#anyways this is a step in the right direction for me :)

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Private Dances 7

Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist

Summary: Blue comes to find you when he's in a bad mood.

A/N: A huge thank you to the epic @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚

Warnings: Smacking (in the face - Blue receiving), p in v sex, cream pie, oral sex (f!receiving) Blue crying, reader says Blue's crying turns them on, small argument - but like it's a scene, overuse of italics, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is so lovesick), not beta read, swearing, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

There are 5 main ‘stars’ in the club: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal. Crystal is usually the favourite but is currently in Blue’s bad books for reasons unknown to the reader. Reader is a backup dancer that Blue has nicknamed Lion.

Word Count: 3100

Blue’s in a foul mood. Worse than foul. 

The tension in the air is heavy, spiked with electricity like the moment before a lightning strike. 

You’re helping Penny and Swan with the A Quarter stock check when you hear it: Blue’s yell. It’s harsh and sharp, cutting through the air like shattered glass despite how low the sound is. Anger radiates through the walls, his tone clear and precise even though the words and their meaning are muffled and lost. 

Penny and Swan jump at the first shout, poor Swan nearly dropping the items in her hands. Her fingers shake as he tries to compose herself. She’s fairly new and has never been under Blue’s direct warpath, but she’s heard enough stories to develop a healthy apprehension. 

Penny gives you a nervous glance, “That sounds bad.” 

You nod. 

“You…” Penny swallows, her eyes downcast. 

You know what she wants to ask. Can sense it. It’s almost like her words are echoing in your head, running along your synapses. It’s the same thing nearly everyone wants to ask, though no one has dared to yet. 

“Blue…” Penny tries again, breathing in as she searches for the right words. 

“You’re one of his favourites, right?” Swan blurts out. It’s funny almost, the bluntness of her words. But her eyes are wide and honest, and there’s a shine of fear in them that robs you of all humour. 

Penny tuts before you can answer, swatting Swan on her forearm. “You don’t just say that.” 

But why? You want to ask. Why is there this unspokenness to some things? No one had ever told you not to question, but it was ingrained anyway. 

“It’s alright.” You say and give them both a small smile. “It’s fine.” 

Swan rubs her arm and Penny looks relieved. 

“I know some of the… others,” Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal, “aren’t too… they don’t like being asked.” 

But that wasn’t quite right; some of them didn’t mind either, some of them freely gave information when it wasn’t too much to talk about. Crystal was the only one where asking a question was like a flip of a coin. You never knew if you were going to get an answer, a vicious comment, or your eyes clawed out. 

Some twisted hierarchy. 

You shake your head. “It’s fine.” You repeat. 

“What’s he like?” Swan asks, a morbid curiosity in her voice. 

All you can think about is the scars on his skin, how soft his eyes look when you press against his windpipe, the quiet, wanton moans that pass his lips when you squeeze. 

You shrug, trying to find substantial words. “He’s…”

“A fucking monster.” Penny shakes her head at Swan. “Why are you asking Lion stuff like that? You know what he’s like.”

Swan frowns, “Hey, I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Penny folds her arms. “It’s-”

The door flies open, smacking into the wall with a crack. 

Penny jumps while Swan lets out a little cry of surprise. 

You turn instinctively, your mind racing.

Blue storms into the room, a deep scowl etched into his face like a scar. His gaze first falls on Swan and she takes a sharp, shaky step backwards her eyes downcast. 

Without thinking, you take a step forward and Blue turns at the sound. His glare softens when he sees you, but barely. He doesn’t steak, just grabs your bicep and pulls you from the room. You stumble, his firm grip keeping you upright as he practically marches you to his office. 

The door is barely open before he drags you inside and spins you around to face him. 

You stay quiet, but fix him with a hard stare. 

He breathes heavily, his shoulders relaxing. He’s the one that blinks first, his eyelashes fluttering and then looking down as his grip on your arm relaxes. 

“What?” You ask simply, your voice firm but quiet. 

He shakes his head. 

You place your hand on his cheek and tilt his head upwards. “Blue?” 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, his blinking heavily. “I… I should have…” 

You let him stumble over his words. 

“I… that was impolite… of me.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head again, but this time the action is not dismissive. You can see the cogs wiring in his mind as he tries to regulate his emotions. 

Softly, you rub your thumb against his cheek and he leans into the soothing motion. His breathing slows, his jaw loosens as he closes his eyes.

“The conversation with Gerald,” one of Blue’s lawyers, “about regulations… building permits.” 

Ah. This was to do with Blue’s planned expansion of the club.

“It didn’t,” he breathes deeply as he leans further into your touch. “I became… upset. I wanted…” He pauses again, opening his eyes to stare intently at you. “I needed to see you.” 

“There are better ways of getting my attention, aren’t there?” 

His nose wrinkles in displeasure. “Why were you even out there anyway?”

You go to drop your hand from his face but he grabs your wrist, squeezing slightly as he keeps you firmly against him. 

Rage sparks under your skin. “You want me to stay locked up in your rooms all day and night?” You hiss.

Your conversation with him the night before echoed in your ears. ‘You don’t have to do anything Lion, just stay here.’ Even though he hadn’t intended it to sound like a prison sentence, the idea still chilled you. Isolated from everyone but him. What happened if he just woke up one day and decided to throw you away? What happened when he did?

“Is that such a curse?” He growls, his eyes dark. 

Something in you snaps, the smallest thread of self-control splinters in your temple. You twist your hand, moving so that your fingers dig into one cheek, while your thumb presses against the other. You squeeze, tilting his head back. Feeling the indent of his teeth under your fingertips. 

Blue lets out a little gasp of surprise, his head falling back under the force of your grip. 

“Lion,” he lets out, broken and weak. 

You step closer. “What kind of fucking behaviour is this?” You whisper, letting your anger burn along your words. “I know we spoke about your reputation.” You sneer. “How it’s best for you to be perceived by others. But don’t you dare take that tone with me-”

“I’m sorry!” He sobs, his voice thick, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

You shake him slightly, a jolt that has him whimpering. 

“Never interrupt me.” 

His shoulders shake as he tries to fight down the wave of sobs that threaten to wreck his very core. 

You watch him with hard eyes. 

“Lion?” He whines. “Please, I’m so sorry-”

“I thought we were past this.” 

He breathes in shakily, tears spilling out and over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean, I’m so sorry, I shouldn't have been rude to you, I shouldn’t-” He bursts into full-blown tears, practical hysterics. Something that you haven’t seen from him before. 

You loosen your grip, wrapping your arms around him quickly and pulling him closer. “Shhh,” you rub his back, cradling his head as you soothe him. “Shhh, it’s alright.” 

“I didn’t,” he hiccups, trying to get air into his lungs and failing, “I didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to upset you. Disappoint you, I, I, I-”

You kiss his temple, gently leading him to the sofa, which is easier said than done while still holding him and his face pressed into your neck. 

As you sit down you take his cheeks in your hands, stroking his skin with your thumbs and smearing his tears. You kiss his nose and he smiles weakly while still crying. 

“Usually when I grab your face like that you get a boner.” You give him a soft look. 

He laughs once and nods, trying to calm himself down. 

“And we end up with your face between my thighs.” You keep your voice gentle and he swallows, nodding again. “Blue…”

He looks up at you, his eyes red. “I’m so sorry, Lion.”

You shake your head, about to tell him not to be when he puts his hands on your wrists. The touch is light this time as he lightly strokes your skin. “I was… I thought that was going to happen.” He says quietly. “I intended it to… To be our usual game.” He looks up at you a little nervously when he says ‘game’ and relaxes when you give him a warm smile. 

“Don’t be sorry.” You soothe. 

“I just… suddenly it felt…” He absentmindedly touches under his left collarbone, rubbing the thick, deep scar that you knew resided there. 

“It’s alright.” 

He nods. “Thank you.” 

Still cradling his cheeks, you kiss his temple, and then under his eyes, tasting the salt of his shed tears. 

He nuzzles into you, kissing your neck and chest over your clothes. You let him, kissing the top of his head and stroking his back. 

