more sure of myself.  When I moved in we tried to go at least once a month, a means of release.

I loaded the chamber, aimed, and fired.  I fired until there was nothing left.  I reloaded, aimed, and fired until there was nothing left.  I let the heavy, cottony recoil of the gun wash over me, pull the bugs from my skin, cleanse my soul of the anger, of the frustration.  I took deep breaths to make precise shots.  I made my clusters close and neat and forgot about the grating noise of the water from the faucet hitting the metal sink.  I let the frustration roll off of me in waves.

When the boxes of bullets were empty, I paused for a moment, looked at the targets across the way.  I was breathing heavily, the gun heavy in my hand.

He was there, then.  His chest was against my back and I leaned against him, exhausted from it all.  I let him take the gun from my hands and put it on the counter.  I let him turn me around, press my face against his chest to smell him in.  I wrapped my arms around him, stabilizing myself, finding my center.  I took a deep breath and realized it was raspy and ragged, and that his shirt was wet.  We were rocking back and forth, one of his hands petting my head.  He leaned away for a moment, said something to the guy to the left of us and then pulled me along, into a hallway, down a hallway, into a quiet room.  The restroom.  The ladies restroom.  My crying was louder here, vibrating off the walls.  He pulled the headphones off and put them on the counter.  He did the same thing with the glasses.  His rested next to mine, I’m sure.

We slid down the wall.  I was sitting in his lap curled up against his chest, sobbing into his army issued t-shirt.  He hadn’t even changed his shirt.  He hadn’t even changed his shirt.

“What is it, honey?” he asked, his voice soft as a cloud.

I’d stopped crying.

“Everything was so loud,” I whispered, almost to add effect but really because I hated the sound of my own voice.  “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

His arms wrapped around me tighter.  I knew he needed more of an explanation.

“I couldn’t sort through the thoughts,” I continued.  “It gets like that sometimes.  Everyone wants something from me: my students, the administration, my parents, their parents, the dog.  It was just too much.”

“We can tell them no,” he said softly against my hair, through my curls.  “We can tell them we need space.”

“That will break my mom,” I told him honestly.

“But I don’t want you to break,” he said.

“I won’t,” I promised.

“But you did.”

I leaned back and looked up at his face.  His brows were pulled together, his blue eyes dark with worry and fear and sadness.  I wanted those eyes to clear up, to return to their light blue from the morning.  I wanted to bathe in those eyes, to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry.

“It was never you,” I whispered.  I didn’t blink so he knew I was telling the truth.

A breath he’d been holding that neither of us had noticed released then.  I knew I needed to tell him that sooner, but I couldn’t find the words.  I couldn’t get the bugs to go away.

“I know,” he said, even though we both knew he wasn’t sure.  He kissed my forehead.

“I’ll call Rusty,” I promised.

“I’ll talk to your parents,” he also promised.  “We’ll make this work.”

I nodded against his forehead, let his breath mingle with mine for a bit.

We sat there for what felt like hours.  I’d hated earlier that morning when he’d received a call about being needed on base.  I’d hated watching him put his clothes on, run out the door.  He had forgotten to kiss me goodbye.  I’d hated lying in bed by myself.  Hated answering the phone to my mother’s innocent yet invasive questions.  Hated hearing that my older brother and his wife were also coming.  Hated that I wasn’t with Ian because he had to be on base.  Everything turned sour.  But on the floor of that restroom, things started to get better.  We breathed each other in enough so that I could find my feet, so that he could go collect his guns.  I smiled weakly at the owner who gave Ian a clap on the back.  Let him hold my hand as he ushered me into the snow.  Allowed him to wrap himself around me as I realized it was fucking freezing.  Took the guns so he could better shield me.  I even let him play Cody Johnson on the way home, his hand laced with mine on his leg.

Leo was waiting for us, his chocolate brown eyes filled with worry, his salt & pepper coat ruffled with concern.  The dishes were done.  The wash as well.  But I let him pull us into the bedroom and return to the covers from that morning.

