#because life shit happened including breaking my ankle

[naamahdarling]

.

[bellezaycafe]

Get Your Shit Together - Chapter 6

genre: 2024 Season AU

pairing: Romantic! oc x two people because y'all voted on a triangle ;). platonic! oc x literally the whole grid.

warnings: lots swearing, mentions of the accident and crimes, discussions about gangs, mentions of bars and alcohol. Paranoia and an argument. love triangle crumbs

context: Part 1 and Masterlist…

Comments: massive lore drop but I've tried to keep the story moving and interesting. I'm a sucker for small details so I hope y'all have good memories ;)

"I'm in a witness protection program."

Sadie clenched her jaw, unsure what else to say. Lando and Max were silent.

"What did you see?" Lando's voice was so soft Sadie barely heard him over the road noise.

Her right hand flexed on the steering wheel. "I can't tell you that."

"Why did you volunteer?"

"Because I love F1."

Max chimed in. "You said it's too public, too many cameras."

"What I reported happened after Melbourne and just before SIlverstone. I- I think it would be better if I just told you, wouldn't it."

"Yes," Lando muttered, not meeting her glance.

"Okay, well. I was working a bar in Sydney and witnessed a crime. I was seen calling the cops and..." She took a deep breath. "And let's just say that I had dobbed on someone dangerous. Someone influential and known to police."

"You snitched on a gangster?" Lando's wide eyes would have made Sadie laugh in any other situation. "A real life gangster?"

"I didn't know who they were! I was cornered in an alley the next day and after that I spent all of my money on a two week stay in England. From there, I reported the attempted assault and was told to stay in England for the two weeks. The police said they could use that time to get me into witness protection and set up the right safeguards, if I anonymously testify in court. It happened to be the Grand Prix weekend, so I volunteered instead of sitting around."

"Attempted assault?" Max stressed.

Sadie glanced at him in the rear view and her silence was answer enough. You don't need to know.

"Let me get this right. You snitched on a gang, were threaten and then ran to England?!"

"Yeah, pretty much." Her tone didn't match her racing heart.

"What happened to 'too many cameras'?" Lando toyed with his silver necklace.

"Obviously I didn't consider how dramatically you were going to break your ankle in turn, whatever it was. I figured, as a medic, I’d spend a lot of time in areas with very few to no cameras.”

Sadie glanced at the phone Lando showed her and, with one hand on the wheel, swung them left and down a small side street.

“You are right, though,” Max observed. “The reporters aren’t allowed in the medical tents unless they’re unwell themselves.”

“Is that why you’re in Melbourne? Are you from Sydney?” She could hear curiosity in Lando’s voice.

“It’s complicated.” Sadie grimaced.

“It’s seems like everything is,” Max muttered.

“Oh, shush,” she joked. She knew it had landed when both boys smiled slightly. “I grew up just outside of Melbourne. I’ve been working back at that bar since I was 18. I took some unofficial leave in June to experience working in another city while we had extra staff. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have chosen Sydney.”

The boys were quiet as Sadie explained her time working at bars in Sydney and enjoying the nightlife of another city. She talked about the move up there and the sudden disappearance to England. Some of her stuff was still in Sydney, including some personal keepsakes like a bracelet from her mother. Sadie explained that Lewis and Max knew about the witness protection, but nothing further. She’d only told them when they visited her in hospital the day after the accident and after some significant convincing. She answered questions about her leg and how it had healed, which had turned out to be quite well.

“How much physio did you have to do?” There was guilt in Lando’s question.

“Just some at home things, it was quite easy,” Sadie admitted. She didn’t want to elaborate on the facts she hadn’t done any official physio because she couldn’t afford it. Australian public health care was good, but not that good. “How well has the ankle healed?”

“It was slower than I wanted but I’m cleared for next season which is good.”

Max grumbled, “but he didn’t stop complaining about it for months.”

“I was in pain, mate!”

“I know! You told me every chance you got!”

Sadie smiled at their banter, glad they weren’t holding up walls of suspicion anymore.

As she pulled up to the Piastri Family home, she cleared her throat. “I- ummm… It was good to see you again Lando, and good to meet you Max.”

“Oh no,” Lando chided. “We’re not done, I am not letting you just drive into the sunset again.”

“It’s already dark,” Sadie pointed out. “And that’s not what happened the first time.”

“And on that note, I’m out,” Max exclaimed. “It was lovely to meet you, Sadie. Thank you for what you did at Silverstone.”

He jumped out of the car before she could say anything and practically ran to the red front door of a small, low set home.

Lando undid his seatbelt and turned to face her, pulling a leg onto the seat.

“Sadie, you vanished.”

Straight into then.

“I feel better seeing that you’re in one piece, and not hearing it from news,” she murmured.

“That’s what you have to say?” he scoffed.

Sadie pushed down irritation. She might struggle to stay in one place for very long, but she was a patient person who had drawers of calm, collected masks to choose from.

When she didn’t answer, Lando shook his head and closed his eyes.

“How do you think I felt?” he snapped. “Lewis told me you had stitches. How many? I know you can walk, but how long did it take for the limp to go away? Did you need crutches? Because you know that I did, and you know how long I needed them for.”

“How much did Lewis tell you?”

“You’re focusing on the wrong thi-“

“How much, Lando?”

The panicked edge to her voice had Lando pausing, looking closer at her face through whatever haze was over his mind.

“Just that,” he breathed. “He told me you’d needed stitches but were okay. He wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

The fist around Sadie’s heart relaxed slightly as she sighed with relief. “Okay, as long as it was just that.”

“You’re scared,” he stated like he’d only just noticed. His watercolour eyes were lit slightly by a nearby street lamp. They appeared hazel in that light and it was a detail Sadie wished she hadn’t noted.

“I’m paranoid,” she replied just as curtly.

“I was scared,” he admitted, breaking the eye contact.

“That’s fair. If your ankle didn’t heal properly, your career might’ve been over.”

“No, that’s not- Well I was scared about that but I meant that I was scared for you.”

Sadie frowned. “What? Why?”

“I didn’t know if you were okay! You put yourself on the line for me, you saved my life and I didn’t know if you were okay!”

“I didn’t save your life,” she scoffed. “It wasn’t headed for your heart.”

“I rewatched the footage,” Lando confessed with a sheepish smile. “If you hadn’t put yourself between me and the track? The debris would have hit me and my career could have been over.”

“Your career, Lando. Not your life.” Her voice was the softest it had been all night. It even surprised her.

“My racing is my life, Sadie.”

“I-“ but he cut her off.

“I never got to thank you in person.”

“You can do it now.”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?” Her patience was slipping. She pulled another mask from the drawer.

“I think you’d take it as closure, or something. Then you’d leave and I would never see you again.”

He wasn’t wrong. She’d began to form a plan on how to give him the answers he needed, and then vanish again. He was a liability to her safety.

“Would that be so bad?”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Sadie couldn’t bring herself and meet the gaze she could feel on her.

“Max almost punched a reporter,” Lando said.

That had her looking up at him, a confused smile on her lips.

“What?”

“In the media pen, Max almost punched a reporter that wouldn’t stop asking about you.”

A laugh bubbled out of Sadie. Max Verstappen? Protecting the young woman who had ego-checked him at Albert Park?

“I’m serious!” Lando insisted, but his smile was widening. “The guy asked every driver, but Lewis and Max had already told everyone to say nothing. The reporter was so frustrated at getting ‘no comment’ from every driver. Max’s interview was second or third last and the reporter asked something so out of pocket. If you find the interview you can see Max trying not to hit the guy.”

Sadie laughed again, and she caught Lando grinning in her peripheral vision.

“I did make him swear on his championship,” she commented it.

“What?” It was obvious that detail was also new to Lando.

“After the incident, while we were still at the track, I made Lewis promise to hide me from the media. Max visited my hotel room a few days later, and I made him swear the same thing.”

“On his championship?” Lando was trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah.” Sadie couldn’t hold back her own.

They laughed for a few minutes at the absurd notion of Max swearing anything on his championship.

“Jesus,” Lando sighed. “That makes so much more sense now.”

“What does?”

“I tried to find you, after a month. Fuck, I even tried to rope half the grid into helping me find you, but Lewis and Max always shut it down. They never told my why, but I guess that’s it.”

“I’m not going to apologise for trying to protect myself.”

“You’re good at protecting,” he said.

It wasn’t the most random comment he’d made that night but it was the one that stuck out the most.

Sadie didn’t know how to reply.

She didn’t have a chance to think about it when she saw a shadowy figure moving toward the car.

“Lando, get out of sight,” she warned.

He was too shocked by the immediate change in demeanour and topic.

“What?”

“Just- oh. Nevermind.”

As the figure came closer, they stepped into the lamplight and Sadie recognised Oscar Piastri.

“It’s Piastri,” she breathed.

Lando wound down his window and waved.

Oscar leant down, rested both arms across the opened window and glanced between them.

“Hey, how are you?” He began.

“Could be better,” Sadie quipped with a joking smile.

“I’m trying to convince her to stay,” Lando explained.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Stay the night or-“

“No, Oscar!” Lando laughed and Sadie couldn’t help but like sound.

“He means in your lives. But I can’t.”

Oscar tilted his head sideways quizzically and some of his hair fell into his eyes. “Can’t or won’t.”

“Both.”

“You make it sound like you don’t have a choice,” he observed.

“She does,” Lando said at the same time as Sadie’s “I don’t.”

“Lando, I-“

“No, Sadie you do have a choice. Not every part of our lives is public.”

“I’m still very confused,” Oscar added.

Sadie’s patience slipped again. “Piastri, I fucked with some dangerous people, and I can’t let them find me. Lando, you don’t have a private life. If you’re not doing Formula One, you’re doing Quadrant; if you’re not doing Quadrant, you’re partying with Martin Garrix; and if you’re not partying, you’re posting something on Instagram. You live an incredibly public life, and that’s okay, but I can’t join that in any regard.”

Lando looked at her with stunned silence. Oscar was watching her with a very concerned expression. She pointed at him with an intense stare.

"You might think your life is fairly private, but when you post on social media everyone nit-pics at it because of how rare your posts are. And every sighting of you is scrutinised.”

A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth but he didn’t say anything.

Sadie pulled in a deep breath and pulled on another mask from the drawer.

“I’m sorry, to both of you, but I’m going to vanish again. I have to.”

“Are you in witness protection?” Oscar asked.

Sadie nodded with a frown. He’d put it together fast.

“When’s the court date?” Oscar’s deep brown were intensely focused on her.

“Wednesday, next week. I will be testifying anonymously.”

“So even if they have gang members who aren’t convicted, they won’t know it was you.” Lando pressed, catching onto Oscar’s train.

“Gang members?” Oscar’s went up an octave.

Sadie waved off the question and focused on Lando. “I see where this is going.”

“Then you can see why I’m right.” His eyes were set on hers, a hand set on the handbrake between them.

Sadie sighed and closed her eyes.

“All of the members who saw my face will be going on trial. A few of them have been convicted already.”

“So after next week, you won’t be in witness protection anymore.” Lando pressed.

“That will depend on whether they’re all convicted and how long their jail time is.”

As Sadie spoke, Oscar pulled out his wallet and an old receipt. He pulled a random marker from another pocket and wrote something on the back before handing them both to Lando. He took this hint and wrote something as well.

When he handed it to her, Sadie noted both their phone numbers and tiny signatures at the end of them.

“Text when the trial is over. Just a yes or no. A yes doesn’t mean that you’re going to to be thrust into the spot light. It’s a maybe.” Oscar said, running a hand through his brown hair.

“It’s a maybe I could thank you properly." Lando added. "A random dinner or a paddock pass to which ever race you want.”

That brought a small smile to Sadie’s face.

“Everyone at McLaren would want to thank you,” Oscar added, but there was a tightness to his jaw Sadie hadn’t noticed until then.

She caved.

“Alright maybe,” she said. “I’ll keep this but I'm not promising you anything.”

Oscar's soft smile said that's enough, but Lando's slight frown meant he wasn't ready to give up. Oscar noted it.

"Lando," he interrupted whatever the older driver was thinking. "Mum made chocolate cake while you were out and wants you to try it."

"She knows about our diets right?"

"She'll insist until you fly out."

Lando sighed with an amused smile and opened his door.

"I'm not going to say thank you, not yet. I'm not even going to say goodbye."

"It might be your only chance," Sadie reminded him.

Lando shook his head as he stood, brown curls waving in the small breeze. Oscar pushed his door shut gently and ducked his head back through the window.

They watched Lando walk away, oblivious to the fact Oscar wasn't on his heals.

"I saw it happen, at Silverstone," Oscar murmured. "I saw you make the choice."

"I didn't choose. I reacted. There was no choice, or thought process, or thoughts at all, actually. It was just an action."

"An action we're all grateful for, but-" His voice dropped, as if Lando would hear him if he was any louder. "- I want to thank you for making that choice, or doing that action, whatever."

"Stop," Sadie demanded. "Stop, Piastri."

He did. The first one to stop the first time she asked.

She pulled in a deep breathe and calmly explained, "I did what I did. It happened. I know you're all grateful, but it has to stay at that. This is not a movie, where a chance meeting leads to years of friendship."

"I wouldn't call being hospitalised for being a human shield, a chance encounter," Oscar noted dryly.

"You get my point," she replied.

"I do, and I think I understand." He stepped away from the car. "You have our numbers. Call us and we will be there."

Sadie smiled slightly but didn't give him any hope.

"Go, before Lando comes back out."

"It was good to meet you, Piastri."

"Good luck, Sadie."

With that, the handbrake was off, car in gear and she was gone.