He moves lower slowly, pressing his lips to your thigh. 

“Blue,” you say softly, coaxing his face up so you can see him fully. “You don’t have to.” You don’t want him to think he has to perform, has to be constantly… oh. 

He gazes at you with heavily lidded eyes, his erection straining against his trousers. So much so you were sure he was going to pop a button. 

Lightly you trace along the edge of it with your fingernail and he groans, his eyelashes fluttering and still wet with tears as he smiles. 

“I’d like you too…” He swallows, already starting to feel like he’s floating. “I’d like you to ride me and…” he bites his lip, shivering. “I’d like you to smack me.” 

“Smack you?” You say, thinking back to when you had him across your lap. 

“Hmm,” he sighs dreamily, “here.” He touches his cheek. 

You’re not sure if this is such a good idea, especially after his sudden tears. “Blue-”

“Please Lion,” he bats his eyes and bites his lip. “Just sit on me, you don’t even have to move. Just keep,” he inches closer, almost swaying, like a predator about to pounce, “hitting me and let me come and I’ll clean up all my mess afterwards.” He rubs his nose against yours, slipping his tongue past your lips and kissing you desperately, drinking down your moan like a glutton. 

You wish it wasn’t so easy for him to coax you out of your clothes, for him to strip you bare while you were so distracted with his kiss. But there was a reason Blue was so used to getting his own way: he was undeniably persuasive. 

He has his suit jacket off, the top few buttons of his dress shirt undone and his tie loosened when he pulls you into his lap. He keeps kissing you, keeps running his hands up and down your skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

Blue groans into your mouth as he squeezes the outside of your thighs before he hastily unbuckles his belt and unzips his fly. He pulls his aching cock out in a hurry, almost rough with himself, a vast difference to how slowly and reverently he had undressed you. 

He squeezes the thick base with one hand, pulling his lips away from yours long enough to groan, “Hmm, Lion, please, can you- ah!” His gasp is sweet and pools heat in your belly as you take him in hand and guide him between your folds. 

He lets you take control immediately, gasping as you glide his leaking tip through the wetness between your legs before you press him to your clit. 

He moans deeply, his eyes blown wide. “Lion,” He swallows, his throat bobbing, “God, you’re so wet, does seeing me cry turn you on?” There’s the smallest grin on his lips, and even though you know it is just a tease, you can’t help yourself. 

You squeeze the base of his cock a little hard and his eyes roll back. He lets out a harsh groan as he squirms. You know, for most, the action would be painful. 

“God Lion, please, you’ll make me come before I’m even inside.” He whimpers, his voice strained. He presses his head back against the sofa, trying to gain some control over himself, and grabs hold of your hips, squeezing his fingers into your sides. 

You chuckle and slowly press his fat tip to your entrance. There’s the smallest resistance before he breaches.

Blue swears, his eyes rolling back. His neck taut and exposed to you as he leans back. 

You spread your knees a little wider as you ease yourself down onto him. “It does, by the way.” 

“Hmm?” He looks up at you with hazy eyes, already drunk on the feel of you. 

“Seeing you cry turns me on.” 

“Fuck.” He tenses, the base of his cock pulsing. It takes all his will in the world to not come there and then.

You smile, stroking his hair as you sink further down. “That desperate for me?” 

He nods rapidly. “Yes, Lion, yes, so desperate.” He moans loudly as your thighs meet his, finally swallowing him to the hilt. “Thank you, thank you.” He whispers, blinking hard.

“Are you sure you want me to hit you here?” You trace a heart over his left cheek with the tip of your finger and he nods. 

“Please.” 

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

“I will, I promise.” He looks up at you, staring like you were the one who placed the stars into the sky. “I trust you, Lion.” 

You kiss him softly before you sit up fully. Blue hisses at the change of angle, his cock twitching as it rubbed against your walls. 

“Ready?” 

He manages to nod once before your palm collides with his cheek. The sound is sharp. It echoes like a bell ringing loudly in your ears. Blue’s face snaps to the side at impact, your hand tingles with the force. 

But his deep gasp and moan quickly alleviates any worry you had. 

He turns back to face you, his cheek already growing red. “Again.” 

You smack him. Harder this time. 

He turns quickly. “Again.”

Smack.

“Again.”

Smack.

“Agai-”

Smack.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Blue wimpers, his body singing as the pain mixes dizzyingly in his veins. He can taste iron in his mouth. But it doesn’t stop him from turning back to face you.

Smack.

He gasps, groaning as his hips buck once, his back arching. Pleasure rushes over him, pulling him deliciously high before dragging him down, down, down into dark, sweet depths. He spurts inside you, warm and copious, filling you to the brim and trickling down his balls. 

He squeezes you as he comes, shuddering and shivering until he blinks heavily. 

You’re holding him close and tight, and he’s never been safer than this moment. Never been more protected than in your arms. 

He moves slowly and you loosen your grip so he can look up at you, dazed and happy. 

He doesn’t like how your eyes widen when you look at him. 

“Blue,” you swallow. There’s red in his teeth. You go to touch his lip and stop yourself. 

“Oh,” he runs his tongue over his incisors, and chuckles. “Just a small cut.” He pokes out his bottom lip to show you, he’s right. It is a small thing. “I think that was from the third hit.” 

“Blue-”

“It was so good, Lion. Please,” he strokes your cheek. “Don’t worry. I would have stopped you if it wasn’t, I promised didn’t I?” 

You nod, still a little uncertain. Your worry distracts you momentarily, and Blue leans up quickly to kiss you. He licks into your mouth, groaning as his blood hits your tongue. 

You take a sharp intake of breath, but you don’t pull away. You kiss him back harshly, lightly nipping at his lip and squeezing his shoulders when he moans. 

Gently, he coaxes you around so that he can lay you back against the sofa, with the armrest behind your head. 

He hisses as he pulls out, part of him already lamenting being away from you, but the sight of his spend dripping out of you makes him groan. 

“Oh, yes Lion,” he presses at your thighs, spreading you wider. “A feast.” 

You gasp as he dives to your core, dragging his warm tongue slowly through your folds in one long lick. He watches you intently as he runs over your clit, ending with a flick before he starts the whole process over again.

You jump, squirm, thrusting closer to his mouth and groaning when he uses one hand to press against your soft stomach, keeping you in place as he continues his languid torture. 

He refuses to go faster, to even sink his tongue in deeper, no matter how much you beg and pull at his hair. Always keeping up that same firm pressure and drawn out pace that is starting to make you lose your grip on reality. 

“Blue,” you plead, wriggle, your clit throbbing as he makes another slow trek through your pussy before his tongue can soothe the ache in your bundle of nerves. 

But even as he reaches that part you need his touch so desperately, it isn’t nearly long enough. You buck, trying to get just a little tiny bit more of that pressure, but it’s fruitless. 

“Blue,” you moan again, your tights shaking. Your stomach is pulled so tight you think you might explode, that heavy throb is painful. Maddening. 

He starts up again, groaning as he licks and, “Fuck,” you shiver, shake as he just drags over your clit, even slower than before, pushing firmer and, and-

You scream, your muscles tensing and spasming as pleasure explodes along your nerves, runs along your veins and overtakes your very being. 

You shiver in his arms as he swirls his tongue over your bundle of nerves again and again, watching you with lust blown eyes as he prolongs your pleasure for as long as he can. 

You sob, shaking with aftershocks as, finally, you start to recover. 

Blue places a light kiss to your core, then belly, before he moves up and settles back between your legs. He’s smiling as he strokes your cheek, looking the most content you’ve ever seen him. 

Lightly you trace his moustache, it’s soaking with his spit and your come. 

Sweat cools on your skin, and you notice the state of his shirt. “You’re going to need to change.” You tease and he laughs. 

Thank you for reading!

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[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

a/n: this one has very little reader x natasha interaction but it’s but it’s how i set up the next parts

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah

warnings: again, none (if you do find something, please tell me)

word count: 5.7k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

All eyes are on you when you storm back into the house.