[stusbunker]

Just Make It to Next Time

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Overwhelmed!reader, Dean Winchester and some Sam

A/N: Beka @impala-dreamer asked for some comfort; I don't know if I have ever written it? Here goes nothing! Mental health, drinking, self harm and language warnings. xoxo

*^*^*^

It wasn’t a roller coaster, those go up at some point. This, this was a teeth chattering, stomach purging twenty story drop with the occasional pause; taunting reprieve before taking you down another notch. If there was an end, you hadn’t found it yet, unfortunately your brain had tapped out a while back. Everyone had rough patches, sure, but the past few months had been one train wreck and devastation after another. You needed a vacation, or a lobotomy.

Staring at the screen, you tried to make out what there was to do on the latest pile of shit that had landed on your plate: it seems all you could do was wait. Which was the last thing you had time for. You walked away, passed the pictures on the wall and into the kitchen to pour yourself some coffee. When you saw the time on the microwave you decided to make it Irish.

The label on the bottle caught your eye, taking you back to another lifetime, when you first found comfort in that particular poison.

Tending bar had a way to earn quick cash after high school, your uncle knew the owners and helped you land the job without any experience. In just a matter of months, you learned more about the world than you thought a gap year could teach someone. A hunters’ bar wasn’t always the friendliest working environment, but it was probably the quickest school for a newb you could have asked for.

You don’t remember who had ditched on their shift, but you were running between the store room and the bar all night. You felt grimy and knew your tips were going to be crap because you hadn’t plastered a fake smile on in over an hour; you were too tired for games. A group of four had been purposely asking for the stupidest shit, just to get another eye-full of your ass. Oh well, it was their tab to close, and you were used to it by now.

Suddenly a commotion erupted back by the pool tables, a biker type nose to nose with a cocky guy barely older than you. You reached under the bar for the fire extinguisher when a deep voice broke apart the impeding fight.

“That’s enough, Dean.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid replied, not breaking eye contact from the bald guy who he apparently had just hustled.

“Yeah, that’s right you listen to daddy, kid,” the bald biker taunted.

“I might be a kid, but I still have your cash, cue ball,” he threw over his shoulder, as he followed his father out the side exit.

The rest of the night passed in a blur and you got home smelly and exhausted, free to sleep the day away. The phone woke you just after noon, it was the owner looking for the key to the beer fridge, which of course you had taken home with you. So much for your day off.

The smart ass pool shark was the only customer in sight as you strolled in.

*^*^*^*

Five Years later

“What are we doing here, Dean?” You heard an exasperated voice ask before you turned the corner from the parking lot to your apartment. That big black beauty of a car the confirmation your messages were being answered. You pulled the sleeves of your hoodie down, trying to hide one of the things you had been up to since you last saw Dean.

“Got a tip on a case in town, relax Sammy.”

“Sammy as in the infamous prodigal son?” You sauntered forward, trying to play up the carefree casualness.

The tall kid with a mop of dark hair chuckled nervously, while Dean played up the annoyance. “More like the thorn in my side. Y/N,? Sam. Sam, this is Y/N, best whiskey Old Fashions for three states.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam.” He gave you a soft wave over the roof of the car.

“What you got for us?” Dean got down to business, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“What do you guys know about skinwalkers?”

Three nights and a handful of minor injuries later, you sat with Dean in the courtyard of your apartment complex. A six pack at your feet and a nearly cloudless sky above you.

“Okay, now that we are passed the impending doom. I gotta ask about the cuts, Y/N. I’m not an idiot, I know how frequent and fresh those are.”

You got through it, barely. The shame and frustration and defensiveness melting into a trail of hot tears that Dean’s thumbs carefully brushed away. You felt dead inside and the pain was the only thing that made any sense anymore. You didn’t want his pity and he wasn’t giving it. He just listened, quiet and sad beside you. It grew cold, but he only held you tighter until you both fell asleep. Only to be woken up by the early morning sprinkler setting.