----$----

I know y'all loved the Max/Sadie dynamic in chapters 1 and 2 so how about some more Max content next chapter? ;)

Masterlist…

Taglist; @snubug

[in-death-we-fall]

To Hell and Back

Kerrang 1227, September 13 2008

Being a member of Slipknot is a tough business. But it’s not just onstage that bad things can happen, as Joey Jordison knows to his cost…

Words: Daniel J. Lane Photo: Paul Harries

The cocaine one. It's short but it's a lot. Knew what I was getting into but this one's definitely gonna be wedged in my hellbrain for a bit.

(google drive link)

When Kerrang! caught up with Slipknot at the end of June prior to their headline slot on the inaugural US Rockstar Energy Mayhem tour, drummer Joey Jordison joked that, after being off the road for three years, the band were so full of pent-up energy and so desperate to get back out and play live that he “wouldn’t be surprised if we break our fucking necks on this first run of shows”. And, in true Slipknot fashion, on day one of the tour in Seattle, Washington, Slipknot DJ Sid Wilson ended up breaking both of his heels after an ill-advised stage dive, while Jordison himself reportedly drummed so darn hard he was forced to ride out the final three dates of Mayhem concealing a broken ankle from his bandmates. As a result, Slipknot were forced to cancel their scheduled European festival shows — including Reading and Leeds — after doctors ordered Jordison off the road for six weeks.

The diminutive sticksman is currently at home in Des Moines, Iowa. He’s bummed about letting all the European Slipknot fans down, but that disappointment is mixed with positivity, with new ‘Knot album All Hope Is Gone having debuted at number one and number two in the US and the UK respectively. And having finally kicked a long running and very private battle with addiction, Jordison has much to look forward to.

How much have you changed as a person since we last officially saw you on Vol. 3: The Subliminal Verses? “I’m definitely happier these days, that’s for sure. To be quite honest, and this is something I don’t want to get into, but basically, it all comes from quitting partying. I stopped taking narcotics just before the New Year and now I don’t flub on double bass anymore and I don’t have to try to get through the songs when we play live. You can do whatever you want in your life, I don’t care. I’m not going to preach to you and tell you to stop doing whatever, but now I’m happy and I play better. It’s that simple. My band’s ecstatic about it. I haven’t played this good for a long, long time. Probably since the first record, and there’s nothing more gratifying than that."

When did you realise you had a problem with drugs? “It was probably when I realised that I wasn’t just hurting myself, I was hurting the people around me. I had a real moment of clarity last year. My girlfriend at the time, a girl who I thought I was gonna be with forever, cheated on me and I went on a three week coke binge. I actually wrote some of the riffs for the new album [All Hope Is Gone] around that time, which is the only good thing to come out of it. But I just wasn’t having fun anymore and my family knew it.”

How did your family react? “My sister, Annie, kept trying to call me but I didn’t want to speak to anyone. The phone was off the hook. I didn’t answer my door, the lights were off, and I was just fucking ragingly pissed off all the time. So she sent me a picture of my nephew. He was trying to play drums and he was wearing one of my old masks. And so I called her and she put him on the phone and he said, ‘I love you uncle Joey’, and I was like, ‘Fuck it, I’m done. This is fucking stupid’. I realised I was basically fucking dying. It took that to make me realise what was really important in my life and that I’d done a lot of mean things to people.”

Like what? “Just stupid fucking rock star shit. Thankfully, I’m fucking over it, now. You act like an asshole, you feel like shit the next day and your performance suffers because of it. I really don’t want to go into it… I once made a tour manager cry because I was so fucking pissed off and hungover. Just fucked-up things like that. Let’s just say I’ve had to make a lot of apologies to people. But the past is the past, now I’m so much faster at drumming, so much more fluid with my breathing. I eat better… And I’m also fatter (laughs).”

We’d have said ‘healthier’ rather than ‘fatter’. You were looking quite skeletal towards the end of Vol. 3… “I’m just happier, dude. I wake up, and I eat really well. I don’t wake up and throw up like I used to. I’m not rail thin any more. Everyone in my family is like, ‘It’s so good to see you put on a few pounds’.”

Where do you think your addiction stemmed from? “We have good lives. I’m not going to say ‘Oh, woe is me’. People know we’ve had success and all that stuff. But there are things that can push you over the edge. Things like being an outcast at school, my step dad dying, the death of my friend [former Killing Joke / Ministry bassist] Paul Raven… He was one of the sweetest, most genuine fucking guys that I’ve ever met in my life. He was too young, man. He was too young. And I will miss him forever. These are the things that never leave you.”

Is that why you tried to incorporate the scars into your new mask? “I’ve had scar lines in my mask for a while now, but yeah, I wanted to design a mask that just shows the pain that I’ve gone through, the love and the hate I’ve gone through. It’s decrepit, it’s rotting, it’s sewn together. And the crown of thorns and the mummified look and the willowy hands, is the same thing. I’m growing old, man. I’m a human fucking tree, I’m just rotting into the earth. It’s the scariest looking thing I could come up with. I don’t wanna be the pretty boy in the band any more. I’m sick of that shit, y’know?”

Does it bug you that, pretty much from when Slipknot started, girls would throw themselves at you because you were the ‘cute one’? “Yes and no. Actually I think I might have done myself a disservice, I think the new mask might attract more (laughs). That said, I can’t wait to see the mock-ups in the audience. The old mask was kinda easy to copy, but the new one’s going to be that little bit harder. I honestly can’t wait to see the first kid with a crown of thorns at a Slipknot show.”

So what does the future hold for you, personally? “I don’t know. I take each day as it comes. Every morning I wake up and think, ‘Is this gonna be my last day?’. And if today is my last day, I wanna go out swinging, man. You know what’s crazy about me? I’ve already bought my grave. Just in case. It’s over down on Second Avenue [in Des Moines]. That’s what being in Slipknot does to you.”

Slipknot’s new album, All Hope Is Gone, is out now. The band will be touring the UK in December. See Gigs for details.

[dzpenumbra]

4/16/23

It's late again so I'm gonna try to be quick with this tonight.

I had trouble sleeping last night, didn't get to sleep until around 6:30. Ugh. I... I'm boring myself with even going through the details here. I busted ass on the project yesterday so I gave myself some slack today. I played Per Aspera for a few hours after yoga. I tunnel-visioned and lost complete track of time, it got late really quick, I looked at the clock and it was 7, so I rushed to the shower.

I took a quick shower, got ready to go out for a walk. It's supposed to rain tomorrow, so I wanted to get ahead of it and just get some fresh air, yesterday's walk was nice. So, what I'm getting to is... I got all my stuff on and I was putting on my socks... and my right ankle felt really swollen.

Ugh, I'm having trouble typing this and forming my thoughts. Basically... I started getting pains in the inner side of my shin, where my shin and my calf meet. And I... I started freaking out, to be honest. Pretty bad. I started to get foot pain too, it felt like my whole foot was swelling up, there were like red splotches on my foot that looked like burst capillaries and shit. And... I tried to talk myself down and just go "it's probably just muscle shit, from the walk yesterday". But I freaked out bad. I was just 100% convinced it was a blood clot again. Like... convinced.

I haven't talked about it in a while so I might as well refresh. The summer after my college graduation, I went to a concert with some friends. Well... all of those friendships ended on bad terms, including my brother... but anyway. I went to a metal show, I drove. I was always the organizer and the driver. I was kicked in the shin while in the mosh pit. I didn't think much of it. I goofed off with my friends, it hurt a lot but I soldiered through it. I remember driving home, it was my right leg - the same leg as today - I remember the pain from hitting the pedals, I remember trying to switch feet occasionally as a goose-egg formed on my fucking shin. And everyone else in the car was passed out. It was like a 2 hour drive too!

I got back and I spent the night at my ex's apartment. I had some booty shorts I got at the concert as a joke that night, I used to do that shit a lot, get goofy clothes to wear to look ridiculous. My ex stole them and, most likely, threw them out, and never told me. I would put fucking money on it.

I have no idea the context of any of that shit, but after that day... she wanted a break or broke up with me or something. Literally no clue, out of the blue. Maybe she was jealous she didn't get to come to a metal concert that she would've hated? Maybe she was upset that I was wearing goofy clothes? Maybe she thought I brought womens' clothes back to her apartment... to like... show her that I was "cheating" or something? I have no clue what she thought was happening there. She most definitely didn't ask and I would put money on that being the reason we broke up.

Welp... that kick to the shin? It turned into a blood clot. Within 24 hours, there was so much blood pooling in my foot that the entire inner side from big toe to heel turned a sickening gradient of black-purple-green-yellow. It was one of the most painful things I've been through in my life. It's a close toss-up between the shin blood-clot and the thrombosed hemorrhoid. Those were definitely top two most pain I've ever been in in my life.

I endured that pain... alone... for a fucking week... because my girlfriend was mad at me and wouldn't tell me why and wanted a break. Maybe she even flat-out broke up with me, I don't even remember. I fucking wonder why, I was in some of the worst pain of my life... After a week, there was an outdoor hippie festival thing going on near her hometown, like 5 minutes from my apartment, and I knew she was going, and I just... really asked for another chance. I drove over there and spent the entire day with her, hobbling around and limping, using her as a crutch. In ridiculous amounts of pain, but like... showing up, you know? (it made sense to me at the time, now I'm like... bro, she knows how much pain you're in and she won't visit you when she's 5 minutes away? What a psycho...)

After a few hours, someone really insisted I go see the medics at the medical tent... and I reluctantly went. They immediately freaked the fuck out and insisted my ex take me to the ER. Like, she fucking really didn't want to. I was willing to drive myself... And they were legit getting upset and flat-out insisted she bring me urgently and that I not be alone. So we went.

I waited in the ER waiting room for maybe... 15 minutes? If that? They rushed me into the ER ahead of someone who was hit in the face with a baseball bat and gushing blood, like... I was insisting they take that person first and they refused.

I remember this so vividly, god damn. So they brought me in, triaged, inspected, I'm pretty sure they... ultrasounded it? I feel like they did. Then had me sit in the room while they got a doctor. I remember a doctor came in and they also at one point brought a bunch of other people in to look at it, idk if they were students or something, I just remember that happening and it feeling like... inappropriate or something, just weird and awkward... but yeah... Basically the doctor, with limited information offered me two options. Either they do exploratory surgery right away to try to free the clot, which carried a risk of having it slip, go straight to my heart and kill me immediately. The alternative was to amputate my right leg at the knee. They gave me a few minutes to make my decision. And I remember my ex not being much help at all.

I ended up really pressing for a second opinion, to try to get a specialist on the line, which they actually did comply with. And... finally... they managed to get the time frame into their heads. See... this is an ER. They assumed that this was compartment syndrome, and the options they presented are 100% how you deal with compartment syndrome, because with that? You have like 12 hours until the limb is gone or you're dead. But I had been nursing this thing for a week. The second I shared the timeframe with the doctors they started to chuckle and sent me home with a leg brace - no fucking clue why they gave me a $200 compression cast thing, for a SWOLLEN SHIN, I literally couldn't wear it without nearly passing out from pain - and a prescription for Percoset.

My ex brought me to spend the night at her Mom's place, where we could get both of our cars parked after the ER. It was awkward as fuck. Her Mom kept making weird comments about like "you two better not hook up now, okay?" And I was like... dosed up on Percoset and could barely walk... I just didn't want to be alone, man... Then she brought me back to my parents' house the next day, and we were completely broken up for good very shortly after. Like at most 3 days after.

Super awkward picking up your car from your ex's mom's house after she broke up with you for the 3rd time, by the way. Don't recommend it.

So yeah, needless to say... that kinda left a mental scar.

And today, that nerve got struck. Vividly. And I... even entertained the idea of calling a doctor, or even my mom. Because it was a really weird feeling, both emotionally and physically. Emotionally, it was like... doom and death. It was "oh, I'm gonna fucking die in the next couple minutes, huh..." Physically, it felt like something moving inside my leg, like a pressure or a vacuum or something, and I felt like it was moving up the inside of my leg. And I was afraid it was a clot in my leg, because I've been really sedentary and my diet is shit. It was just... the narrative my head had. And the feeling felt... familiar. And that's where my head went. And it was literally like... right as I was trying to put my shoes on and head out the door.

That was a hell of a moment. Having to figure out what to do there. And having no one to talk to. No one to ask for advice. No one to double check or give a second opinion. I was really on the fence for a minute there, and it was getting dark too... so I really needed to make up my mind. And I just started to shake my foot and leg and rotate my ankle a bit and just... get the blood flowing, get the muscles warmed up. And I kinda just got to this point where I said... "welp, if it's a clot and it slipped? It's probably better for me to be in a public place than my apartment, isn't it." Like a "what the fuck am I going to do about it" kinda moment. "Better for someone to find me collapsed on a trail or dead in a stairwell than to smell my body rotting in 2 weeks." Dark shit. And I just... got myself to... man I really wish I remembered the entire narrative I told myself. But yeah, I got myself to chill and relax and I didn't let it talk me out of going. I went for the walk. I went to check out the hydroelectric dam I live right next to. I went on a short river walk. I saw 3 rabbits that were very used to human contact and I got to get really close to. I saw a gorgeous sunset. It was really nice. It was a short walk, but it was nice, definitely worth it!

I finished up the animation work I started last night, did the other 60 path tracing balls. It was tedious but I got there. Now... I'm just figuring out rendering and shit. The whole video when rendered is 6 fucking gigs. But the overlapping paths are doing some wonky shit, so I need to figure that out. I'll figure it out tomorrow or something.

So yeah, that was my day. Thankfully, that intense panic trauma flashback episode didn't send me spiraling. I remember feeling very proud of how I handled it, and how I managed to get myself out the door when every single odd was against me. But, to be honest, there's been a wave of depression through the end of the night. Mostly around the project, thinking it's kinda stupid, it's not really as cool or profound as I think it is. The usual suspects.

Again, I come to the usual conclusion... I need supportive perspective. Guess it's back to dead-end dating apps and googling "art collectives near me". Fingers crossed.