Cheeks red, eyes puffy, jaw set stubbornly. Your mom calls after you to stop and talk to her, but you ignore her. Your feet thunder against the steps as you make a beeline for your bedroom. The door shuts behind you, drowning out your mother's voice.

You don't answer when she knocks on your door. You locked it to keep everyone else out, anyway, so you cover your head with a pillow and shut your eyes. The tears are silent, but they soak into the bedsheets underneath you.

After a moment, you hear your mother's concerned voice as she retreats from your bedroom again.

Good. It's better to be alone with your thoughts, even if they're louder than your pounding heartbeat. They swirl together into one confusing mess, with only one clear goal — straying back to Natasha.

An assassin. One half of you is still in denial, the other half can't bring itself to care. Over weeks, you got to know her, after all. You were privileged enough to see the parts of her that aren't affected by this revelation. The sweet parts, the messy parts.

Without being aware the one thing that defines her in so many ways, you were allowed to know her.

The realization that you truly, actually managed to fall in love with her in a matter of weeks makes another sob ripple through you.

Only the sun outside indicates how much time has passed when you finally remove the pillow from your head. The rain has stopped, leaving a clear sky in its wake. Sunlight floods the room and dips it in honey.

Your eyes land on the suitcase next to the dresser. You've already folded a few dresses and gathered all of your books.

Now, there's nothing left to do but pack. You're leaving tomorrow.

. . .

Your parents wake you up early in the morning.

They make you get out of bed and expertly ignore your puffy eyes as you pick at your breakfast. Your grandma doesn't comment on your appearance, either. You know one thing: secretly, they're all glad this is over. No one's there to sabotage your future anymore.

You want to leave and you also can't bear the thought of it. Going back to New York used to be a relief — back to your friends, your life there. Now, it fills you with dread.

You won't return to this beloved little town for an entire year. By that time, Natasha could be god knows where. And now you're left with nothing but a phone number that surely belongs to a burner phone. Or, if not, Natasha's SIM swapping.

You keep pushing your food around on your plate and decidedly ignore the lack of attention directed at you. The murmur of the conversation is quiet, the clinking of dishes even quieter. At some point, everyone starts getting up.

You say goodbye to your grandparents. Finally, you sit in the back of the car. It's like a familiar movie, watching the neighborhood roll by. The trees' branches seem to wave at you — next year, same time?

You're not sure you want to return.

You rest your head against the window and watch the scenery pass by like a melancholic reel. The diner is a particularly painful sight, and you almost close your eyes. But when you suddenly spot a figure out of the corner of your eye, standing right in front of the building next to it, you're glad you didn't.

It's her.

You quickly sit up straight as your gaze locks with hers. The storm in her eyes is unmistakable, but too complex to decipher from a distance. She doesn't move, doesn't try to signal, but your heart leaps into your throat.

"Stop the car", you urge.

"What?" Your father glances in the rear view mirror. "Why?"

"Stop the damn car!"

You twist around in the seat and crane your neck, trying to not let her get out of sight. Your mother follows your gaze and her expression hardens when she sees Natasha.

"Keep driving", she says.

"No!", you plead. "No, please. Just for a minute."

You see your father hesitate. Truthfully, he never minded Natasha — she seemed polite enough. But your mother's warning glare is enough for him to keep driving. His foot presses down harder on the gas.

The distance between you and Natasha seems to keep growing, no matter what you do.

Tears prick at your eyes as you slump into your seat. Behind you, Natasha's figure disappears into the distance. The look in her eyes will haunt you forever.

. . .

"Hey."

"Hey", he says, leaning back in his seat. "You alright?"

"I'm good", you say dismissively and sit down. It's the same as always — tired students, a smell of chalk and coffee, the quiet muttering of people who are probably regretting all their previous decisions. "Summer, you know."

"Summer", he repeats, smiling faintly. He passes you a postcard. "Here. Got this in South Africa."

You pause and look at the image on the front. A bunch of South Africa's native animals, as well as some cultural references to its cities. "That's pretty", you say, brushing your finger over the glossy surface. "Thank you."

"You're welcome", he says, his smile widening at the sight of yours. Then, his eyebrows furrow. "You sure you're good? You got circles under your eyes."

You grimace and rub your face. You haven't slept properly in days, partially because of Natasha, but also because your parents are renovating your apartment so you're now sleeping at their place again.

"Charming, Parker", you mumble, carefully putting the postcard between two pages of your Biochemistry book. "You look great, too."

"Oh, come on", he says. "I'm just worried. I mean, isn't the purpose of a vacation to let you relax a little? 'Cause you don't look too relaxed to me."

"Try being stuck with my family for two and a half months and you won't be relaxed, either", you retort. The professor walks in — one you're familiar with from one of your previous classes —, so you quickly shut up.

Peter manages to stay quiet for exactly five minutes, then he leans back in again. His warm whisper smells like some kind of Gatorade.

"Did you see the new Star Wars-trailer? We have to watch that! I swear, it's going to be the most epic one so-"

"Parker." Your voice is an urgent whisper. "Cut it out."

The rest of class passes by slowly. You're not fond of this topic — enzyme kinetics — but you do your best to pay attention and listen closely, anyway. Peter isn't exactly helpful. Being who he is, it takes him about ten minutes to grasp the concept. Once he's done that, he keeps talking your ear off.

Finally, you grab his sleeve and drag him out of the classroom. He stumbles after you, quickly throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

"Whoa, hey!"

"Chatterbox", you mutter, tugging him along. "You better explain that shit to me yourself."

"Okay, okay! Chill, dude." He runs his hand through his messy hair and follows you down the hallway. "It's not that hard, promise."

"Not for you, brainiac."

Outside, the sun is beaming down at you. It filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. You find your favorite bench — one hidden behind a few bushes — and sit down. Peter joins you, already reaching for his Biochemistry book.

"See, it's actually really easy." He flips the book open and puts his finger on the page. Then, he reaches for a sheet of paper and starts drawing a diagram. By the time he's finished explaining, your mind has wandered to Natasha more than once.

You can't help it — there are too many things that remind you of her. Something as simple as a few roses will now forever carry the burden of bringing back painful memories.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when Peter pokes your arm with the eraser of his pencil. "That's enzyme kinetics, Parker-style. Dude, are you listening?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Thank you, man." You grab the sheet with the explanations and diagrams and quickly skim it. Easy enough, you try to convince yourself.

"You seem distracted", he points out as he tosses his pencil into his backpack. "What is it?"

"You know..." You hesitate, unsure how much you want to tell him. It's unlikely he'll be able to give you any real advice, but maybe you just need someone who'll listen. So far, your parents haven't been great at that. "Girls", you finally finish, looking at your hands.

"Girls", he repeats. "Well, tell me about it. But MJ is actually amazing. She sent me this-" Peter pauses. "Not important. What happened?"

You shrug, twisting your fingers and exhaling quietly. You look at him, and he smiles encouragingly.

"It's complicated", you mumble, avoiding his eyes again. "I met her when I was visiting my grandparents. We had a...thing, I guess. Ended quite suddenly."

"Oh", he says. "That sucks."

You smile bitterly and rub your eyes. "It's fine. It should be, at least. I mean, we spent a few weeks together. So what?"

"A few weeks can mean a lot", Peter says slowly. He grabs a bottle of water and drinks from it, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Can't you call her? Text her?"

You pause, then shake your head. "I'm pretty sure she changed her number."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't know, okay? But I...I think she did." You stay quiet, wondering how much you're allowed to reveal. However, you didn't sign an NDA, and the possibility of her finding out you told someone about her is slim to none. "She's secretive, you know. Her life is so different. I feel like she's always on the run, always escaping."

"Sounds tough", he murmurs, then gently nudges your side. "Doesn't sound like someone you'd want to commit to, Y/L/N. Seriously."

You laugh, but there's no real humor behind it. Peter is stating the obvious, but it still hurts. You thought you could make the impossible happen, and now you feel like an idiot.

"I never said anything about commitment. It still sucks", you finish, leaning back against the bench and putting your hands on your head, smoothing down your hair. "I genuinely like her. I think she likes me, too."