He left after a very strict agreement that you call him once a week, if you didn’t he would drop what he was doing and check on you. “I’m not kidding, Y/N. You don’t have to be happy, hell, no one is ever really sunshine and beer commercials, but you gotta keep going. Okay?”

“I’m doing my best,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Good. Just keep doing that until next time and I’ll be there to kick your ass again.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I’m serious. You stop calling, I’ll be here in less than a day.”

Sam had been packing the trunk, his jaw jutting out as he tried not to worry at the tone of your conversation. You rolled your eyes at Dean, but threw a half-hearted punch into his shoulder.

“Come here.” He pulled you into a quick hug, “Don’t be your own punching bag, you’re better than that.”

“Look whose talkin’.”

They left with eyes squinted in concern; boys who would be your heroes and sounding boards more often than you asked for. The car taillights a wistful goodbye as always.

*^**^*

Last Year

“Have you seen him?” A question that you never knew could make the world tilt. You had been up anyway, one of the kids were sick, the clock glaring back at you with its hands open; useless and without answers.

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Dean’s not Dean right now. If you see him, steer clear and call me immediately.” His tone was fierce and flashes of black eyes sent your stomach rolling.

“What happened?”

“He said yes.”

Michael never came for you, but Dean did. As soon as Sam let him, he called, boisterous and smooth, the cocky pool shark of your past needing a distraction. You told him to meet at your place once you were done for the day. After stopping at the local bakery for a fresh tin of apple pie, Dean and eventually your kids shuffled through the door with growling tummies.

The younger one gave Dean a tour of their latest collection and the oldest a concert. He was appropriately impressed, though his demanding of ‘Free Bird’ was met more with confusion than the rightful annoyance. He helped you wash the dishes while asking about your life. Your phone was constantly buzzing and the kids interrupted every few minutes, which told him more than you could convey.

You apologized, but he brushed it away. He left full and grateful, but you knew he wasn’t alright. Not yet. You called him exactly a week later, but it was a while before he called you back.

*^*^*^

Now

A younger you, Sam and Dean smiled back at you from the picture frame on your wall. The trunk of the Impala your bench as you balanced your feet on their ancient green cooler. This wasn’t life and death, not for you at least. But every other breath felt like too much effort and giving up would be so easy. You stared at the empty coffee mug, wishing you could throw on an extra layer and hit the road. Fall into the life that you had only ever sight-seen.

Maybe you just wanted an excuse to get hurt. A way to break all ties for good, to be the bad guy.

Except they weren’t bad guys, not even when they were at their lowest, Sam and Dean fought to be better and to do the right thing. They didn’t throw in the towel and they certainly wouldn’t forgive themselves if you did. A rueful grin burst over your face at the thought of the look Dean would give you if he heard you had started hunting, had given up on normal. Sam’s puppy dog eyes as he would try to understand, because he would so easily.

You went back to the computer, seeing if you were free from the waiting game or damned to fill your hands with the other things you had yet to do. An hour, two baskets of laundry and three unproductive phone calls later, a knock came at your door.

There he stands, pressed suit making him look like a goddamn GQ cover model. When Dean sees you, the smile stops before it hits his eyes. He always knows. “Hey there, grumpy. Got time for me?”

“Not a chance. Come on in. Sam with you?” You hold the door wide, and he places a scruffy cheek against yours.

“He’s still working, gonna meet up with him later. Maybe grab dinner if you’re free?”

His face falls slightly as he takes in the house; your time spread so thin each room wore a line between cleanliness and chaos. You make detail-less excuses and bring him back for coffee. He raises his mug in solidarity once you share the special ingredient.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mom.” You try to steer the conversation towards him. It’s been a disconnected year for all of you.

“Thanks, is it weird to say it wasn’t any easier the second time around?”

“Not to me,” you whisper, hand falling on his while he watches you. His eyes trail up your wrist and over your shoulder, noting any clues he can to your current predicament. Dean did always know how to apply the right amount of pressure.

“How bad is it?” His hand warm and firm in yours.

You hum before sniffing back the stress tears that are perpetually under the surface. “How is it you show up today of all days?”