[nctsworld]

reigniting

✩ mark x reader | dance au | enemies to lovers | car s*x | smut | fluff | 1.6k

SUMMARY ⇾ your hate for your dance captain (and ex-best friend) melts and evolves into something more for the night. WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ smut (near the end), car s*x, swearing, angst in backstory RATING ⇾ mature FOR ⇾ @markleesflathead​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ yes i’m bitter that most of my fics in ask form don’t show up in tag so i might have to post them as individual fics hhh || @markleesflathead​ idk how this ended up into car s*x but i’m sorry if it isn’t what you really expected slkfmd also i’m v flattered to be one of your fave writers *_* thanks for the bday wishes!!

“I missed this.”

Mark suddenly says into the air after catching his breath from all the laughing he just did. With the hand that’s been resting on the steering wheel since he parked the car fifteen minutes ago, he swipes his thumb against it.

Your laughter subsides too, turning your head in the passenger seat to get a good look at him.

The closest street lamp isn’t near enough to cast a light to see all his features clearly, but you don’t need much lighting to see the waver behind his bespectacled face, nor the way his Adam’s apple bobs.

“I missed you,” he whispers softly, then matches your eyes with a tilt of his head.

The beginning was simple. You and Mark, best friends since middle school, about to attend the same university and were going to do everything together, including extracurriculars.

Which included the university’s main competitive hip-hop dance team, since both of you were on your high school’s too.

From what you heard from upperclassmen, every year, the team offered at least five spots open. Of course, Mark and you were confident in yourselves and each other to make the team.

But during your first year, only one spot was available on the team.

The straining of your friendship began to slowly occur, since you saw less of each other in order to train more individually for the auditions.

And when the auditions happened, there was a new tension between Mark and you. Still friends, but competitiveness was a prevalent wall between you two.

The wall grew larger, tangled with vines of jealousy and bitterness, when Mark received the spot, not you.

Both parties tried hard to keep the friendship afloat, but it eventually came crashing down.

“You’re just fucking jealous that I got in and you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you said. “and I should be, because I’m the better dancer.”

“As if.” he scoffed. He spat out the next words venomously—

“If you were better they would’ve chose you, but you’ve just never been as good of a dancer as me.”

That was the last time you spoke to Mark... for a while, at least.  

When second year came by, you decided to prove him wrong and obtain a spot on the team. Successfully, you did, but partway through the term, the captain dropped out and, to your dismay, Mark was given captaincy.

Fast-forward to today, Mark constantly gave you shit during practices and you knew it was personal.

Sure, you could’ve quit, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. However, you always did wonder why he didn’t decide to kick you off the team when he had the power to do so.

Following one practice, Mark ordered you to come by the studio on a separate night for a talk. He claimed it to be extra training, but you were mentally prepared for him to finally remove you from the team.

However, you were wrong and the unexpected happened—the wall between you two began to crumble. The hostile professionalism during the extra session grew into an area of familiarity, remnants of a lost friendship. After the session, Mark swallowed his pride and apologized about what he said back then, even offering to take you out to dinner.

During the meal, both of you caught each other up on the last year or so, and at the end of the night, Mark drove you home.

Laughing, smiling, and talking with you like the last couple of years were a nightmare faded into nothingness.

And you didn’t mind it, because you missed him too.

But instead of telling him that, you nibble on your bottom lip and rock your head forward with a small smile.

Continuing the conversation from where you left off, after Mark agreed to stop giving you such a hard time during practice, you say, “Can I ask you to stop doing one more thing during practice?”

“What’s up?”

“Please, for the love of God,” you say with your hands clasped in a prayer. “Stop rolling your shirt sleeves up, it’s terribly distracting.”

A hearty chuckle escapes from Mark, leaning his head back into the headrest. “Why is it distracting?”

“You know why!” you exclaim, beaming. “I know you do it on purpose!”

He cocks an eyebrow playfully. “And why would I do that?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, "Because I know the oh-so humble Mark Lee still loves it when he gets attention."

The driver runs his tongue over the bottom of his teeth in a smirk, hand still on the steering wheel.

"And what about you?” he retorts. “You must still have a thing for arms if you think it's distracting."

You gasp inaudibly, unsure of how he could still remember that tidbit after all these years, and you twist your upper body to inch near him, glaring at him accusingly. "Is that why you do it?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." he shrugs nonchalantly. Leaning closer to you, parroting your stance, he adds in a teasing whisper along with a squint of his eyes.

"You'll never know."

There’s a passing beat as your eyes lock, one that carries the weight of the years of loving each other as friends, hating each other as enemies, working together as dancers, and everything in between.

A moment of connection that represents what everything has been working towards to for a long time, even if you never thought you’d have the chance to ever have Mark in your life again.

His look falters for a millisecond, flicking to your lips, then straight back to your eyes as if he shouldn’t have done that.

The corner of your mouth lifts slightly.

"Are you going to kiss me, Mark,” you whisper daringly. “or are you going to keep staring?"

You’re awfully aware of both of your breathing. Yours, heavy and wanting. His, light and barely existent.

"How do you know I wanna kiss you?" he croaks, a small crack in his voice underlying his question.

Because maybe a little part of you always wondered what it’d be like for Mark Lee to want to kiss you since you were kids—for him to send you that anxious starry-eyed yearning that could send your heart into cardiac arrest.

And now, from first-hand experience, you know it really does.  

You hold your breath and question back—

"Am I wrong?”

The tension in the air snaps. He’s fast to cup your cheeks and crash his mouth into yours. Soft lips move in tandem with yours as you rest your hands on his shoulders, lightly tugging at his body.

The first, tender kiss is quickly thrown aside, along with your shirts. The desire escalates immensely and you’re suddenly straddling him in the driver’s seat, now pushed back to give extra room for both individuals.

"Should we slow down?" you ask offhandedly at one point while Mark’s mouth leaves a hot trail down the side of your neck. At the same time, his fingers glide and grip onto your bare waist, making their way to grasp your breasts.

Mark jerks away from your neck and carefully caresses the back of your head. "Do you want to?"

"Mm-mm,” you hurriedly shake your head and drag him into another strong kiss.

The exciting rush continues to run through both bodies present. When you return to the passenger seat momentarily to rid of your pants, Mark shimmies his bottoms and briefs down to his ankles and pulls a condom from his glove compartment.

“How often do you have car sex?” you joke, straddling him once again after he wraps himself.

In his reclined position, Mark looks up and scans your body quickly, both indulging in your natural beauty and in disbelief that you are here with him right now, after all these years.

“Hey, a guy’s gotta be safe—fuck, God.”

All quips and logic are thrown out the window when you sit on his length.

You have one hand pressed against his defined stomach, the other on the car ceiling. Bouncing with no end in sight, you allow the pleasure to enrapture your senses. Muffled whimpers reverberate against the inner side of your wrist as you feel him deeply with every movement.

On the other hand, Mark tries his best to keep his focus on you, but the intensity breaks him down. He groans in pace with your moving body, and he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Mark—” you cry. You rip your hand from the car roof and, without thought, frantically push it against the driver’s window, smudging the frost that all your collective breathing conjured up. You’re surprisingly already coming undone, and so is your lover beneath you.

“I’m close,” he pants thickly. His hazy gaze attempts to meet your half-lidded eyes, but you’re losing control. All you can do is barely nod and as you’re about to bounce more vigorously, Mark releases your waist and raises himself upward, clutching your back and neck to lock lips fiercely with yours.

You barely can thrust against him, but you don’t need to at this point, because the kiss is simply enough to draw out his climax.

You’re pulled back to reality after a few moments, panting with your foreheads tipped against one another.

“And to counter your question from before,” Mark grins, still breathing heavily. “I’ll only stop rolling my sleeves up during practice if you stop tying your shirt up to show off your waist.”

You try to stifle a smirk, but it can’t be helped. You reply to him with a flutter of the tip of your nose against his.

“No deal, captain.”

nctsworld’s birthday week celebration!

[sweaterkittensahoy]

A little Don't Worry Darling HateFic, which is something I might have just invented

(I mean probably not because fandom is amazing, but yes, I am writing this little ficlet on the fly because I'm so mad at that fucking movie for being so goddamn bad. Spoilers for all the worst parts).

Alice presses her whole body to headquarters, and there's a violent, sharp yank in her lower belly. When she opens her eyes, she's staring at a gauzy canopy covered in fairy lights. There's something touching her face. Something touching her legs. Something in her arm. In her left arm.

It's an IV. The tube leads to a clear solution that Alice doesn't recognize but can guess at. There are lots of clear things one gets in a bag from a hospital or medical supply company. She doesn't know how long she's been asleep, but she is certain from Jack's yelling that it was more than a day or two. Whatever's in the bag is what's kept her alive.

What's kept her asleep?

She shakes her head at the feeling of something around her eyes, and she tries to lift her right arm to use her hand to feel it. Her right hand is caught in something. She tries to lift her head to see, but something's holding her back. She squeezes her fingers around the thing, and after a moment, she realizes what it is.

Jack's hand.

Jack's hand holding hers.

Jack's dead hand holding hers. Like they fell asleep in some cute moment.

Except that is absolutely what's not happened at all.

Alice breathes out something like a scream. Her throat is moist, but her vocal cords are clearly unused. What comes out instead of a scream is a whispery, high sound like you'd make for a ghost story.

She shakes her arm, and it doesn't move like it should. Doesn't move like there's well-trained muscle to help her out. At the beginning of her surgical residency, another doctor had told her that a good gym routine was vital to staying at the top of her game. It upped her endorphins and her stamina, and you wouldn't think ribs were hard to break through, but you'd be surprised.

"You don't need the gym for that," Jack had said when Alice had mentioned planning to up her twice-weekly routine to include a day of strength training. "You want endorphins, we can just fuck."

"You're gross," she'd said and laughed. And they'd fucked that night, carefree and laughing like they always did.

She wonders now, as she shakes her arm again and again, dislodging his fingers a tiny bit of pressure at the time, if he'd really believed their sex life could solve all her problems.

There's a shout, and a loud smashing sound. Alice freezes, Jack's fingers three-quarters dislodged. She hears murmuring and heavy steps. She wonders if it's Frank's men coming to find her in the real world.

She counts the seconds silently, hoping they'll find her and kill her. Hoping they won't. She doesn't know.

At 37 seconds, the door opens, and a flashlight makes her squeeze her eyes shut.

"Shit. Fuck," says a familiar voice, and Alice risks opening her eyes again because it can't be--

"Alice."

"...Bunny?" Alice tries to say, but it comes out a painful whisper.

"You've been trapped for five months," Bunny says. "I've got a medic with me. We're going to undo your restraints."

"But--"

"The kids are alive and well," Bunny says. "Older than when you met them. I'll explain once we get you out of here."

"Who--"

Bunny smiles and reaches for Alice's left wrist, undoing the buckle as someone else starts to work on Alice's ankles. "Senior Agent Bunny McClair, FBI. And before you ask, that is really my legal name."

Alice's laugh is as dry as her whisper, but something in her soul feels really fucking good. "Nice to meet you," she manages to get out, and with one final shake of her arm, she dislodges Jack's fingers for good.

*

She's underweight, and there's muscular atrophy. The doctor, once Alice explains she was in surgical residency, is happy to speak to her using jargon.

"We'll get you started on PT immediately," she says. "You're not so weak I think we can't reverse it, but I always prefer an aggressive plan in these cases."

"Do you mean atrophy or women getting found after being trapped like I was?" Alice asks. Her voice is a little better. She's been allowed ice chips as they've checked her over.

"Both," the doctor says. She gives Alice a look that's equal parts sympathy and anger. "You're our fourth one from that fucking place."

Alice wants to sit up straighter, but her back muscles are worse off than the rest. It makes sense to her. It seems Jack did some isometric exercises with her limbs but failed to worry about her torso. It's not an uncommon issue for people who try to take care of a disabled spouse at home without a decent amount of medical knowledge or help from a home health service.

"Who else is out?" Alice asks.

"Agent McClair can tell you," the doctor says.

"Right," Alice replies. "Ethics and shit."

The doctor smiles at her. "Exactly. Ethics and shit."

*

Alice sleeps for fourteen hours. When she wakes up, there's a polite nurse with a bland but nutritional breakfast. Alice manages to eat half of it.

"I used to murder twice as many eggs," she mutters in annoyance.

The nurse's polite façade disappears, and she grins openly. "You have PT this afternoon. I'm sure you'll improve your score tomorrow."

Alice grunts in amusement as the nurse leaves. A moment later, Bunny--Agent McClair, Alice reminds herself--walks into the room. She's wearing a pearl gray pants suit with a silk, pussy bow blouse and very tall shoes.

"Alice, may I sit?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course."

Bunny sits in the chair that's pressed against the wall next to the bed, and Alice gives up as thinking of her by any other name. It's just not possible right now. She's physically strained and mentally exhausted, and Bunny's not just wearing a pussy bow and high heels, but she's also wearing a string of pearls and earrings to match.

"Are you into the retro look?"

Bunny chuckles. "I am," she says. "I have been forever. I advised on the whole look I should have inside the virtual compound."

"Virtual compound," Alice mutters. "How did you--if you didn't--I mean." She shakes her head and closes her eyes to think. It takes her longer than she'd like to get a question formed. She feels as scattered as she did inside Victory after the electroshock. "Who are you?"

"I'm Bunny McClair--and that's my maiden name," Bunny replies. "The people in charge of the FBI's undercover operation into Victory used me as a template for the man playing my husband--"

"Dean's not your husband?" Alice blurts out, feeling foolish the second the question leaves her mouth.

"Dean's another agent," Bunny says. "I run the team in the field. He's an undercover agent who spends his days debriefing with me and doing deep dive searches on everyone in Victory."

"But...he chased me," Alice says. "I...I hit him with my car."

"I lied to you more than once when you came to me," Bunny says, and she looks deeply apologetic. "I told you yesterday, the kids aren't dead--"

"Do they know me at all?" Alice asks.