"If she liked you", he says, getting up and nodding at you to follow along, "she'd have tried to make it work. Alright? Now come on. Let's get your mind off whoever she is."

You nod and get up, adjusting your backpack over your shoulder. You first shy away from saying more, but the words tumble out of your mouth automatically.

"Her name's Natasha."

. . .

Natasha's on her back underneath the jet, tightening a bolt beneath its fuselage. The clinking of tools is barely audible over the Helicarrier's steady hum. She wipes a streak of grease from her cheeks and pauses as her thoughts wander — as they do so often these days.

It's been a few weeks, but nothing has changed. She misses you like the day you left.

It's for the better, she tells herself as she sits up. She's lost too many people like this. She can't risk your safety as well.

Getting up from the ground, she ignores the bustling agents around her and packs up the tools. The jet seems fine for now, so she makes her way back inside. Right as she enters her bunk, Peter gets home from college.

He's been panicking silently ever since you revealed her name to him. He doesn't know whether he's reading into things — is your Natasha his Natasha as well? Are they the same person? Or does this woman you spent your summer with just have the same name as the one he knows?

He doesn't want to ask her, but he's also dying to find out. What you told him would make sense for Natasha. He doesn't know her intimately, but she is always on the run. She is secretive. And if she needs to end a relationship in order to protect the person she cares about, then so be it.

Pacing, he stares at the ground. His hand slips into the pocket of his jeans, feeling for his phone. Finally, he grabs it and unlocks it. He presses the call button and stops by the window, rocking back and forth on his heels. After a few moments, she answers the call.

"Yes, Parker?"

"Nat! Hey! Hope I'm not interrupting. Listen", he says, one hand on the wall and leaning against it. "I, uhm, I sent you a postcard a few weeks ago and I wanted to know whether it arrived."

Natasha balances the phone between her ear and her shoulder. She's on the floor in front of her closet, trying to see why the doors creak so much.

"No, I didn't get anything", she says, doing her best to not sound irritated. "Why?"

"Oh, just asking. Where were you this summer? Anywhere exciting?"

She pauses, her hand resting on her knee. "You're acting weird."

"I'm not!", he protests. "Just checking in with a friend. So?"

"I had missions, Parker", she mumbles, shifting to hold the phone to her ear. "I was busy."

"Busy how?"

"Peter."

He sighs and rubs his forehead. He should've known that she wouldn't spill anything.

"Come on", he says. "There's got to be something-"

"Peter, I'm busy."

"No!" He quickly looks up again. "No, listen. I just..."

Natasha curses when she drops the phone. She picks it up again and blows off some dust.

"Hurry", she says.

"Look." Peter sighs and sits down on his bed. His eyes trail to the computer on his desk as it lights up with a message. "I think you know a friend of mine."

The statement is simple, but the insinuation of it makes her freeze. She stays silent for a few seconds as her mind goes through every possible direction this conversation could take.

"A friend", she repeats, trying not to give anything away. She closes the closet and gets up. "Peter, what are you getting at?"

"I don't know! Well, I mean..." He trails off and sighs, his heart pounding. "She said she met someone over the summer. And that her name's Natasha. I don't want to assume anything, but...it kinda sounds like you."

"Peter", she says, rubbing her temple. "You need to cut it out. Seriously. This is none of your business."

"I know, I know!" He panics and jumps up again, pacing once more. "I know it isn't. I'm not trying to meddle. But Natasha, you really hurt her. She cares about you, I think. Why leave her in the dark like this?"

"Because it's safer for her", Natasha says sharply.

This is what it's been about since the beginning — making sure you're safe. She never planned to hurt you along the way, but certain things are inevitable. With Natasha, it always seems to be like this. The people who are close to her, who care about her, get hurt in the end.

She wishes things were different, but she's never had much control over her own life.

"Safer? Okay, I get it. The whole spy-job isn't for the weak. But you-"

"Enough", she cuts him off. "I'm sure you've got homework to do."

"Natasha-"

"No. Seriously." She takes a breath and glances at her desk. The picture she left there stings. The smile on your face, directed at her, stings even more. "And not a word to Y/N, alright?"

"Fine", he mutters.

"Oh, and Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Take care of her for me."

. . .

A week.

Pain, raw and sharp like touching an open wound. You try telling yourself it'll get better, but sometimes, you're not sure that's true.

College and friends are a welcome distraction, but not always too effective. No matter what — Natasha's absence is as all-consuming as her presence was. Moving on is not an option.

A month.

The ache dulls, but doesn't go away entirely.

You get asked out on a date by the guy who sits behind you in Computer Science. The little paper ball he made hits your shoulder. You turn around, a glare on your face, but it doesn't make his smile waver. The green of his eyes makes you curl your hand into a fist.

You say no. His expression tells you that he won't give up that quick, though. Just like someone else you know.

(Knew?)

A year.

Seasons change, flowers die and grow again. New memories push old ones aside, but Natasha lingers like a scent you can't quite scrub off.

It turned out that the guy from Computer Science is actually quite nice. He's charming when he wants to be, and he does manage to coax a smile from you whenever he's around.

You can't help comparing him to that shadow from your past — one that, no matter what you do, just won't fade. The intensity of what you felt for her is steady and unyielding. His lips, warm and firmly pressed to yours, help distract you from the mess Natasha left behind.

The first few dates feel weird and uncertain. You're too hung up on what used to be to fully let yourself sink into this new feeling, this new person sitting in front of you.

Simon is patient with you. Does he know what happened? No. He has no clue. But he likes you enough to make this work.

Flowers magically appear on your desk. You find bags of your favorite candy in your backpack. The feeling you get doesn't compare to what once was, which oftentimes leaves you feeling guilty.

Still, you keep going on dates with him. You sleep with him, meet his friends one by one, and suddenly, you find yourself in a new relationship.

You still think about Natasha. What you don't know, however, is that Natasha thinks about you too. All the time.

And, ever since finding out that you have a mutual friend, she's made sure to keep tabs on you. Peter is reluctant to tell her too much, but she has her mind games that she accumulated during her many years as a spy. Nobody's easier to convince than the sweet golden retriever-boy.

"How is she?", Natasha asks him casually one evening. He pauses, a spoonful of pho broth hanging in the air in front of his mouth. Peter, bless his heart, tries to deflect despite knowing it's useless.

"She's fine", he says, slurping up the broth. "Busy, you know. College."

"Right", she says. "Just 'fine'? Nothing else?"

"Well", he mumbles through a mouthful of rice noodles, "she's good. What am I supposed to tell you?"

"Anything other than what you're giving me right now, Parker."

Peter looks up and shrugs. "She's happy. There's this...guy. He's good for her."

"What?" She leans in, frowning. His words sent a spark of jealousy through her. "What guy?"

He realizes his mistake a few seconds too late. He shakes his head as he tries to backtrack. "It's not important, actually-"

"No, no, no." Natasha grabs the back of his chair and tilts it so it's balancing precariously on its hind legs.

Peter lets out a surprised yelp and drops his spoon, sending some soup flying. "Hey! Nat-"

"Who is he?", she demands, her voice leaving no room for argument. His words hit like a slap, and what she's feeling now is the aftermath of it. Hot, burning pain, lingering and stinging and leaving a mark. "Tell me."

"I- I don't know!", he stammers, gripping the table for stability. "He's just a guy, I don't even think it's super serious!"

Her jaw tightens, her mind spiraling. Her grip on the chair remains steady. "You're lying", she states, her voice having dropped to a deadly tone.

"I'm not!" Peter panics, his eyes frantically searching her face. He knows she's no threat to him, but he also knows better than to mess with the older spy. "I swear! Look, all I know is she seems happy. That's what matters, right?"

Natasha continues to glare at him for another moment. Then she lets go of the chair, letting it back down with a thud. She leans back and crosses her arms.

She has no right to feel like this, but how is she supposed to tell her brain that? It's flooding her body with cortisol merely because of the information that her ex (ex girlfriend? ex situationship?) has found someone else.

She was the one who ended things. But right now, that doesn't matter. All she can see is you, wrapped into someone else, kisses staining your skin.