Dean shrugs, eyes crinkling as he takes another sip. “Maybe it was the case, maybe it was just checking in after so long, but I’m sure glad I went with my gut. Why didn’t you call me? Do we need to go back to that? Every week?”

You huff in amusement, “No, besides, who even knows what day it is anyway?”

“You sure?”

“Nope.”

Dean tosses back the rest of the coffee, puckering those lips that were just too distracting in person. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

“What? No, I am waiting on like five things and the kids will be home--”

“Look, I’ll give you a hall pass. No one is gonna give you crap if I flash my badge. Let’s go for a drive.”

You got to sit shotgun, you’d never been shotgun before. That big bench seat and all you can do was stare at the driver. Dean revs Baby’s engine and pulls out of your neighborhood, back the way he came. He finds a country road and lets her loose, music blaring and summer breeze floating through the windows. He sings too loud, fingers drumming with that easy smile that coaxes a few out of you as he goes.

The weather is shifting, you feel the wind speed and the pressure drop. It will be gone before you get back home. Before anything can be remedied. This too shall pass, even if it gets darker you are going through it because that is all you can do, even if your heels are still dug in against the forward momentum. You crank the windows closed, watching the fat drops fall.

Sam calls and you take the phone, teasing Dean for everyone’s benefit. He gives you the details of their case, knowing that your brain needs a puzzle like his brother knows your heart needs a break. You give Sam the answer he already knows and he feigns consideration. He was always such a nerd. You wish him luck and promise him you’ll have him over for dinner next time through.

You set down your worries, one at a time until they are behind you like the passing corn fields. You aren’t fixed, but you’re better and that’s more than you had hoped. You look to your old friend, time and guilt have stamped their paths over his face, but so has love and loyalty and life’s little pleasures. He reaches for your hand again, and though you may never be whole, he isn’t asking you to be. He’s just holding you up, until the next time.

*^*

[bounnostra]

endgame 1.2 || heat lightning || finlay || [ re: sylvie, evie ]

Every breath Finlay takes feels stale and foul. As they listen to the words that continue to roll out around them, all the poison they could spit feels like acid in their own throat. It’s not that they don’t want to rip Evie and Sute a new one -- hell, they do want to.

But the more they listen to the pair, to their justifications and explanations and whatever the fuck else one could call it, Finlay, again, finds it would probably be pointless. The overwhelming fear starts to settle into a neverending buzz in the forefront of their brain -- always there like television static, but as the seconds pass, they grow numb to the lightheaded feeling and throbbing in their temple.

At least enough to feel something besides it.

They know that it’s still ever-so-pointless to feel angry. But finally the gears in their brain start turning when Evie has the fucking gall to say Sute hasn’t gloated about being better than anyone else. Not when her and Sylvaine have stood over Finlay like saints for week-months now, like they were lowly and twisted and needed guidance. Like Sute had any fucking right to follow them around for a week straight, any right to call them selfish or act like they had wronged her by daring to exist and wanting to survive.

If the situation was less dire, if it really felt worth it to care, they would curse the both of them out. Would tear Sute to pieces for daring to judge them, to act like she was better than them, when her pedestal’s been made out of tissue paper this entire goddamn time.

What a fucking joke.

...Speaking of fucking jokes.

Finally, Finlay drags their gaze away from their lap. The anger in their eyes is muted and worn, but burning all the same as they regard Sylvaine with a sneer. Sylvaine who always has to get the last word in and reassure herself she’s in the right, who’s been the bane of their existence for ages.

And well. If they’re running on borrowed time anyway. They might as well rip into someone.

“Hey, Sylvie. Piss the fuck off.” They speak her nickname in a snarl, knowing the weight behind them saying it as they lean their arms on the table. “Do us all a fucking favor ‘n can the goddamn morality parade. Get off your fucking high horse. We get it! All our anger over being strung along for months’s unjustified ‘cause you think we should be happy for them being rewarded for tricking us, right? It’s sadistic to be angry someone profited off playing us for fucking fools! Just ‘cause you like the people who fucked ‘round with us, doesn’t mean we’re all assholes for being pissed off!”