"They know of you," Bunny replies. "When we all realized I was the perfect person to be used for the physical template inside Victory, I made sure to get their consent to use their old pictures and videos to set up the reason why I'd be in there."

"Who plays you?"

"A variety of agents. There's a backdoor hack attached to 'my' eye pieces that allow us to switch out agents every few hours."

Alice reaches up and touches the sides of her eyes where the eye pieces had been. There are calluses there she'd never had before. the nurses had offered her lotion, but she'd refused it. She'd apply it too much, she knows, just trying to rid herself of the feel of captivity.

"Do a lot of people play Dean?"

"No. Since he doesn't need to be there all the time, he can just play himself. But he knows the schedules of the other agents so he knows who he's...acting...against at any given time."

"Acting."

Bunny shrugs and gives Alice the same rueful smile she's always had. "For lack of a better word."

Alice licks her lips. "Is Jack dead?"

Bunny sighs. "No, and I'm sorry I had to lie to you in the moment about that."

"You said he died in real life," Alice replies, and she barks a laugh so loud and sudden and unexpected that she covers her mouth. "I--"

Bunny drags her chair closer and drapes her arms over the bedrail. "The agent playing me told me what happened. I laughed, too." She throws up her hands in a mockery of fear. "They die in real life!"

Alice's laugh this time is a bit quieter, but still as surprising. "I shouldn't--"

"You should," Bunny says, and her hand hovers over Alice's arm before she pulls it back. "Every fucking one of you we get out of there deserves to laugh at whatever makes them laugh. Mary did the best she could under pressure, but even she admits the 'they die in real life' was a last-ditch attempt to basically shock you into slowing down enough that we could help you. He was unresponsive when you woke up because we traced where he was and fed his tech a virus that incapacitated him. "

"Oh," Alice says. "You were--I mean Mary--"

"It's an imperfect system," Bunny says, and this time she touches her fingertips to Alice's arm before curling her whole hand around it at Alice's nod of consent. "I wish we could have gotten Margaret out sooner, but she--"

"Is she okay?"

"She's safe," Bunny says. "She's getting very good help. She wants to see you, but it's going to be a couple of weeks."

"What?! Why?!"

"Because her doctors say so." Bunny's gaze gets sharp and deadly serious, and Alice realizes that the similar look she'd seen in Victory when she'd admitted going to Headquarters is nothing compared to it. "And you'll get your own doctors who will agree you're healthy enough before you see her, too," Bunny continues. "You've both been through a tremendous trauma, and you came out within days of each other. We want to be sure you're both truly safe before we put you in the same room."

Alice lets that thought wash over her. She shifts her arm so she can clutch Bunny's hand. "I know you're not the Bunny I knew in there," she says, "but I feel like you're trying to do right by the Alice you heard about from everyone playing you."

"I am," Bunny says. "The same as I did for Margaret and Lydia and Carol."

"I don't know Lydia and Carol."

"We got them out shortly before you and Margaret were taken hostage."

Hostage. The word rings in Alice's ears, and her hand goes slack.

"That's what I was, wasn't I?"

"Yes," Bunny says with that no-nonsense edge Alice knows very well. "But not anymore. And not ever again. We're going to shut it down, Alice. I promise you that."

"How long will it take?"

"I don't know," Bunny replies, and it's the willingness to be unsure that makes Alice trust her all the more.

[missdreamshade]

yan skz reaction to u running away ? <3 btw i love ur blog sm

// Aww! Thank you so much, that’s really sweet of you, and thank you for the request. I feel like I was all over the place, but I hope you enjoy🍄 \\

Yandere!Stray Kids Reaction: You Try Running Away / You Get Away

Warnings: Yandere content so there will be threatening, toxic, possessive and violent themes. Strong language.

Bang Chan

You can try escaping. You can try running. But remember, he’s always 10 steps ahead of you.

You decided to try and slip out the balcony of your shared apartment. You thought you did everything right. You were silent like a caterpillar. You even made sure he was gone before trying.

But the moment you turned around, there he was. Sitting on the staircase that lead up to your balcony.

“What are you doing out here, hm? I sure hope you weren’t planning on running. Now, get back inside, sweetheart, before I begin to lose my temper.”

Lee Minho

It never occurred to him that you’d want to run away. He never “kidnapped” you. Instead, he insists he saved you from your dreadful life. He saved you from being corrupted by this world.

That’s why he was temporarily stunned when he turned around to see your figure running for the door. He quickly chased after you, grabbing both your wrists and pinned you against the nearest wall, pressing his body firmly against yours. Many seconds of terrifying silence passed until Minho finally spoke up.

“Try this shit again, baby, and I’ll break your legs so you will never be able to get away. Do you understand?”

Seo Changbin

You managed to escape him for a couple days by hiding in the basement of an old friend, who you thought lived far enough away. But little did you know, Changbin knew every detail of your life. Including the names and locations of everyone you’ve interacted with. You should’ve known better than to hide away with someone you cared about..

You were woken up to screaming, only to find your friend laying in a pool of his own blood. Changbin stood over him, a bloody hammer clutched tightly in his right hand. You let out a horrified scream, and tried to run, only to have Changbin tackle you to the ground.

“I didn’t want to do this, sweetheart, but you left me no choice. You left me and came running to him. You should’ve known that you can never escape me.”

Hwang Hyunjin

Like Chan, Hyunjin is always 10 steps ahead of you. To him, you were so predictable, so easy to figure out whatever plan you decided to conjure up in your head.

That’s why you hardly even made it down the street before a strong grip wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“I thought you were smarter than to try and run off, princess, especially with all my warnings. Now I have to decide what to do with you .. Should I chain you to the bed? Cut off your legs? Hm? Aw, don’t look so scared.”

Han Jisung

You never considered how much Jisung knew about you. The thought never crossed your mind until Jisung was easily able to find you, not long after you escaped out the bathroom window.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist the second you stopped running to catch your breath. The grip was tight, almost painfully tight.

“Did you enjoy your adventure, beautiful? I sure hope you did because once we get back home, you’ll never be leaving our room again.”

Lee Felix

There wasn’t anywhere you could hide from Felix. At least not in this city. So he knew exactly where you were headed the second he saw you were missing.

You were anxiously waiting at a bus stop, clutching the precious getaway ticket in your hands. Hope swelled inside your chest when you saw headlights heading your way, until despair took over. It wasn’t the bus. No, you recognized this car. It stopped in front of you and Felix got out of the driver’s side door.

“You were so easy to find, princess, so predictable. Now, get in the car. You might want to hurry while I still have my temper under control. You don’t want me to pay a visit to your family because of these shenanigans, do you?”

Kim Seungmin

It took him longer than expected to find you. Somehow, you managed to escape the city entirely. But when he finally found you, he made sure to bring both you and a special surprise home.

You woke up tied to a stiff wooden chair, ropes wrapped around your wrists and ankles. Seungmin stood near a table smiling at you while arranging a small cluster of objects. Scissors. Screw driver. Tape. Laying in front of you was your unconscious best friend. Tears started falling from your eyes upon realization of whats happening next.

“Aw, don’t cry, sweetheart. I don’t want the tears to blur your vision. This is your punishment for running away. Remember this next time you think of something so idiotic.”

Yang Jeongin

Jeongin could feel himself beginning to breakdown when he woke up to an empty house. You couldn’t be found anywhere. The bathroom? Empty. Kitchen? Deserted. Basement? Vacant. You were gone.

He wouldn’t waste time calling up all the contacts he could, searching all over the city for you. He will find you. No matter where you run to. No matter where you hide.

“I’m coming, baby. I will find you and I promise that you’ll never leave my sight again.”

[peter-parcoeur]

Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

____________________________________________________

« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“  Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower.  Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house.  The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

[blonde-in-charge]

Wildcard, Chapter One

** Hello everyone! My name is Kat, and this is the first imagine I have ever posted! I am still really new to the posting process so please stick with me. Anyways, I hope you enjoy **

Summary: Steve Rogers found you on the side of the road after a mission involving Hydra and convinced the Avengers to take you in. You have no name, no memories, and no idea of what you are capable of. All you know is that you are a super soldier with more hidden abilities than you care to admit. The first step to finding answers was to train you. Nobody, including you, knows what is up your sleeve. 

Characters: No Pairings(yet) Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson

Warnings: Tiny bit of cursing, Loss of memory, Mentions of blood/violence, Scars

Words: 3.3k

Waking with a start, you groaned at the action of shifting your legs between the scratchy sheets. Your legs tightened and strained from the previous day, making you unable to move comfortably. Sitting up, you hiss as you strained to throw your legs ofthe side of the bed. It was quiet, for once, in the tower. On any other normal day, you would hear the group you lived with from down the hallway, chatting loudly over breakfast and laughing. You glared over at the angry red numbers projecting themselves into the air. 

4:45am

Shit.

Pulling your arms up over your head, you stretched your aching muscles until you heard the satisfying popping noise come from one of your elbows. You pushed yourself off of the bed and sighed as your legs took on the weight of your body. You ached like never before even just standing still. You felt up your nightstand in the dark, knocking over random half drunk water bottles in the attempt to find your glasses. Satisfied when your fingertips took hold of the lenses, uncaring of the fingerprints you knew would bother you later. The door automatically slid open as you walked towards it, slowly and not picking up your feet. One of the perks of living with Tony Stark was that you never had to open a door on your own, the downside was you had the misfortune of walking into non automatic doors on the rare occasion you left the tower.  

The halls were silent in the tower, making the shuffling of your feet seem louder than they should have been. As you walked past the doors of your colleagues you could hear soft snoring from one of the rooms and louder snoring from further down the hallway. You smiled to yourself, knowing your friends were getting what you couldn't, sleep. It wasn't like you tried to get less hours of sleep than everyone else, your mind and body have not let you rest since you have joined the team. 

-Eight Months Ago- 

You sobbed, curling yourself as tightly into a ball as you could, holding your hands to your chest as your hair whipped through the air. You had secluded yourself into the corner of an abandoned gas station in god knows where. You had no idea where you were, how you got there, what was happening, or even who you were. You had woken up on a cold metal table in a concrete room wearing nothing but a sports bra and tight training pants that stopped at your ankles. You don’t remember how but you broke the cuffs holding down your wrists and ankles, leaving bloody gashes in their wake. 

Your attention was drawn to the sound of heavy footsteps nearing you as you pushed yourself into the wall, begging to just disappear through it, “Please don’t take me back” you sobbed, hot tears rolling down your face, “I don’t know anything just let me go!”

Uncovering your face you looked up into a man's face. He looked relatively young with his blonde hair but the worry lines he was sporting upon looking at you aged him. 

He knelt down in front of you keeping his distance, “Shhh, I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help you. What's your name, kid?” He studied your face with kind blue eyes, his gaze felt instantly calming.

“I- I don’t- I don’t know,” you stared at him in disbelief, how could you not know your own name? The man looked at you and nodded before looking behind him and speaking so someone you could not see

“Guys, I found a girl about 10 miles out from the compound, she is in pretty rough shape. Have the quinjet meet at my coordinates ASAP,” He spoke softly around you but in a commanding tone until he nodded, apparently getting answers from the voices you could not hear. His eyes trailed back to your eyes, searching you. His eyes then trailed down to your hands clutched at your chest and they filled with worry. 

You looked down at your own hands stretching them in front of you, there were deep cuts on either one of your wrist running all the way around until they met in a circle, and they were bleeding profusely onto your exposed stomach. You looked back up at the man, suddenly extremely light headed and you watched his figure fade away into darkness as you passed out. 

-

The coffee maker trickled the dark liquid slowly into the pot, a sound that soothes your nerves every early morning. You wished you could go back to sleep but everyone would be getting up soon anyways, and coffee was calling your name. Whatever that was. The minutes ticked by as the coffee pot filled up and you realized you had stood there unmoving, staring at a whisk while trapped in your own mind. You reached up into the cabinet for your favorite mug and hissed as your muscles protested the sudden movement. You felt the presence of someone behind you as you poured the fragrant liquid into the mug. 

“Didn't we have that talk with you about announcing your presence in rooms when you entered, Buck?” You held the mug in both hands and turned around to lean against the countertop.

The brooding soldier stood before you with his resident scowl on his face and long brunette hair sticking up in every direction. Your eyes scanned over the man sporting black tee shirt and sweatpants, the circles under his eyes matching his outfit. He looked as if he slept as well as you did. He studied you for a second, his eyes questioning why you were awake.

You watched him carefully, “Bad dream,” was all you offered to him before he gave a knowing nod before looking away from you, his actions told you he was up for the same reason. He took a seat at the island in the middle of the vast kitchen and rubbed his hands up over his face as you made him a mug of coffee. Bucky took his coffee black, with one sugar, while your coffee had to be the color of your sheets with at least four sugars. Like the bad ass you were. He gripped the mug with his flesh hand, allowing himself to feel the heat of it before he sipped it. You two sat together in a comfortable silence that was familiar with the both of you. Your relationship with Bucky was the strongest of any relationships in the group (besides yours with Steve) despite your lack of communication. Both of you had seen the same hell and understood each other on the deepest level. Bucky never looked at you longer than necessary, even when speaking he kept his head down, he only ever looked at you when you weren't looking, to study you. Everyone in the tower treated him as a time bomb, except for you because you understood the trauma he has experienced. You had been in the tower long before Bucky had joined. The reason you were found was because they were looking for Bucky. 

A new set of footsteps caught your attention and pulled you out of your thoughts of the dark soldier. The familiar and heavy footsteps rounded the corner and met your face with a refreshed smile. You gave him a half smile, “Morning Capt.” 