"You find out more", Natasha says sharply, "you tell me. Got it?"

"Alright", Peter says, exhaling shakily. He rubs his face and nods. "Sure. Whatever you say."

She nods and averts her eyes, looking at the bowl of untouched soup in front of her. After a moment of quiet brooding, she pushes it away.

Her appetite is gone. Instead, she feels a hollowness that stems from something other than the fact she hasn't had dinner yet.

. . .

It's hard to believe, but it's true: your parents actually approve of the person you introduced them to.

You didn't plan for this to happen yet — it hasn't even been a year since you and Simon started dating —, but you can't argue that the circumstances are nice.

Your parents are usually at their most relaxed when at their preferred country club, especially after having a drink or two. This time, it's a party, thrown in honor of someone's birthday.

You're only there because your parents made you go. They insisted — yes, insisted you go. As much as you've grown accustomed to their demands, tonight felt more like an ambush than an invitation.

Right as you walked in, your eyes met Simon's. His face lit up immediately, and before you knew it, you awkwardly introduced yourself to his parents. Your mom spotted you and joined, then your dad followed.

An hour later, you're all sitting at a table together, looking like an image of picture-perfect compatibility. Simon's hands are holding yours in his lap, squeezing them and rubbing your knuckles. Both affection and guilt have settled in your stomach. Every time you look in his green eyes, you see Natasha.

He barely notices. He's too busy charming your parents, even if that isn't a necessity anymore. They know enough to be almost certain he's a good match for you. Wealthy parents, good education, polite but not so much that he seems insecure.

You keep listening to the conversation, your thoughts drifting every now and then. Around you, the room is lively with chatter and the clinking of champagne glasses. Smooth silk dresses, fitted tuxedos, an unfathomable amount of diamonds. You realize that Simon and you both seem to fit into this world.

Not too long ago, exactly that would've thrown you off. But now, you don't seem to mind anymore. It's...comfortable. Comfortable in a way that you never would've achieved if it was Natasha sitting here instead of him.

You take a sip of wine as you silently chastise yourself for even thinking that. You're here with Simon — Natasha doesn't matter anymore.

When your mother mentions the word 'engagement', however, you're quick to look up from your glass and stare at her.

"What?", you ask dumbly.

"Well, I know you haven't been dating for too long, but that's something every young couple should think about. You date to marry, no? And my goodness, you two do make an adorable couple."

Simon's hand squeezes yours under the table. It's a silent reassurance you aren't sure you want — or need — right now. He doesn't understand how typical this is, how your mother is trying to steer the narrative where she wants it to go again.

You can see yourself getting married eventually. However, you're not discussing this with your parents.

"I think we're just enjoying getting to know each other better for now", Simon says, leaning back in his chair. "But we'll see where things go."

"Right", you mumble, pulling your shaky hand out of his light grasp. You reach for your champagne glass and take a sip. The bubbles fuzz against your tongue. Around you, the room starts to feel warmer. The initially pleasant hum of laughter and conversation around you grows louder, fuzzier, like static.

Engagement. Marriage.

The words tumble through your mind and collide with memories of Natasha. You spot glimpses of a future between them, a future you let yourself dream about. A future that wasn't meant to be, but one you can't seem to forget.

Your father notices your discomfort and elegantly switches to a different topic. The more alcohol you consume, the less on edge you feel. The longer you sit there, the more you allow yourself to enjoy being with Simon.

The conversation flows and the evening stretches into the night. You twirl across the floor, Simon spinning you in circles before pulling you closer again. A few glasses of champagne leave you tipsy and red-cheeked, your mind blissfully empty.

When you decide to leave, Simon's parents walk you out. Your mom is obviously enamored with his family.

On the drive home, you're proven right. She keeps gushing about him and his manners, his smile, how kind and intelligent he is, how good of a husband he'll make. You sit in the back and stare out the window, caught somewhere between the firm ground of listening and the floating space your thoughts provide you with.

No matter what you do, you can't shake the nagging thought that creeps into the back of your mind: if it was Natasha with you, your mother wouldn't be saying any of this. Natasha, who's most likely never owned a country club membership. Natasha, who wouldn't fit into this world, wouldn't manage to charm your parents, wouldn't blend into this glittering facade.

It's why you loved her.

The realization hurts, but it's one you hold on to.

. . .

"They're engaged."

Natasha's head snaps up. Suddenly, the files on her desk don't seem too important anymore. Gone is the mission she's supposed to be focusing on. Instead, something hot and uncomfortable crawls up her back.

"What?", she asks slowly, almost daring Peter to repeat himself. He swallows, stalling as he shifts and shrugs a few times.

"It happened very suddenly! She just...had a ring on her finger. I dunno."

"She's engaged?"

With one, swift movement, she's gotten up. Peter is (slightly) taller than Natasha, but suddenly, it seems like she's towering over him.

"I couldn't stop them", he defends himself. She rolls her eyes at the obviousness of his statement. "Look, you told me to-"

"Yeah, yeah. To tell me when something happens." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "They're engaged?"

Peter looks like a deer caught in headlights. He shifts again, rubbing the back of his neck and desperately searching for a way out of this situation. "Yeah", he says, his voice quieter now. He doesn't want to risk provoking her further. "But, uh, maybe it's not that serious?"

"Engaged isn't that serious to you, Parker?", Natasha snaps. This time, he flinches and she immediately feels bad. It's not his fault, after all.

"Okay, okay, bad choice of words", he stammers, raising his hands defensively. "But seriously, what was I supposed to do? Crash the proposal? Maybe rip the ring off her finger? Oh, I could've used my webs to-"

"Dammit", she curses. Her jaw tightens and she turns around, starting to pace through the room. The heels of her combat boots click against the tiled floor. Her posture is stiff, controlled, but there's a storm brewing beneath the surface.

It's been, what? Three years?

Almost three years, yes. She stops in front of the bookcase, not saying anything. The realization that she's let three full years pass without even trying to contact you makes her chest twist with guilt and shame.

"You wanted me to keep you updated", Peter says, nervously twisting the hem of his sweater. "It's not like I wanted to tell you this. Hell, I'm not too happy, either."

"I didn't think it would get this far."

"Well", he trails, shrugging. "You left, didn't you? Did you expect her to-"

"Don't", she cuts him off. She turns around, her eyes blazing. "Don't finish that sentence."

Peter shrinks. God, he hates this. If he'd known what telling Natasha about you being friends with him would cause three years later, he never would've done it. Life would definitely be more peaceful now. Maybe he'd be hanging out on a rooftop, root beer in hand, legs dangling. Or he'd be on a beach. Maybe with Tony. Surely they'd surf...

"Are you fucking listening?"

"Huh?" He looks up, blinking. "Oh, yeah. Totally. I mean, look. Maybe it's not too late. People call off engagements constantly."

Natasha glares at him. She loves Peter, but sometimes, he's an idiot.

"And what? I show up, ask her to choose me? Parker, she said yes. She agreed to marry him! We dated for two months, it just doesn't compare."

"Quality over quantity?", he adds helplessly. A notebook is hurled at him and he quickly jumps aside. It hits the wall with a dull thud, then flops to the ground. Peter stares at it for a moment, then at Natasha, whose chest is rising and falling quickly.

"Okay", he says. "Bad joke. Got it."

Natasha scrubs a hand down her face, her fingers brushing against her mouth. "This is insane", she mutters, mostly to herself.

Peter nods, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans. He looks around the room awkwardly, not entirely sure what to do. There's not much he can do, after all.

She doesn't know what to do, either. Clearly, you've moved on. You're engaged, you're happy, you're probably thinking about anything else than that one summer you spent together. She should let it go.

But the image of some guy pushing a ring onto your finger quickly makes her change her mind.

"Where is she?", Natasha suddenly asks, making his eyes dart back toward her.

"Uhm..."

"Tell me", she demands.

"It's summer", he says. "Y/N's with her grandparents, probably."

"You're sure?"

"No. I mean, probably. As far as I'm concerned. It's worth a try."