They lean up, planting their palms on the surface of the table and continuing to sneer over at her. As they continue, their voice starts to rise and regain some life to it, temporarily sounding more like the tone you’re all familiar with. But beyond that, their words get snappier, angrier. Cracking like whips between their teeth.

“Stop fucking-- for one goddamn fucking second, just fucking listen to yourself -- ‘cause without fucking fail you always take the opportunity to tell everyone our viewpoints’re twisted ‘n awful if they don’t match yours! Change fucking tactics! I haven’t responded well to you trying to fucking reform me for months, ‘n no one’s gonna get a kick outta you disregarding our justified feelings now!”

For some, though, as they go on, the outright anger in their voice might be new territory. For Sylvaine, however, this side of them is old news. It’s far from the first time she’s driven them off the cliff of their patience.

“You don’t get the right to say we can’t compare, according to you, unlike cases here either -- if Gambit actually fucking resurrects this Saori, what, probably years after whenever the fuck she died, y’think it’ll all go off without a hitch? Like that won’t be fucking jarring, ‘specially since it seems real fucking doubtful that Sute’s gonna be ‘round to help her get her bearings.”

They lean more over the table while their words grow more impassioned, occasionally gesturing with a hand to go along. 

“In a setting when you’re not in a fucking-- a fucking cycle where shit actually matters, dying ‘n coming back to life, near-death experiences -- that shit leaves fucking baggage to sort through. Even worse without a support system.” For a moment there, that seemed a little personal! “But sure! Sylvaine knows best. As always. Even though she’s got no fucking idea what she’s talking ‘bout.”

They straighten up, catching their breath as the fury clears from their brain.

“...If any of you got a problem with me going off on her, I don’t fucking care. I’ve had enough of her pulling this shit.”

That addendum was quieter, but still lined with frustration. A rumbling cloud on the verge of a lightning strike.

With a huff and a roll of their eyes, Finlay collapses back into their chair properly. They pinch the bridge of their nose and drag their hands down their face, letting a slow breath out as exhaustion creeps back into their bones. Their eyes travel back to Evie; once again, they pass over Sute entirely.

“...Honestly. By now. I… really don’t give a shit why you did this. Speaking as someone who’s got miles in shit adjacent to what both of you’re doing: I think both your prizes suck ass.”

There’s a hoarse roughness to their voice after shouting, and they pause to clear their throat. Having turned their attention away from the subject of their irritation, they’re sounding more worn out again. They shake their head.

“Saying you would try to tell us ‘bout the cycles or help us… you can’t promise that. You ‘n I both saw Mothman get censored when they tried to tell us too much -- you’d be under Gambit’s wing just the same, subject to him censoring you ‘til he decides he wants us to know certain things.”

Even on the moments they look away from Evie, it’s not for long. A flicker away to look at someone else, to look down at the table, to look at anything else -- but eventually, eventually. They always come back to her.

“Really. What’s the fucking point in this. You can’t really give us much info on how to move forward. I would love to talk ‘bout our future, but… all these assholes've done’s talk in circles ‘bout their bullshit motivations 'n tell us how fucking… how doomed we are. We can say we should focus on next steps all we fucking want, but. What next steps are there?”

Any remaining gruffness leaves them abruptly partway through, as the adrenaline fully abandons them to flounder again. The strength in their voice doesn’t feel so sure when they speak once more, like they’re rapidly trying to patch up their hastily glued together foundation as it crumbles around them. It isn’t working. 

“And if I’m gonna be--” Their words catch here, and their hands on the table tighten into fists as they square their jaw. The expression on their face grows difficult until they speak again and pivot their sentence. “...Not sure what kinda drama Gambit was expecting here, but the last thing I wanna spend my--... my last moments on’s looking at your pathetic mugs.”

Not like their bright idea of getting absolutely fucking wasted so they don’t have the capacity to think about their seemingly impending fate is any better usage of their time, but. 

Anything would be better than being stuck in this room any longer.