Steve smiled at you over his shoulder as he opened the fridge, “Good morning, kid. Good morning, Buck,” He started pulling out different ingredients for the breakfast he was planning on making, but every morning you take over that process because Steve hasn't cooked ever in his life. As he pulled foods out, you pulled out pans and made your way over to the stove

You busied yourself with making scrambled eggs and bacon while letting your mind wander. Your relationship with Steve was strong, you had been inseparable since he brought you to the tower because of the sense of comfort he gave you. Steve had been extremely protective of you when it came to the other team members, he was always worried you would get over-stimulated or someone would cross a line with you. He was the best friend who let you sleep in his bed when you had nightmares but also would hold you down when your line of sanity breaks. That was another thing you and Bucky had in common, everyone was waiting for you to snap. If the power went out in the tower, your room and Bucky’s room would be the only two doors that lock and stay locked. You were also suspicious that Tony’s interface, Friday, sends Steve notifications of when you leave your room at night or if your heart rate elevates unexpectedly, because Steve always was there out of pure chance. 

“She's doing that thing again,” The voice snapped you out of your deep thought and you looked up into the face of Sam, “Mornin, Hot Stuff,” He grinned at you, the stupid grin that he did when he referred to you as one of your ever changing nicknames, “How did you sleep?” 

You finished plating the mountain of bacon you had made while distracted and ignored the question, “Would you like a cup of coffee, Sammy?” you asked as you turned around to face him and place the food on the island as the rest of the Avengers seemed to file in. 

You weren't surprised to see Bucky had already escaped the kitchen quietly, he never sat in one place for too long. Steve had watched you with concerned eyes, which made you realize he caught the part where you ignored Sam’s question. You shrugged to yourself, I can survive on two hours, I’ll be fine. Natasha came and touched your shoulder, “Gym in an hour, resuming our session from yesterday.”

You sighed, you were still so sore from yesterday's training. You could barely sit in a chair without your muscles locking up so how did she expect you to train again? Yesterday consisted of 100 weighted squats, but your weight was Steve Rogers. Nat really liked to make you work on the thing you struggle with the most, your strength. When you first came to the tower, you had broken the bathroom door, actually you didn't break it, when you tried opening it, you basically threw it across the room and broke a lamp. Your current favorite mug is the 12th favorite mug since you have been here and Sam refuses to give you a fist bump because you broke his hand the last time, you cringed at the memory. You made your way to your bedroom and pulled out a sports bra and leggings. Most of the clothes you owned were either Natasha's or free Avengers merchandise. You made your way to the bathroom and removed your glasses to put your contacts in, you wondered if you had always had trouble seeing distances, not that you could remember. You looked at yourself in the mirror, the (y/e/c) eyes staring back at you looked so tired and unfamiliar. You brushed down the wild mane that was your hair and pulled it into a tight braid. You opted to wear a long sleeve tee shirt to cover the nasty scars that littered your body from your rescue, you knew no one cared but you did not need a reminder. 

-

Natasha was ready before the hour was up and you knew it. You always met her early in hopes of ending the session early, but that never happened. The training room was located three floors down from you and it took up the entire floor. Nat was standing in the sparring ring in the center of the room with Tony and Steve.

“Do I have to squat both of you?” the whine was evident in your voice and Steve chuckled

“No, we are going to help you learn to control your powers,” He gave you a slight smile and you could sense the anxiety in his voice

“Which ones?” You raised an eyebrow at him and he looked at Tony

Tony cracked his neck, “The ones we know of, hopefully those are the only ones but you have been known to surprise us,” Tony sounded slightly annoyed, you knew he was not your biggest fan, “but I came prepared.” He slapped the fire extinguisher at his side like a new car 

Natasha looked at you sensing your discomfort at the situation, “where do you want to start?”

-Eight Months Ago-

You woke up with a start, one second you were in front of this man and the next in a bright room. You blinked rapidly to adjust your eyes to the light as you sat up to take in your surroundings. You were in a small room of glass that separated you from a larger room that looked like a medical office from the future. You felt your arms and looked down to see deep white set scars that circled both of your wrists. You looked up and made eye contact with the man that saved you before as he made his way to your room and stepped in. He had a soft smile on his face as he glanced at you, “Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the chair at your left you didn't even realize was there. You nodded at him silently and he took his seat while watching you examine your scars, “I hope you got some rest, you have been through a lot the last couple of hours.”

Your head shot up as you looked at him, you opened your mouth to speak and let out a barely audible, “Hours?” You remember the slices in your wrist, they were so deep, how could this heal in hours? You looked at the man for some sort of explanation but he offered none

“My name is Steve, I was the one that found you last night. Do you remember that?” You nodded your head once again, “That's good, do you remember how you got where you were when I found you?”  

You were a million miles away trying to remember anything. You remember the room you woke up in, the way you tore yourself off of the table, the blood, and then all you could remember was fire and the howling of the wind in your ears as you ran. As if he read your mind, Steve nodded at you and combed his fingers through his hair. He stood up and left the glass cubicle for a second to speak to a woman outside. The woman then followed him in and started to unhook you from the various monitors around you before she stepped out of the room. Steve looked at you questionably before offering his hand and asking, “Do you think you can walk?” You nodded and slid your legs over the side of the bed and pushed yourself up onto your feet, holding Steve's hand for balance. He watched you take a couple of steps before he was confident you would be okay, “Follow me.”

-

You huffed out a breath that made the hair hanging in front of your face jump. Your body was screaming at you to let it rest but Natasha’s training was resilient. Tony had resorted to putting on one of his iron suits to protect himself from you. You looked at Nat and she simply nodded, “Again.” You sighed loudly and used all of your might to focus on the suit in front of you. Fire suddenly engulfed your hands and reached up to your elbows as well as your feet up until your knees. Your eyes had turned into flames that flickered out of the socket as you made a fist and punched Tony’s suit in the center of the chest, where his power source was. The lights in the suit flickered out as well as the flames engulfing your body. You looked over at Nat expectantly and she nodded in approval. You huffed out a sigh of exhaustion and doubled over with your hands on your knees. Your vision was spotty from the amount of power you put into the set but Natasha and Tony were relentless. “Stand up, we are moving onto the next set.”

“I’m fucking tired,” You hissed as you stood up straight, “Give me a second.”

Natashas stone look reamined, “You won't have a second if Hydra comes after you again.”

You flinched at the name, Hydra. No one has spoken that word around you since you joined the tower and rightfully so, the name burned through you and you felt your body start to heat with anxiety before Tony cleared his throat, “Look power puff, lets just get the next set finished and you can go back to hating the world after, yeah?” He clapped his hands together and faced you while ignoring Nat’s glare from the corner. 

You pushed the hair back from your sweaty forehead, “Fine, which set?” You took your stance across from the suit with your hands out in front of you, ready to wield whatever he asked for. 

You could hear the smirk in his voice, “Surprise me.” You shut your eyes to concentrate, then you felt the power creep up your skin from a dark place within you, causing goosebumps to rise. Your eyes opened and locked with the target in front of you. You swirled your hands around watching as frost covered the floor, creeping its way towards Tony before it encapsulated the feet of the suit with thick blocks of ice. The suit itself did not completely freeze over on the outside, you were forcing your abilities inside the suit, trying to force the millionaire out. The suit cracked in some spots and opened as a safety precaution to a worried Tony Stark, who was shivering enough to shake the ring. You barely hear Natashas voice as you watch the ice creep slowly up Tony’s body, his wide eyes staring at you with fear. 

“y/n!”

Your name snapped you out of the trance you had been in and you focused on the situation. Tony was almost completely trapped in a frozen block and Natasha’s feet were frozen to the floor of the ring, both of them staring at you with wide eyes. You turned around to face Steve as he stared at you with concern written all over his face. Your words caught in your throat, “I didn't mean- I’m- “ You turned back towards Natasha and Tony and forced the ice to creep back from them. Tony fell out of the suit onto his knees with a gasp, holding his arms and shivering violently. 

“Tony, I am so sorry, I don't know what-” Tony held a shaking hand up to you and you looked down at your feet.

“S-save it, k-kid.” He looked at you and leaned back to sit on the ground, “This is what I get for helping train th-the new kid.” He sighed and closed his eyes before laying back against the ground, “No hard feelings, Frozone. Just give me a minute and take the day off.”  

You watched him with worried eyes and turned back to Steve, who was mirroring your expression but not for Tony. You shrugged your shoulders and walked over to him, hanging your head low. He reached out to touch your shoulder but you flinched at the sudden movement. Steve stopped his hand and then dropped it, letting it hang limply at his side while studying you. You gave him an apologetic look before walking away towards the elevator. 

[ssiggss]

No cause the way he panics and basically KNOCKS DOWN THE DOOR if you set foot in the bathroom and don't take him with you?? Skrael made pynchers and chiuauas out of SPITE

If you're Skrael's S/O, they would be fraught with indreculousness that you didn't want to spend your eight minute bathroom break with them.

"Do you not trust me, darling? Did I do something wrong?"

"...Skrael, I just want to take a shit in privacy."

"You do have privacy!"

"Not when you're sitting on the bathroom counter and staring at me!"

"I don't count! Besides, I need to make sure nothing happens to you!"

"Jesus Christ."

"Oh my- You adopt one kid in ancient times and let them have fun and suddenly that kid has a following of nearly a billion people-"

I digress.

Skrael has severe problems with being left alone considering he's spent literally his entire life with his siblings and has never been well and truly alone (save for some doomed timelines he's repressed) and this obsession with being at your side 24/7 including bathroom breaks is a side effect of this.

That goes for showers too- one minute you're enjoying a piping hot shower and the next- squealing because not only is the water ice cold tipping on freezing- but Skrael is standing there having pulled back the curtain and staring up at you with nothing but pure adoration.

Or annoyance, depending on whether or not you remembered to put the bananas in the freezer. Those are her favorite snack.

Also yes- each of the three siblings had a hand in the different species of dogs and the ankle biters (and I say this is nothing but love) were totally on Skrael.

Skrael is the og ankle-biter.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

The Great Madripoorian Snake Off

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: M Word Count: 3950

Summary: All Sam argued was that Bucky shouldn't have to pretend to be the Winter Soldier. He never suggested Bucky pose as his husband instead.

The Baron—with his garage of vintage cars and his popped-collar bullshit—starts getting a little too comfortable. Somewhere between his prison cell and his private plane, he begins to act as though he’s the one running the show, so when he states, despicably blasé, that Bucky will need to go undercover as the Winter Soldier, Sam tells Zemo no. Not as forcefully as he forbade him from speaking earlier, but firmly enough that Sam thinks it’s clear that he won’t be changing his mind.

“But it’s the only way,” Zemo says, spreading his hands. “As the Winter Soldier, he is a very believable bodyguard.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need to act like a bodyguard,” Sam argues.

“A show of strength is—”

“Is that really what we need? I thought we were trying to fly under the radar. If we’re advertising Bucky’s capabilities like that, doesn’t that make us a target?”

“Yes,” Bucky mumbles, mostly staying out of it.

Sam’s irritated that Bucky’s not standing up for himself, not pushing back against Zemo’s half-baked plan. Having Zemo here is a lot to deal with, Sam gets that, but if they don’t fight him on this shit now, he has a bad feeling they’re going to regret it when they end up in a firefight. Whatever. He’ll speak up on Bucky’s behalf to save them both grief in the near future. He hopes Bucky would do the same for him.

“Whether or not you acknowledge what he is…” Zemo begins again.

“Who,” Sam says, gaze flicking to Bucky’s face, which is tilting down as he avoids eye contact. “Who he is.”

“…you have the risk of aggression.”

“Buck?” Sam checks. He stares until Bucky’s eyes dart up to meet his. “You gonna keep your cool in there?”

“Best behaviour,” he promises. His blue eyes are suspiciously steady, like always.

“That means,” Zemo translates with a finger raised to complement his interjection, “he’ll react whenever and however he feels he needs to. There is no guarantee it will align with your own conduct.”

“Yeah, man, I know,” Sam snaps.

Like he needs Zemo to explain Bucky to him; Sam knows Bucky. He knows he’s stubborn at best and a reckless hot-head at worst, but he also knows Bucky’s working on that. There’s no need to state how little Zemo expects from Bucky right in front of him. If anybody’s gonna complain about Bucky’s aggravating habit of doing the opposite of whatever Sam wants him to, it’ll be Sam.

He’s still glaring at the Baron when Bucky shifts in his seat, hands clenching in his lap. Sam’s eyes go to the fists, then up to Bucky’s face.

“You see that?” Zemo asks, sounding deeply amused as he nods towards Bucky. “He’s going to insist on playing a bodyguard.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ignore him,” Bucky says, quick and low like a kick to the ankle.

“He’s ready to jump to your defense,” Zemo says. He’s grinning, propping his elbows on his armrests and lacing his fingers—looking like the villain he’s already been sentenced for being. “He shows a strong instinct to protect you.”

“Put Bucky with me then,” Sam says reflexively. He glances at Bucky. “If that works for you.” His gaze slides back to Zemo after Bucky’s subtle nod. “If you don’t dress him up like he’s the Winter Soldier and make him act like he’s the Winter Soldier and have him take goddamn orders from you like he’s the Winter Soldier, who’s gonna know? We’re counting on people not being too perceptive, right? That’s why I’m using this Smiling Tiger dude’s identity instead of a made-up one.”

“That’s true,” Bucky says. His tone is gruff as he backs Sam up. “You can’t have it both ways, Zemo. Either we’re both pretending to be real people or neither of us is.”

“I don’t understand,” the Baron says affably, looking between them with a smile. This plane’s gotta hurry up and land before Sam gives in to the urge to stick Zemo’s head in the toilet and flush. “Smiling Tiger and the Winter Soldier are both real people.”

“No. They’re not.”

The silence strains with the pressure behind Bucky’s words. It feels to Sam as though Bucky’s just thrown up a forcefield between himself and Zemo, forbidding him access to the Winter Soldier. Sam can see the disappointment on Zemo’s face, but that asshole will have to wait to express it because the plane’s easing into its descent, circling over Madripoor before setting down on a private airstrip outside the city.