Natasha nods. Then she turns around and grabs her jacket, her backpack, her phone. Peter stays frozen in place as she stuffs things like some fake ID's and a gun into her backpack.

She looks up and their eyes meet. A flash of defensiveness crosses her face.

"Just in case", she mutters, slinging the backpack over her shoulder.

"Don't do anything stupid", he says, but she doesn't spare him a second glance. He's left alone in the silence of her office.

. . .

You've been returning to this specific place time after time since you arrived in town.

The askew pictures, the magnets on the fridge, the hammock next to the lake. Cicadas in the evening, birds in the morning.

You sit on the porch and drink tea. Your hands wrap around the chipped mug like it's a precious treasure. The diamond on your finger shimmers in the sunlight.

You revisit the books Natasha once read to you, quietly mumbling sentences out loud. Some pages have little straight creases on the corners. You remember Natasha folding the corners down to remember where she left off.

No matter how hard you try — the words don't carry the same weight anymore.

The house feels both alive and dead without her here. You find yourself looking for her in the smallest details — the faint scent of her perfume on the blanket, no longer lingering. The indentation of her body on the armchair in the living room. The scuff marks on the floor, stemming from her boots.

You feel guilt, you feel shame. Yet you still fall asleep in that very same house, only minutes after calling Simon to tell him goodnight.

The next morning, Natasha finds you curled up on the mattress in the bedroom.

Sunlight streams through the thin curtains. The blanket, formerly covering your entire body, is now only draped over your thighs. Still half-asleep, you hear the creaking of floorboards.

You want to convince yourself it's just the old house settling, but then you look up.

Natasha, in the doorway, her arms crossed. The expression on her face gives nothing away, but you can tell that time has passed.

She doesn't necessarily look older, but she looks tired. There's a weight in her eyes you don't quite recognize.

"Still your favorite spot, huh?"

"Nat", you stammer, sitting up and covering your chest with the blanket. Dumb idea, sleeping without a shirt on. "What are you...?"

"I could ask you the same thing", she points out. She opens a drawer and pulls out one of the shirts she left here, tossing it in your direction. You quickly slip it on. "This is called trespassing, as far as I'm aware."

"Oh", you mumble, your gaze tentatively flickering up and down her body. The leather jacket is the one you remember very well. You still know the feeling of burying your nose against it and breathing in the unique scent. "Sorry. I just thought...well, you haven't been here in a while."

"I haven't", she says, still stoic. She briefly looks at the book you left on the floor next to the mattress. Her expression shifts for a split second. You almost miss it. "It's still my house."

"Right." You get up, hands smoothing down the shirt you're wearing.

You search her face for something familiar, but Natasha knows how to mask the turmoil she's feeling. A confusing storm of emotions, suddenly too overwhelming to handle. She should've stayed home.

Then, her eyes land on your left hand. The diamond stands out almost offensively.

"Right", you repeat, more nervous now. You run your hand through your hair. "His name's Simon. He's...nice. Uhm..."

"You don't have to explain", she says quietly. Her face softens, and in return, so does yours. She nods to the kitchen after contemplating for a short moment. "Coffee?"

You hesitate.

Simon, your brain reminds you.

Natasha, yells some other part.

Then, you nod.

"Coffee."

[aesopsbaby]

⤷. Yandere Bully Norton Campbell

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: Headcanons

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I need him in all ways possible. Anyways, I'm finally back to doing requests after a whole year of taking a break,,,hopefully this is what you were looking for anon,, :,) ALSOOO what do you guys think of the header >:] I spent an hour doing it,,,sobsobs Now I have to do it for the rest of my masterlist.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Possessiveness, forced codependency, forced dependency, non-con touching, obsession, stalking, mentions of threats (kidnapping), swearing, use of pet names, kinda crybaby reader

ᯓ He's so cold and so mean... He acts as if he doesn't care for your well-being, always flicking your forehead, pulling on your arm ── harsh enough to cause you to wince ── just to get you to follow him. Occasionally, Norton will casually throw insults your way whenever he passes by you.

Oh, but when someone else even so much as laughs in your direction? Norton feels the instant rage bubbling up inside him. Do you think it's funny to allow people to do that to you? Are you really that dense? Can you really not comprehend when someone is being mean to you, that you need him to protect you?

... Well, it doesn't affect him much. He'd love to come to your rescue, so don't worry your pretty little head, darling!

ᯓ More often than not, he'll ignore you as well. He wants to test you, wants to see you desperate, and begging for his attention. He needs to know that you're as dependent on him as he is with you.

ᯓ Norton’s obsession with you isn’t just about being close to you; it’s about protecting you—at all costs. His actions are driven by a twisted sense of duty, and he believes that no one else can care for you as he does. He watches you from the shadows, always making sure you're safe—he's constantly plotting to ensure that no one else can get too close to you. His princess, his treasure. HIS.

ᯓ Norton enjoys watching you, likes to see you squirm in discomfort from the staring. Norton likes, no, wants to push your boundaries. He needs to see what else you'll allow him to do before it's too much ─ and even until then, it's not like that'll stop him either way.

ᯓ Norton doesn’t just want you to survive the match—he wants to own your survival. He’ll make it clear that, in his eyes, you’re his to protect. If you escape or are rescued by someone else, he sees it as a betrayal. He can't help but scoff and bark out a curt laughter as he grips your arm tightly, pulling you away from other players while you struggle to keep up with him, stumbling over your steps as you wince from his harsh grasp.

"You must be fucking with me, right sweetheart? You think you're cute being such a fucking whore, that it huh?"

He doesn’t allow you to get close to anyone. You are his, and he makes it painfully obvious with his possessive behavior. If he feels like you're slipping away or getting too close to another survivor, he’ll make sure to "remind" you who you belong to by being extra sweet, manipulative, or even aggressive.

"Getting a little too comfortable, aren't you baby? Continue testing me and maybe I’ll tie you up, keep you locked up in my room where you belong."

ᯓ Norton loves making his little darling cry— not just the tears but the struggle before they fall. He never misses a chance to break you down. He likes seeing you like this—helpless, teary-eyed, struggling to hold yourself together while your fingers grasp at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. And oh, how he relishes in that fact.

You hiccup softly, trying to stifle your sobs as Norton kneels in front of you, resting his arms on your lap. His prying eyes gleam with something unreadable—amusement, fondness, possession.

"You just don’t stop, do you?" He hums, the corner of his lips tugging up into a fond smirk. "Tears, sniffles, that wobbly little pout… Such a mess, sunshine."

His fingers trace over your damp cheeks, wiping the evidence of your breakdown away with slow, deliberate strokes. "You cry so pretty.." he muses, tilting your chin up. "Almost makes me wanna make you cry more. But I guess I should fix you up instead, huh?"

His hand slides to the back of your head, pulling you into his chest. Letting you cling onto his shirt desperately to ground yourself. He lets out a soft chuckle, his voice a deep hum as he pats your head soothingly. "There you go… That’s better right, my little crybaby?"

ᯓ And then, just as easily as he makes you crumble, he soothes you. His touch turns warm, hands wiping your tears, pulling you close, letting you cling to him. Not out of guilt—never that—but because he wants you to need him, to seek comfort in the very hands that made you cry.

[simplydannie]

Veneer and Velvet are out of prison, set forth to start a new life... with a little help from little creatures of course. As days go by Veneer finds himself being pushed aside.... And slowly forgotten.

The twins opened the doors to their new apartment.

“Uggghh…” Velvet scoffed, “It’s soooooo small.”

“Well, what did you expect? A fanfare welcome for what after we did?” Veneer brushed past her, placing his luggage on the floor, his hands on his hips, “This honestly isn’t too bad Vels! It could’ve been worse in your opinion…”

“What’s worse than rotting away for almost a year in prison, Veneer?” Velvet tossed her luggage aside and plopped herself on the couch.

“...Getting sent back to the under-city.”

“.....Touche. God, I hope he doesn’t come looking for us.” She sat up and made her way up the stairs.

Veneer bit his lower lip “......Yeah…Yeah sure.” He mumbled following her up the steps.