From the hangar, Zemo conducts a short, hushed phone call while Sam watches him with crossed arms. Doesn’t seem to be anything sinister for the moment, because the only result of the call that he witnesses is the arrival of a narrow selection of men’s clothing—including a pair of garish suits. The man who brings the garments laughs with Zemo while Sam and Bucky change in the bathroom off the hangar’s office.

When they see each other, Sam appraises Bucky. His outfit is dark and nondescript. Pricey in its details, but forgettable to anyone who doesn’t have good reason to look closely. (Sam tears his eyes away.) In contrast, Sam’s been urged to choose between the brightly-patterned suits. Layers of fabric and layers of necklaces to top it off. Not exactly Sam’s choice if he were to dress himself in anything on Zemo��s dime, but the Baron insists, flashing him a photo of Smiling Tiger to strengthen his case for bold fashion choices.

“I thought we were making characters up,” Sam says when he looks away from the screen, fiddling with his jewellery.

“This will be easier,” Zemo swears.

He dismisses his contact and the three of them—Zemo, Sam, and Bucky—walk out of the hangar, heading for a bridge with swooping arches and the lights of Madripoor beyond. Apparently, a car will catch up with them. They have until that time to work out their cover without anybody listening in.

“So I’m supposed to be Sam’s bodyguard?” Bucky checks. “Is that what’s happening?”

“You can’t be Smiling Tiger’s bodyguard,” Zemo answers, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.

“Why not?” Sam demands.

“Smiling Tiger is never seen with a bodyguard. Everyone knows he has them, but they remain at a distance.”

“Why’s that?”

“Arrogance, most likely,” Zemo says with a smile that Sam would definitely call arrogant. “Smiling Tiger affects an untouchable persona. The presumption of invincibility may not allow him to enjoy a terribly long life, but what committed criminal does?”

“You’re doing alright so far,” Bucky remarks flatly.

Sam sighs and gets them back on track. He’s already fed up with Zemo and these heeled shoes suck, so he’s losing what patience he had.

“What’s Bucky’s role then?” he asks. “We’re sticking together. If you get us some clandestine meeting with somebody who can tell us about the super-soldier serum, we’ll have to be able to explain who Bucky is.”

“Whoever he is, he’s in your orbit, not mine,” Zemo says. “That’s what you decided on, even though my plan would have worked flawlessly—”

“I don’t have any sympathy for you not getting to play puppet master with the Winter Soldier. It’s not necessary, just you looking for any chance to fuck with Bucky’s head. How about you get over it and show a little of the craftiness that helped you break out of prison?”

“Thanks to me,” Bucky notes.

“You want a new plan?” Zemo asks. “Ok. You’re together.”

“No shit we’re together. Like Sam said.”

“No, no,” Zemo says, smiling like he’s about to be a real dick. “You can be Smiling Tiger’s boyfriend. No—husband. That could be useful.”

Bucky stops in his tracks and Sam grips Zemo’s arm to force him to halt as well.

“But...” Bucky says.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, though Bucky doesn’t get any further in words. His eyes are considerably more expressive, but Sam can’t read them, the emotions flying past too quicky, a kite flipping around in a strong wind.

“It allows James to be near you,” Zemo tells him, “and would explain any protective gestures. It’s the simplest solution. Tell me I’m wrong. I know you enjoy doing that.”

“You’re wrong.”

But Sam isn’t so sure about that. They all begin walking again and, by unspoken understanding, allow Zemo to drift slightly ahead. Bucky moves silently to Sam’s side.

“You think this is a good idea?”

“For the record, I don’t like it,” Sam says.

“Neither do I. We’re almost outta time though.”

Sam looks sideways and narrows his eyes at Bucky’s determined expression.

“You’re not fighting this very hard. Is it because you and Zemo have been in cahoots since the prison?”

“We’re not in cahoots.”

“Then why are you so fine with this?”

“It’s better than being the Winter Soldier,” Bucky says.

“The nickname’s a downgrade though,” Sam quips back. Could be a bad time for a joke, but if they’re doing this he can’t have Bucky going into it with that bleak attitude. They need to be more at ease with each other.

The thought alone makes him want to shove Bucky from this bridge and lean over the side to watch the splash.

“Mr. and Mr. Smiling Tiger,” Bucky says miserably. “Fuck.”

“For all I know, Zemo’s making this guy up,” Sam hisses, glancing at the Baron’s back, “so I have to use a stupid name and wear a stupid suit.”

“Seems a little petty for Zemo.”

“He’s gonna try to break us with the small stuff, just you watch.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Bucky tells him.

“That’s exactly what somebody who’s in cahoots with Zemo would say,” Sam accuses. “He’s been working on you since you left me out in the hallway and went in to meet him in his cell alone.” He tugs on the hem of his fitted jacket. “Gotta be vigilant.”

“Whatever you say, Smiling Tiger.”

“You know, I don’t want to hold hands with you, but I’ll do it just to irritate you more than you’re irritating me.”

Bucky glares at him.

The hand-holding is supposed to begin and end as a bluff, but when they get in the back of the car together and Zemo twists around in the passenger seat to give them a significant look, Sam figures he’s trying to get some show of affection out of them. Zemo’s obviously paid the driver—and the hired guns flanking the car on their motorcycles—but this is Madripoor, where competing interests pay competing sums for tip-offs; Sam can admit to himself that, not too far from here, multiple somebodies probably already know Baron Zemo and Co. are in the city. Any one of Zemo’s hires could be reporting on them. He swallows and inches his hand across the middle seat towards Bucky’s.

Zemo gives him an approving nod and a dorky ok sign that makes Sam roll his eyes. When he’s facing forward again, Sam bumps his hand into Bucky’s. With a jerk, Bucky goes from staring out his window to down at their hands.

“Just do it, man,” Sam says under his breath, glancing at the side of the driver’s face.

“Nothing I want more,” Bucky says with zero enthusiasm. He flips his hand over for Sam to grasp and adds, “Babe.”

Just for that, Sam intertwines their fingers to make the hold as intimate as possible. He sees Bucky’s jaw tighten, but before he can probe his staring eyes for meaning, Bucky’s looking out the window again.

Not letting go immediately goes from part of the act to a competition between them. Sam catches the driver peering at the two of them in the rear-view mirror and yanks their joined hands over so the back of Bucky’s rests on his thigh. In obvious retaliation, Bucky clamps Sam’s hand securely when the car rolls to a stop in Low Town, forcing Sam to scoot across the back seat and climb out Bucky’s door.

“You could look a little happier about this,” Zemo suggests, motioning to their rigid arms while they maintain a squeezing hand-hold, as if the Baron’s about to attempt to red-rover his way between them.

“That better not be you telling me to smile,” Sam warns.

“I thought Sam’s nickname was supposed to be ironic,” Bucky says.

“What do I know,” Zemo says. He raises his hands in a gesture of harmlessness—that Sam absolutely does not buy—and leads them up the street.

“He’s not wrong,” Bucky turns his head to mutter as Sam’s gaze roves over a series of seedy deals conducted right out in the open. “You could loosen up a little. You look mad. It’s suspicious.”

“Oh, I could loosen up?” Sam shoots back. “Try wiping that death-stare off your face for five minutes.”

“Hey, I’m allowed to look like this. I’m acting protective, remember?”

“Well, maybe I look mad because your hand’s all sweaty.”

“It’s your hand that’s sweaty!”

“Uh, no.”

“You want me to switch hands?” Bucky asks, eyes boring into Sam’s and startling him because, beneath the exasperation, there’s unmistakable fear. Could be the situation, or the fact that they’re kinda putting their lives in Zemo’s hands here, or that he expects Sam to recoil at even the suggestion of clasping his Vibranium hand like a lover would.

“Yeah,” he says. “Gimme the other one.”

They stare each other down until Bucky shrugs it off, refusing to switch. Sam hopes he knows that he would’ve, that it doesn’t need to be a big deal, and that it’s probably just all Zemo’s talk of manipulating Bucky into playing the part of the Winter Soldier that has him extra wary of his own prosthetic. His Vibranium hand is currently covered by a leather glove and Sam’s glad the Baron can’t see the sleek metal when he looks back at them with greedy eyes full of an agenda Sam’s certain they only know a piece of.

“Almost there,” Zemo tells them.

“I’m gonna try not to attract attention,” Bucky says quietly, making Sam stop with him before they can enter the bar. “I might not talk much.”

“That’s fine,” Sam assures him. “We’ll let Zemo take the lead. You just stay close, alright?”

Bucky nods and they duck inside, following the back of Zemo’s high collar as they weave through a crowd of disreputable characters. It’s packed in here. Sam tries to keep his chest out, his head up, his body moving like this suit is type of thing he wears all the time. Bucky releases his hand to walk behind him, leaving Sam’s palm clammy and cold.

When Sam stops abruptly to let Zemo reach the bartender first, Bucky walks into him. Honestly, his solid presence is a relief and Sam shuts his eyes to reset for a second before turning his head partway.

“That a knife in your front pocket? I thought we were being inconspicuous.”

“It is inconspicuous,” Bucky replies, brushing past him to stand at his side instead of right against his back. “Nobody’s gonna know it’s there unless I have to pull it out.”

“I know it’s there.”

“I wasn’t counting on you pressing your ass against it.”

Sam opens his mouth, but all he can do is make a disgruntled noise before Zemo’s turning away from the bartender with a smile to wave Sam and Bucky forward.

“Ah,” says the Baron. “Will you join me, Smiling Tiger?”

Repeatedly telling himself to keep his shit together, Sam comes up to the bar, leaning an arm on the surface. He isn’t expecting pushback from the bartender, but maybe Zemo doesn’t have quite as much clout in Madripoor as he imagines; the bartender holds Sam’s eyes for a moment before glancing pointedly to Bucky. Sam can feel Bucky hovering at his back.

“My husband,” Sam states. Probably best to keep his answers short. He might look like the real Smiling Tiger, but he has no idea whether or not he sounds anything like him.

The bartender just stares back, then drops his gaze to Sam’s hand, splayed on the bar top. Shit. He knows what the man’s thinking: no ring. Although Sam’s totally good with leaping out of the back of airplanes, being required to improvise with words has him panicking. If he and Bucky had thought to come up with an excuse for why a guy like Smiling Tiger—who’s evidently comfortable being decked out in jewellery—wouldn’t wear a wedding ring, he could deliver it now, but without rehearsing? He’s not a smooth or practiced liar.

Defensively, he draws away from the bar and feels his shoulder hit someone. Bucky. Sam looks from where his shoulder is pressing into Bucky’s chest, then up to his eyes. Wordlessly, he asks for assistance. Bucky leans forward to make his voice heard over the noise of the room and Sam exhales slowly in swift relief. But that’s until Bucky says to the bartender, “Just between you and me, Smiling Tiger says he won’t wear a ring until I find him something that looks better wrapped around him than my mouth.”

The bartender doesn’t react. Sam’s trying not to either, but the expression Bucky petrified onto his face when he spoke can’t look natural. He glances at Zemo, who appears to be unequivocally enjoying their sloppy storytelling. Lifting a glass, the Baron toasts Sam and Bucky.

“Newlyweds,” he says.

With titanic effort, Sam manages a tight approximation of a smile, then angles his face away to speak to Bucky.

“Why the hell would you say that?” he groans.

Bucky gives him a brief glance before returning his gaze to the inscrutable bartender. He fucking beams at him, at the same time replying to Sam from between his clamped teeth.

“Because we’re deeply in love.”

“According to you, the only thing I’ve been deeply in recently is—”

“The usual, Smiling Tiger?” the bartender asks, cutting off Sam’s mumbled conversation.

He nods and the man puts his back to them as he prepares whatever Smiling Tiger’s signature drink is.

“I believe it,” Zemo offers, murmuring into his drink as he tips it back.

“We didn’t ask,” Bucky tells him.

Sam can still feel Bucky standing there, making casual contact that alters slightly as he speaks. What is he doing? Shifting to put himself between Sam and Zemo? The Baron might’ve been right about his protective instinct, though Sam’s sure as hell never noticed this before. No, Zemo’s gotta be wrong. These are extreme circumstances—stressful circumstances—and he and Bucky are just putting their backs together (figuratively), ready to defend against an attack from anyone but each other. That doesn’t mean anything except that they’ve been in combat together and developed a certain amount of dependability and, alright, trust.

“The chemistry is there,” Zemo continues casually, dissecting after being blatantly told not to. “The history, the tension. It’s absolutely electric.”

Zemo is spared the merciless comeback forming in Sam’s mouth when the bartender slaps an entire dead snake down in front of them and starts to gut it. Even Bucky flinches against him. Sam can’t remember the last thing he ate, but he has a bad feeling he’s going to be reminded any second when he ralphs it up between his fancy shoes.

“Hey,” Bucky says, grabbing his arm and turning him away from the bar.

Sam wants to knock his hand away because he can’t break character now. This could be some kind of test, ordered by the person Zemo brought them here to make contact with and carried out by the bartender. Sam needs to be unfazed by this and he’s taking shallow breaths through his mouth (because what he doesn’t need to do is find out what that snake’s corpse smells like), striving to regain his composure.

And Bucky… well, Bucky just has to fuck that up for him.

Vibranium fingers take gentle grip of Sam’s jaw as Bucky tilts his head and plants a firm kiss on his lips. Sam hates that this is easier to improvise than a spoken lie. And he’d be lying to himself if he couldn’t admit that he’s thought about this. A dozen times, just today. He grabs Bucky by the hips, hauling him against him. In his head, thoughts and stimuli are unfolding and collapsing like his wings—the thick slicing sound of the bartender’s knife, Who the hell does Bucky think he is, kissing me out of nowhere?, the puff of air leaving Bucky’s nose and hitting Sam’s cheek, All of this is Zemo’s fault, the soft feel of Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth, Fuck that, Zemo’s not getting credit for this, the ridge of the knife in Bucky’s front pocket as it pushes against Sam’s thigh. That is still the knife, isn’t it?

When Bucky breaks it off, he looks a little dazed. Sam wants to laugh and tell him, Hey, that was your idea, but there seems to be a lag in his ability to banter. At the sound of a glass being set on the bar behind him, he recalls what was going on right before Bucky initiated that kiss and from what, therefore, Bucky was trying to spare him.

“Thanks,” Sam mouths.

Holding his gaze, Bucky nods.

Sam rotates to find a shot glass with something distressing floating inside. His stomach lurches like a student driver’s ride as he stares at the slimy lump in the glass. Bucky moves around him to prop an elbow on the bar, excitement in his eyes, clearly ready to watch Sam swallow whichever organ the bartender just harvested for his consumption. What a dick. So much for Bucky protecting him.

It makes Sam shudder just to close his fingers around the glass, but when he catches Bucky looking like he’s suppressing a laugh, he suddenly knows exactly what’ll make him feel better.

“I hate for you to waste a good snake,” Sam tells the bartender. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky’s face fall. “You’ve got plenty of choice pieces left. Pour another one of these for my husband.”

With the final word of his order, he takes his hand from the bar to smack Bucky’s ass.

“I was just starting to think about forgiving you for breaking Zemo outta prison and you had to look at me like you can’t wait for me to down this snake drink,” Sam says, focusing on Bucky while the bartender takes his knife to the snake a second time.

“So this is the punishment?” Bucky asks.

“I believe it’s more of a trust exercise,” Zemo offers. Oh, that’s right, he’s still here. Between the nastiest drink-making process he’s ever witnessed and making out with Bucky, Sam actually stopped being aware of Zemo. “Really, it’s symbolic, James. Sam would like for the two of you to go through this together, to strengthen your bond with a shared experience. The gesture is quite moving.”

“Can we get one for the Baron too?” Bucky requests as the bartender sets his drink in front of him. “Wouldn’t want him to feel left out.”

Zemo attempts to wave it off, but Sam piles on with an “I insist,” and apparently an insistence from Smiling Tiger is worth more than the manners of a backpedalling Helmut Zemo in this city. Or the bartender doesn’t like the Baron either.

“We’re gonna talk about that kiss later,” Sam informs Bucky, ignoring Zemo’s expression of pure dread.

“Why don’t we talk about it now and skip the—”

“Because I said so.” Sam raises his shot glass in Bucky’s direction. “Cheers.”

Watching Bucky reluctantly lift his own drink from the bar, Smiling Tiger finally smiles.

[darkeninganon]

This may be a bit of a confusing chapter, but I was like... not functioning during this whole thing. Still not really functioning. Anyways, Trigger warning: Gream acting like Dream (He gets angry, yells, and throws stuff).

This was an absolute nightmare. Tubbo and Ranboo had returned home, stopped by Puffy's to pick up Gream, only to discover that Gream was gone. Missing! Not in the mansion or the house. He was free to leave...

That was a lie. What with the prison so close to Snowchester, it wasn't safe for Gream to leave. That wasn't even taking into account that no one on the server liked him and would likely try to kill him on sight. This was such a nightmare. Tommy did a sort of groan-scream in an effort to vent his frustrations, but with everyone looking in different directions to find the tiny green ghost, the teen was left alone with his own thoughts. Well, then again, it wasn't just for Gream's safety. It was sort of a revenge for what he did  when he sent Tommy to exile.

Tommy recognized how twisted it was, to get revenge on a ghost with no memory, and that was why he wasn't destroying anything Gream built or being stupidly cruel. Still, he would have to confront the ghost about leaving Snowchester. Especially if he had a shrinking episode while out and about.

"Oi! Pay the toll you-"

"Aw, fuck off man! This is still my hotel!" And just when his day couldn't get any worse, Jack Manifold had spotted Tommy searching the hotel grounds for the tiny ghost. At least Jack didn't know about what happened, hopefully it would stay that way.

"This isn't your hotel! Don't you see the name-"

"Fuck off you-"

And the two descended into arguing, finger pointing and cursing filling the little lobby of the hotel. If Sam Nook was here, Tommy wouldn't have to worry. A thought came to Tommy. He had built this hotel on top of...

"Oh, Jack, you brilliant bastard! See you later!" Tommy ran to the edge of the path, looking down to see a grouping of iron doors. Useless iron doors, but iron doors that lead to the one place none of them had thought about checking. Tommy ignored Jack gloating about how he was smart, or some other nonsense; it didn't matter right now. What did matter was the little green person running into the house.

Tommy jumped down, letting out a squawk as he hit the ground hard, ankle tweaking in protest. Jack was yelling something at him from above, probably to get lost or pay the toll. Tommy ignored him, ducking into the little hole that lead to the most dangerous place on the server: Dream's house.

Gream jumped as he spun to leave, greeted by Tommy's face in the entry tunnel. "Jeeze! Tommy! What the hell?!" Anger flooded Gream. Why was Tommy here? Gream finally felt somewhat safe and Tommy dared to just-

"Well, good to see you too mate. Puffy was right worried about you." Tommy pulled himself into the house, sitting cross-legged in front of the door as he smiled down at Gream. "Tubbo, Ranboo, and I were also pretty spooked. I mean, fuck, just imagine if Sam found you. God that would suck." Tommy rambled to himself, running his hand through his hair. Sure, some of it was a lie, but it was true enough that Tommy didn't want Gream to go back to the prison, that would just break the ghost and then he might return to being like Dream.

Gream stared at Tommy. Did the teen... know? "Wait..." No, Tommy had to know. Puffy once worked with and believed the man with the gold tooth. But to just ask that was... No, Gream would be punished for asking such a question. But surely there was some way to get an answer... "Uh, Tommy, we're friends, right?"

Tommy stiffened, staring at Gream in surprise. "Uh, yeah, I guess... It's a little awkward because, well... I was... was... friends with you... from before." Tommy fidgeted, pulling on the cuff of his sleeve. "It's uh... stirring up some old memories, you know?" Tommy looked at his hands, picking at his cuticles. Why now was Gream doubting him?

"Um, what do you know about... Puffy?"

"Gream." The ghost jolted, looking up at Tommy, who was clearly nervous about something. With a sigh, Tommy continued. "If you have a specific question in mind, just... just ask me, alright mate? I'm not going to blow a fucking... gasket or something. We're cool man, we're cool."

Gream sighed, fiddling with the edge of his mask. "Well, you see, Foolish came by... before."

"Yeah, We were told."

"Let me finish!" Gream watched Tommy flinch slightly, his heart twisting and fluttering at the same time. Weird. "Well, Puffy... She knew where I was and... And... How many people believed him? The man with the gold tooth, he... he spread lies and told people... told them I deserved to be there? Why? What did I do to him? Why was the book so important? How many people... how many people want me dead again?" Gream was bordering on tears now. He didn't want people to hate him, he hadn't done anything wrong. Surely it was just because he shared a mask with the monster Tommy and Tubbo talk about. "Why did my own mom believe him?" Gream curled up on the floor, sniffling and crying. The thought of Puffy, someone he cared about and someonje who cared about him, believing some creepy guy over her own child was twisting his heart too much. He didn't want to think about what he could have even said to get her to believe his lies.

Gream startled as something pet him. Slow and gentle. He uncurled slightly, looking at Tommy who was leaning towards him, hand extended. "Sorry..." Tommy pulled his hand back, looking away from Gream. "I... It's a hard question to answer... Not because I don't know. But because..." Tommy looked back at Gream, cringing. "It's hard to answer because I do know."

"Tell me." Gream stood, rubbing the tears from under his mask.

"Gream, I don't-"

"Tell me Tommy!" The little ghost took a step forward, trying to intimidate Tommy into telling him. Tommy flinched again, raising his hands as if Gream was going to strike him. Gream stopped, taking a step back; "Please, just tell me."

Tommy was silent for several minutes. "Just about... everyone. Including me, Tubbo, and Ranboo." Tommy could just barely see Gream moving back, shock and horror evident in his body language. "That's why... When I saw you as a ghost... I was so shocked. No one was supposed to visit you." Tommy relaxed, going back to messing with the cuff of his sleeve. "We were all turned away... when we tried to visit. I managed to sneak in once. You..." Tommy sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth. "You-"

"Enough. I don't want to hear anymore." Gream turned away from Tommy, covering his ears. Just how powerful was this gold-toothed guy? What did he have over everyone in the server? And what was the damn book-

"You brought Wilbur back to life."

Gream stopped. He... "I did what?" Gream turned to face Tommy, shaking slightly.

Tommy sighed. "The book was... It had the knowledge in it that allowed you to revive people. You never shared it with anyone. Not me, not Tubbo, not Ranboo, not Puffy. The only person you used it on was Wilbur. Possibly because Ghostbur had asked you to, and, well... It may have turned out to be a mistake, but, we'll see what Wilbur is doing eventually." Tommy sighed again, looking at Gream. The little green ghost seemed surprised.

"So... I only used it once?" Gream tilted his head, clearly confused.

"Yeah. And that one time was all the man with the gold tooth needed it seems. God... Had I not used Ghostbur to sneak in-"

"Why were you sneaking in?"

Tommy's mind floundered. What the hell was he going to tell Gream? You know what, fuck it. Tommy might as well tell him the truth. "I... may have been going in there to kill you...?"

"What?!"

"Listen Gream, the guy... he said you did some pretty awful things! Ranboo.. he's got memory problems, and he said you did that. He said you were best friends with the guy who executed Tubbo-"

"Tubbo got executed?!"

"He said you worked with the president of Manburg and were the reason Wilbur blew up Old L'Manburg-"

"Wait, Wilbur blew up-"

"God's sake man, this is just the tip of the iceberg, okay! The- No, you know what, we're done with this. He said you did a lot of really shitty things, and we believed him, because he may or may not have held a position of political power for a long time."

"What?!" Gream began pacing, groaning in agitation. "He had- Oh my GOD that makes so much sense now. FUCK. This sucks so mu-uch. For fuck's sake this sucks!" Gream opened his eyes, moving his hands away from his face. He was normal size now. Well, that was weird, but it helped. With anger, Gream kicked the closest chest he could, knocking it over with the contents spilling out across the floor.

"Gream, shh, you need to be-"

"No, Tommy! I'm not going to be quiet! This sucks! The person who tortured me- who killed me- is running around doing God only knows what, and people will believe him at the drop of a hat because he had political power?! This is bullshit! Manburg isn't even around anymore, neither is L'Manburg, but apparently he's still- ARGH! For fuck's sake!"

Tommy cringed away, hyperventilating as he watched Gream toss a chest across the small space. Tommy felt like he was in exile again, or the cell. Gream was going to...

"The fuck's going on in here?!"

Shit.

Tommy and Gream snapped to see Jack Manifold crawling through the entrance, stopping to stare at the green ghost. The three were silent for what felt like an eternity. And then Jack moved. "SAM!"

"Oh no you don't you fucking-"

"Tommy, let me go, Dream's-"

"Dream's dead! This is Gream! He's nice!"

"Fuck you, let go of my fucking ankle you prick!"

"Jack shut up and listen for once, you can't tell Sam!"

"Fuck you, yes I can!"

"No you fucking can't! Gream hasn't done anything-"

"He's trespassing on my property!"

"It's my hotel, bitch!"

Jack suddenly kicked Tommy, sending the teen sprawling back with a bloody nose. He could faintly hear Gream yelling his name, clearly concerned for what had just happened. A cold hand grabbed Tommy's arm, pulling him to his feet. Jack was gone, and Gream was struggling to keep Tommy upright. Tommy pushed the ghost away. "I'm fine! We need to get you back to Snowchester, now." Tommy grabbed Gream's arm, pulling the ghost towards the little tunnel. Both boys crawled out, climbing up the sheer cliffs to the prime path and running to the tunnel for Snowchester.

Something began following them. No, someone. Tommy looked to see a very angry Sam and Jack using tridents to fly after them. Gream was about to look back, but Tommy grabbed his arm, shoving the ghost in front of him. "Go! Get to Snowchester!"

"Tommy, what's-"

"Don't look, alright?! Just go!" Tommy shoved Gream towards the wall, sending the ghost past it, but Tommy stopped, drawing the sword- Dream's sword- and spinning to face their pursuers. Sam and jack slid to a stop on top of the tunnel, both armed with axes and shields against Tommy.

"Tommy."

"Sam."

The trio stood there in silence, Gream just beyond the walls of Snowchester; just out of reach from people who would put him back in jail.

"I hear Dream was out of Snowchester, Tommy." Sam's voice was dark, heavy. It wasn't the voice of Awesamdude or Sam Nook. It was The Warden.

"Well, you heard wrong. Dream died, Sam. You know that." Tommy pointed the sword towards Sam and Jack, praying that they backed off.

"What the hell do you mean?! He's right behind you!" Jack yelled, pointing incredulously at the ghost.

Tommy's gaze flickered to Jack. He wouldn't win in a fight against both of them. Jack he could maybe win against, but certainly not Sam. "You might want to get your eyes checked out mate. That's my friend Gream. He's a good lad and-" Tommy cut himself off. He almost said it. Almost but not quite.

"And what, Tommy?" Sam tilted his head. Out of the three of them, he seemed the most relaxed. It was more unnerving than if he were on edge.

Tommy took a breath. He had to be calm right now. "And he's not trying to cause problems. But things like that," Tommy tilted his head to the enchanted netherite axes held by the two, "That gets him on edge. He gets scared by those things, you know?"

"Oh, so him yelling and kicking stuff with you cowering was just you two having a bonding moment? Huh? Like exile?"