The apartment was a two bedroom, and one bathroom, “Great. We have to share a bathroom!”

“Girl, calm down, we’ve done it before.” Veneer couldn’t help but chuckle.

“We were kids. We're not kids anymore. You have stuff I don’t even wanna see!”

“Oh god Vels, grow up. You can have your first turn in the bathroom. There happy?” He walked over to open the doors to the bedrooms.

“I call this one!” Velvet ran into one throwing herself on the bed.

“....Okay? They’re the same size you know.”

“No. This one looks way bigger, so I call it.”

Veneer rolled his eyes. Gathering the few belongings he had, he made his way to the room that would be his…

CRREEEEEKKKK.

Veneer heard something along the floor board make a sound, followed by the patterns of little feet, “Oh please don’t tell me we have rats…” he muttered…

CREEEEEKKKK….

Again the sound. He reached to grab a pillow, holding it over his head as he crept slowly towards the direction of the sound; he could hear small noises behind the dresser, it sounded like voices. Veneer opened the dresser door.

“Oh hey! There you are!” A small Troll looked up at him with a smile.

“AHHHH!!!!” Veneer screamed instinctively slamming the pillow on the small Troll.

“OW! HEY KID! OW! KID! OW! OW! KID IT’S ME!!!!!”

Veneer peered open one eye to stare down at a familiar little face, “Wait- I know you. You’re Floyds brother! Well, one of his brothers.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heck of an arm kid.” He rubbed his head, “John Dory.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We were obviously waiting for you two to arrive?”

“We?” Veneer turned around at the sound of more small pitter patters across the floor board. A small pink haired Troll popping up, followed by familiar dark blue hair, and another tuft of pink hair.

“Hiiii!! We met briefly during the Rage Dome show! I’m Poppy! This Branch, and you obviously know-”

“Floyd!” Veneer happily exclaimed as he ran over to the tiny Troll, picking him up in his arms.

“Hey, Ven. Heard you guys got out early on account of good behaviour.” The Troll smiled.

“It was tough for Velvet, but she managed.” The Rageon smiled, placing the Troll back down with the others, “But- why are you guys here in the first place?”

“Oh right!! Well, we have decided-”

“I think you mean, YOU decided for us Poppy.” Branch crossed his arms.

“Yes, yes, anyways! We have decided to be your life coaches!!” The small pink Troll chimed. Veneer arched his eyebrow, tilting his head.

“Poppy had this idea of helping you guys get back on track. We were impressed by the way you stood your ground Ven, the way you couraged up and admitted everything.” Floyd smiled.

“Veneer! Who in the world are you talking to- Oh you have GOT to be kidding me.” Velvet walked in, crossing her arms, she snarled at the sight of the Trolls, “No. Nuh uh. Whatever you guys got planned, we are DONE with Trolls. Out. Out now.”

“Well, you heard her, she don’t want help.” Branch retorted.

“Oh no, no. You need this most of all, Velvet.” Floyd pointed. “We’re going to be your life coaches. Make proper teenagers out of you two.” Floyd pointed out.

“And who says we want to be proper teenagers in society.”

“Oh come on, Vels. I wanna give this a try! Count me in!” Veneer smiled.

John Dory clapped his hands, “Perfect! Since you two are twins, his vote counts for her vote too.”

“That’s not fair!” Velvet retorted.

…. Veneer was more than happy to receive life lessons from the little Trolls. In reality, he was just happy to mend things with them again, especially Floyd. He wasn't one to really have friends growing up, other than his sister. For some reason, it had always been hard for him… more so when he and his sister were sent up to Mount Rageous when they were nine. Being from the under-city, they really had never fit in, their pale skin having them stand out in front of the rest of them. It was hard, just them against the world.

Then fame happened, suddenly everyone loved them… but he knew it wasn’t for the right reasons, which is why he did what he did. Yeah, he risked his sister hating him, but it was better living in truth than in a lie….

…. Yet, as the days passed with the little Trolls, the more he realized about his truth… he was, well, a nobody. He saw how easily they began to migrate towards his sister’s more vibrant personality. It was only her that they began to coach now really, not him.

“You’re good Veneer! Your sister needs a lot more focus than you do.” They’d exclaim. And that was that. Now where did he hear that before? Oh yeah, with their aunt and uncle they stayed with in Mount Rageous. She was the more ‘troubled’ child according to them… so she’d get the most attention… Their father would never do that… but he wasn’t there was he? So Veneer couldn’t think about that. He began to notice the drift little by little. It began when they focused more on getting her singing career back on track…

“Despite what you did, there’s no doubt about it. You’re a star!” John Dory exclaimed.

“Yeah I know!” Velvet flipped her hair as she stood inside the recording studio. They had her practicing non-stop, and for sure she was improving.

“Uh, John, when can I get a turn?” Veneer swiveled around in a chair within the control room.

“Maybe tomorrow buddy, we really have something going on here.”

“....You say that every time I ask.”

“This time I promise, though okay.”

…. But that promise never came. It never was his turn when it came to sing, to practice. Perhaps his time with music was done? Maybe it really was his sister's turn to shine. He’d find something, he’d find his calling.

The days turned to months, and he only grew lonelier by the second. With this new schedule Velvet had, they never hung out anymore, he attempted something with the Trolls, but they never had time. And when they all agreed to hang out with him, well, they’d forget. His attempt to make friends outside was a hit and miss…

“....I wanna go home…” He began to murmur to himself at night. But he couldn't go home… this was his new home now…

….. “Ven! Wake up!” There was a pounding at his door one morning.

“Ugggghhhh.” He rolled out of bed, his hair sticking out all over the place. “Whhhaaaaattttt.” He opened the door.

“Get dressed, bedhead. The Trolls wanna talk to us about something.” She trotted downstairs.

Talk? About what? Veneer scratched his head making his way to his mirror… that’s when he saw it, the calendar. It was their birthday! They probably had something planned for their birthday! Veneer squealed in delight as he quickly dressed himself up, running downstairs.

“I'm here!!” He slid into the kitchen…nothing. There was nothing. Okay, a little strange, but it was still early.

“Good morning Veneer! We have a special mission for you, well, both of you I guess we can say.” Poppy smiled as she placed her hands on her hips.

“Okay? What?” Velvet arched her eyebrow staring at the small Troll curiously.

“We got a list of orders you need to go pick up.”

“Orders?!” Velvet whined.

“Princess, they're all for you and this new pop idol thing we’re trying to help you with. Least you can do is go pick up the stuff.” Branch crossed his arms handing Veneer the paper.

“...Wow…that’s- that’s a lot of stuff…” Veneer exclaimed, “I guess we go now?”

“Yes, yes! Now shoo!” Poppy practically shoved them out the door. The twins stepped out in silence, a little confused as they blinked to each other.

“Well, while we’re at it, maybe we can stop at Fizzy Freeze for a free sundae!” Veneer chimed.

“Free sundae?”

“Yeah, it’s our birthday, I say we celebrate while we’re out.”

“Veneer, we’re not kids anymore to celebrate by getting free ice cream.”

“Okay then. No free ice cream. How do you wanna celebrate then?”

Velvet stayed silent.

“Come on, sis. Tell me and we’ll do it!!”

“....You want honesty?”

“Of course.”

“....I…don’t want to….celebrate with my brother…”

“....Oh.”

“I mean, we’re kind of too old for that. I’ve finally made friends, Veneer. I was hoping they’d remember and want to celebrate with me…I haven’t even gotten a text from them! It’s just…uggghh. Whatever. Let’s just run these stupid errands.” She marched towards the car. Veneer on the other hand, well, he really hadn’t made any friends yet. All he had were his sister and the Trolls… maybe they’d want to celebrate with him when they got back. For the time being, the twins drove in silence as they went to run errands the Trolls had laid ahead…

It was nearly two hours when they returned, boxes and bags in hand.

“Worst birthday ever.” Velvet muttered as she opened the front door. To their surprise, the whole apartment was dark, “Hello? Guys?” The twins set down the boxes and switched on the light…

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!” An echo of voices filled the complex as the Trolls jumped out, an assortment of Rageons the twins age behind them.

“You guys remembered!!!” Velvet ran over to her friends embracing them in a hug.

“Girl, of course we did!” One Rageon girl smiled.

“Those errands were a distraction. Couldn’t have you around while we set up.” Poppy giggled pushing forward a birthday crown for her, “We all thought you deserved this.”

Velvet took the crown in her hands, placing it on her head, “What do you mean?”

The Trolls looked at each other, with a smile on their face, “You’ve made amazing progress…. You’ve really proven to us that you really have what it takes. You have the potential.”

Velvet did her best not to smile at the comment, “Yeah. Whatever.” In her words, it was a thank you.

“Alright, alright! Now that the birthday girl is here, let’s party!!!” One of her male friends cried out…

Veneer stayed back, he read the banner clearly: Happy Birthday, Velvet. He made his way into the kitchen to find the birthday cake. There it was: Happy Birthday, Velvet. He looked in the fridge for anything else, any other cake with his name on it….nothing. Veneer didn’t say a word. He slipped away, knowing they wouldn’t miss his presence. He trotted upstairs quickly grabbing something from his room and then making his way to Velvet’s.

“...Happy birthday, sis.” He smiled, placing a small box by her nightstand. He walked over to his room, hearing the laughter and music downstairs, Veneer closed his door and sat on the floor by his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest…

….they forgot….

Of course, they would’ve forgotten that it was his birthday too… it was like he was nonexistent the past couple of months… Veneer really couldn't take anymore of it. This life was even lonelier than the life of fame he had spent with his sister…. He hated it…

“I want to go home…” He muttered, “....Dad….I want to go back home with you….” The tears started spilling out…

….he felt so, so alone…. So forgotten.

[splickedylit]

@ USAmericans that are following me, if you (like me) get anxious you'll somehow have issues with a mail-in or drop-off ballot: I forgot that in a lot of places (here's a site to check!) early in-person voting is an option, so I figured maybe you did too!

Lines are MUCH shorter than election day,

which means it's quick and you have more time to look things up at the voting booth if necessary,

and you have a LOT more ability to find a time that works for you than if you just vote on Nov. 5th (which I would be have been almost completely unable to go out and vote on).

Early voting y'all it kicks ass. A quick google of "early voting (my city/county" immediately brought up the exact address, days and hours of where it was available. Will definitely patronize the fine folks at my local polling center again in four years assuming that. Things go well. And we still have a democracy in four years. OTL

[care666bear]

[horreurscopes]

my guy pretty like a girl & he got fight stories to tell; i see both sides like chanel

[tj-crochets]

I am having a rough afternoon and could use some joy, so if you have any favorite songs to dance around the kitchen to I'd love to hear them! It does not matter what language they are in, any language is fine

[mc-critical]

1.01 / 2.17 (41)

[lemongogo]

need 2 find myself again in 2025 . tbhwu

[strangebrew]

happy birthday crosby

[smilesrobotlover]

Well, I didn’t fail my psychology test, but I didn’t do good either

[rotisseries]

HELLO?

[psqqa]

i'm having a lot of fun with duolingo italian because it's like word that is basically latin but italianly, french but to the left, oh hey greek! you love to see it, absolute bottom of the false friend option list but sure i guess, WILDEST LEFT FIELD SHIT YOU'VE EVER SEEN, back to latin,

[princessconsuelapark]

as much as i appreciate the sentiment behind posts talking about people's childhoods and growing up with them and big part of formative years etc, that concept feels so alien to me.

him and his band are a big part of my life still.

they are on my blog, in my bio, my url, on my twitter header, in my spotify wrapped, I wear their merch to the gym, I sleep in it, (god help me but) i have notifs on for @ onedirection on ig, I buy tickets to their concerts, and I use my mug with their faces on it every single day for my morning coffee.

that is all in the present. and I understand that people mourn for a sense of nostalgic past and that is so valid. I just can't quite see myself within any of those remembrances.

so here's a post for us, for the fans who are still here, for the people who mourn not just for their past, but for their present, and now future. ❤️ love you all lots.

[riftdancing]

haunt·ed (adjective) 1. inhabited or frequented by ghosts. a haunted castle. 2. preoccupied, as with emotion, memory, or idea; obsessed: His haunted imagination gave him no peace.

Unfortunately for me, it's both. It's been over two decades since you passed, but I still see you in the mirror every morning. Your judgement echoes in my ears and your haunting white eye continues to scrutinize my every move. My technique. Never quick enough. Foot work is always sloppy. Missed a spot cleaning that revolver barrel…

Was it love or obsession? Did you really love me, or were you chasing the remaining desire for my late Mother? I see her when I look in the mirror too. In my own reflection. In my features. I was not woman enough to be the daughter she wanted. I was not loyal enough for my Father's pride. I was not obedient enough for my Brother's care.

They all share your grave now.

Sometimes I feel ill when I miss you.

I remember when Father gave me to you. Like an object or a toy he'd discarded, something he'd grown bored of after I didn't fulfill his expectations. After I filled him with disappointment. I don't blame him entirely. After all I betrayed all of them. Not just the family… but the entire crew too. Even when he gave me to you, you didn't want me and I wanted nothing to do with you. I was a burden, but you made me useful. While Father ensured I'd never see the inside of another cockpit you honed me into a fine weapon. At first I hated you for it, but you taught me discipline and over time I learned how to be a ghost, just like you. Your very own protégé...

...But you are gone, and I still feel your gaze from behind. I still feel you watching when I look over my shoulder. When I am with someone new. Heckling me about having a particular type. That I am still soft. Vulnerable. Weak. Womanly. A hound ready to obey. Maybe I am.

He says it too and in many ways, he reminds me of you. He is one of the few people on this star who has proven to be worthy of my subordinance. But unlike our troubled past, he doesn't force me to be something or someone I don't want to be.

He is the catalyst to my healing.

He has taught me my choices are my own.

From now on I will no longer be a slave to my past.

((There's a bit of context in bullet points under the cut for this if it interests you but it's really raw because she's got a very long and complicated story as I've been writing her since 2011.))

Some bullet points on Blink's early history:

Blink was born into a life of Sky Piracy.

Her Father was the Sky Pirate Captain of the Harbingers.

His First Mate was a man named Judas, who was known in more public circles as a ghost-like assassin.

Blink fell in love with a pirate in a rival crew and tried to secretly elope with them. Her Father found out, he saw it as a huge betrayal, and sent Judas to hunt her and the lad down.

Judas killed the guy in front of her, brought her back to her Father.

Her Father disowned her after arranging her marriage to Judas (something neither of them wanted)

Judas viewed her as a burden, and basically decided when life gives you lemons, you turn them into your protégé and train them like a soldier.

This brought the pair of them closer over time… and as they'd both been screwed by the Crew's bullshit hierarchy and politics they decided to do something about it together.

Judas wound up fighting Blink's Father for Captaincy, and won. While it was supposed to be a fight to the death, he let the man still walk away with his life.

He was a good Captain for a while, with Blink as his First Mate and under the two the Crew had a prosperous window.

But, unfortunately her brother thought he was entitled to inheriting the title of Captain and was furious about Judas killing his Father. So eventually he wound up fighting Judas and killed him-- in front of Blink, taking up the role as Captain (and he was terrible at it.)

Blink wound up going into hiding for six years after this. There was some more trauma laced in this I won't get into. But when she surfaced again she had enlisted with Garlemald to become one of their soldiers. Which is a whole other arc I won't get into tonight. But… that's some context to this story/post.

Fast forwarding past the Garlemald years... I will at least say that Blink eventually wound up fighting to get the Harbingers back and served as their Captain for a good while (The crew's choice). It was basically the crew's golden years with her in the lead. However, eventually she decided it wasn't the life for her, so she wound up retiring to do piloting work and that's how she fell in with Firelight Trading Co. To this day, the Harbingers still revere her as their Captain even though she's passed that title on to someone she trusted.

But yeah, ask me about those Garlean years sometime... those are a doozy. Like an Event Horizon inspired arc through Void Ark... :|