"Shut up Jack! I may need therapy from that, but I'm sure as hell not going to talk about it with you." Tommy grit his teeth. Of course Jack wouldn't care. No one but Tommy could see how fortunate this was, all anyone else could see was Dream. This was a chance at obtaining true peace, and nobody but Tommy was willing to see that. Well, okay Puffy, Tubbo, and Ranboo probably did see it, at least somewhat. Having your worst enemy be your best friend? What could be a better form of revenge? "Look, Gream is protected by Snowchester, and if you two don't-"

"Knock it off Tommy." Sam stepped forward, swatting the tip of the sword away as he closed the space between him and Tommy. "We all know you wouldn't win. So just hand over the prisoner, and you'll never have to worry about this again. Okay? Dream goes back to prison, you go back to living your normal life, and everyone lives happily, ever, after. Okay?"

A trident slammed into the glass between Sam and Tommy, the teen stumbling back into Snowchester. Ranboo jumped down, pulling the trident from the glass. Snow crunched loudly as more people gathered. Tommy looked around, suddenly surrounded by Technoblade, Philza, and Niki. He caught sight of Puffy and Tubbo climbing up the shore, the sheep woman running to Gream and hugging him. Tubbo's eyes were locked on Ranboo, who, even without a mouth visible, it was easy to tell the half enderman was smiling.

"Sam, you do remember what I said, right?" The little particles buzzed around him, agitation shared. Sam was trying to hurt his family. Sure, Gream wasn't part of that family, but Tommy sure as hell was. A few particles rushed to the other teen, dancing around him, examining him to make sure he was okay.

Sam was silent, eyes locked on Technoblade. Quackity had talked about getting the pig man into the prison, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen any time soon. That sucked.

"You know Sam, generally, when people are as tyrannical as you, it doesn't end well for them. You might want to watch yourself from now on... or, you know, spend some time on that island you have. Heck, you should probably bring Fran with you." Sam snapped his gaze to Ranboo as his only pet came up. "It would be a real shame if something happened to her." Ranboo took a step back as Sam took a step forward, barely controlling his anger. "Or what about Ponk? You still love him right? Or are you two split up after you cut his arm off with shears?"

Murmurs of shock fell through the group, people looking at each other before looking to the creeper hybrid, who was visibly shaking.

"You also took one of his lives. How many does that leave him with? Two? And no totems~. No revive book either. Even if Dream were here, he'd never waste such energy on Ponk. But you already know that~."

"What the hell are you planning?"

Ranboo's smile seemed to widen, face splitting to finally reveal his mouth, like a twisted version of an enderman. "Nothing. Just paying back a favor! Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, tell Quackity that I'd like to talk to him. Maybe he and I can finally work something out with the cookie stand, you know?"

"What? I haven't-"

"Buh-bye now Sam~. Go on, shoo, both of you." Ranboo made a shooing motion with his trident, voice warbling as he spoke. He watched intently as Sam and Jack finally retreated, glaring at him and the group from the safety of the other side of the tunnel.

Gream suddenly smacked him over the head with a stick.

Ranboo opened his eyes to grass beneath his feet and people scolding someone. Scolding Gream. Why were people scolding Gream and asking if he was okay? Why were Jack and Sam glaring at him from across the tunnel? "Uh, guys, what's going on?"

Everyone fell silent, staring at him.

Phil was the first one to speak. "Are you fucking serious mate? Were you sleepwalking that whole time?"

Ranboo nodded. "I guess..."

"Heh? Sleep walking? Hey, wait a second, Ranboo did you call Snowchester your family?"

"Mate, Techno, now is not the time."

"Ranboo, you sleepwalk?" Niki looked between Phil and him, clearly confused. "How long has this been going on?"

Ranboo shook his head. "I'm... Look, I don't want to talk about it- actually I literally can't- but thanks, whoever woke me up?"

"Oh, that was Dream." Phil stated, motioning to the ghost. Gream looked to Puffy, motioning to Ranboo as if that vindicated him somehow. "He whacked you with a stick. Kind of like I did way back when." Phil mused, snickering to himself at the memory. "Wait... how did you know to do that?" The older man asked, turning to Gream.

Gream seemed to straighten up, almost looking proud of himself. "I didn't! I just got the urge to do something and hitting him with a stick made it go away. Well, made it less prominent." Gream turned to Tommy, tilting his head. "Does Ranboo's sleepwalking have to do with his memory issues?"

"Let's not talk about this, okay? Like Phil said, now is not the time. Are you okay Gream?" Ranboo was more than eager to get the attention off of himself. This was like when Dream announced he was traitor all over again.

Gream nodded, pushing Puffy away. "Yeah, sorry for running."

Tommy smiled, walking over to Gream and slapping his hand on the ghost's back. "No worries mate! We just worried about you. What made you run anyways?"

Gream looked at the group, silent. He knew Tommy was hiding things. They all were. It hurt. They were his friends, so why would they lie to him? It didn't make sense! "It's... It's not important." Gream moved away, heading towards the mansion. Maybe Sam would tell him the truth. If only the two could talk without having anyone interrupt.

[fandomficsnstuff]

Guardian Angel - Part 5

Daryl Dixon x Reader

(Warnings: the reader goes off on Jenner, so get ready for that XD also time skips again)

You giggled as Glenn groaned at his headache “that’s what you get for drinking so much” you remarked, getting a glare from him that only served to amuse you further. Glenn scoffed at your amusement “it was Daryl who-” you hummed low as you interrupted him “I know, but you’re an adult, you can say no” Glenn groaned again at your response, holding his head in pain. You smiled to yourself as you felt Daryl’s hand on your thigh under the table, and you found Lori’s eyes, smiling at you, but something was wrong, you could see it, you were about to gesture her to leave the table with you when Shane arrived, and instantly her face dropped and you knew something had happened between them.

You tried not to mind as you continued to eat your scrambled eggs, but your eyes kept going to Lori, who gave you a very subtle shake of her head, telling you to leave it, so you couldn’t argue with that, she didn’t want to talk about it, at least not now, so you respected that, and continued to eat your eggs as you enjoyed the feeling of Daryl’s hand on your thigh, a warming reminder of last night, which you could still feel in the rest of your body, a tingly feeling was left between your legs, and judging by the hand that stayed on your thigh, it wasn’t just a one time thing for him either, as he said, he doesn’t just take anyone with him on hunts.

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You stared with wide eyes at Jenner, the noises of the others, Daryl included, trying to break down the security door was like static from an old radio, just there in the background, and without thinking your fist landed in Jenner’s face, something that surprised everyone, “how DARE you! You’d murder these kids?! So what if it’s shit out there and your wife died! Who are you to decide and play God?! You’re commiting murder right now, and so what if the world has gone to hell and that doesn’t matter anymore, so what if we die but you’re willing to kill the kids!? They haven’t even had a chance at life you asshole! They’re children they deserve a chance that’s what children are for, a second chance at this fucked up world! It was shit before the dead started to walk and that ain’t ever gonna change but you can’t just take their possibilities away from them! It’s their lives, and who knows if they’ll grow up to fix all this shit!!” Rick had to hold you back as you screamed at Jenner, who still held his cheek in shock, your body flailing and kicking “let me get him Rick!! He’s trying to kill us and the kids, YOUR kid!” you screamed again, this time feeling a second pair of arms, Glenn, holding you back, and you finally took a step back, still ready to mop the floor with his ass but you held back, realizing that kids shouldn’t see that, even now.

You were so lost in your rage that you hadn’t even realized that Rick had talked to him, and the security door opened, it as first when you heard your name that you turned and saw the door open, seeing Daryl standing there, waiting for you, a fire axe in hand and Glenn tugging at your hand to run. Your feet moved quicker than you thought possible, bolting towards the exit and reaching Daryl, his hand on your lower back as you both bolted towards the exits, but once again, you were trapped. You picked up a chair and joined the others in trying to break a window, slamming it against the glass and even trying with your own body, but nothing worked, it was only when Daryl tackled you and pulled you away from the window that a grenade did the job, Daryl straight up dragging you to your feet and back out the window, groaned as you landed on the grass outside but you didn’t have time to think or react, your feet picking up the pace once again and carrying you to the vehicles, Daryl right behind you as you hid behind a wall of bags of sand, your eyes scanning the group, only to come up with a few missing. You watched in horror as Andrea and Dale barely made it out of there, you quickly got up and ran over to them, helping them get up and run back to the cars just in time for the building to explode, the force of it making you trip and fall, scraping your knee and hurting your ankle even further.

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You held onto Daryl tightly as you pulled up on the highway, your way being blocked by, probably, thousands of cars, abandoned and dusty, like they left in a hurry, whoever owned them. You winced as you got off of the bike and instantly Daryl got off as well, frowning and studying your knee and how you took the pressure off of your injured ankle. You were about to tell him to leave it when you heard your name being called, turning to see Lori waving you over, you smiled gently at Daryl, giving his hand a squeeze as you carefully made your way over to Lori, smiling at her as you finally reached her “what’s up?” you leaned against one of the cars and she smirked at you “so, am I allowed to sing that song yet or…?” you scoffed and rolled your eyes “you can sing it all you want, just watch out of arrows that randomly fly your way” you joked, making her chuckle before noticing your knee “that looks like it hurts, are you okay?” she frowned, bending a bit down to get a closer look, but you stopped her, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze “it’s fine, it’s just a scrape” she gave you a worried look, but ultimately gave up and sighed, leaning against the car alongside you, having her eyes on Carl, “so, how’d you get one?” you frowned as you looked confused at her “what?” you gave her a puzzled look but she just smirked and kept her eyes on Carl “our room was next to yours, apparently” your blushed bright red “oh my god…” you mumbled, burying your face in your hands, making her laugh, “so, how’d you get one?” you glanced up at her again, still confused “get what?” she smirked at you again and nudged your shoulder with hers “a condom” you grew even more red at that “oh uh, I didn’t…” you saw Lori stare at you in shock as you kept your eyes straight forward, looking at her out of the corner of your eyes “but you still-”

“Yeah but… like… he pulled out…” you mumbled, making Lori scoff “yeah so did Rick, nine months later I’m in the hospital with a son in my arms” you glanced at her with part horror, part shock in your eyes, making Lori just smirk again as she moved over to Carl, leaving you to your thoughts, were that woman trying to scare you into becoming a nun?! You glanced to Daryl who glanced back at you, giving you one of his rare, soft smiles that you completely loved. You smiled back and went over to him, but were cut off by Glenn who looked at you anxiously, glancing between you and Daryl “spit it out Glenn, come on” you gave him a reassuring smile but it only seemed to make him more nervous, making you realize that this was probably a tad more serious than you thought, so you moved behind a few cars, standing alone with him “what’s up?” he looked away embarrassed “I-I just uh… I heard you and Lori talking and uh…” you frowned, you knew he wouldn’t spy on you, at least not intentionally “yeah, so?” Glenn sighed like you made everything harder for him “I just-... you know I care about you a-and… I-I just heard and I… what if… what if you and him-... and you… and what about me if-... if it happens?... what am I supposed to do you're like-...” you sighed, you got what he was trying to say, at least you think so, you looked down before back up at Glenn, hugging him a tight hug “it’s okay, it’s not gonna happen, I’ll be okay” he nodded and carefully hugged you back, both of you unaware of a certain archer who had come to check on you as you got out of his view, hearing what you were talking about, a pissed off look on his face as he moved away. You parted from Glenn “if it happens don’t worry, you’ll be Uncle Glenn” you gave him a wink and he exhaled half nervous, half relieved, and it made you chuckle “yeah, sorry I just-”

“It’s alright Glenn, you know how much I care about you and you’re like a brother to me” Glenn nodded at your words before moving away, you moved your way towards Daryl yourself, smiling as you see him by his bike, like he was before. “Hey handsome” you were about to lean in to give him a kiss when he leaned away, making you frown, maybe he didn’t want to be public about it, or maybe he didn’t want you again… maybe it was just a one time thing for him… you looked down before back up at him, he still hadn’t looked at you “hey, is everything okay?” he scoffed almost immediately “I don’t know, why don’t you ask the chinese kid” you frowned even more, you were sure a few wrinkles would have etched their way into your skin by now “what do you mean, Glenn? He’s Korea-”

“Yeah whatever, go to him instead with all your bullshit” you tilted your head to try and get his eyes on you, but he just looked away even more, making you straight up pissed “the hell are you talking about, my ‘bullshit’ ?” you snapped, and finally he looked at you “I fuckin’ heard you, ‘you and him’ and all that!” you scoffed and shook your head “he overheard me talking with Lori, Lori was worried about what we did last night because we didn’t use protection, you asshole! He was just scared that something should happen to me, he’s like a brother to me! Prick...” Daryl’s face visibly softened at your words, and he was about to say something when you just scoffed and went off, trying to find Lori, you needed to cool off and she was pretty much the only one who could help you calm down when you were this riles up, plus you needed to talk to someone about Daryl, and since she already knew, it was ideal.

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You held your breath as you hid under a car, watching the shuffling feet walk by you, your whole body shaking as you had your knife out, just in case, but so far they were unaware of your presence, that is, until one stumbled and fell, landing with it’s face facing you, growling once it spotted you. You couldn’t risk quickly stabbing it to keep it quiet, there were still others passing by and it might alert them, plus you didn’t really have a lot of room to wiggle around in, for now it were content with just laying there, watching you as it grew more aggravated with each second passing, when feet stopped coming from behind you, you took the opportunity, carefully sliding out from under the car, the walker growling and getting up slowly, on it’s way to chase you down, and without seeing another option, you jumped over the railing and slided down the hill, quickly taking off as you heard the walker follow you, unless it broke both it’s legs, it was probably going to follow you to the ends of the earth, just to get a bite, a taste. You pant heavily as you continue running, your lungs burning, and once you’re far enough out you stop, leaning against a tree as you try to catch your breath as quietly as possible, though it wasn’t as easy as you had hoped, and you probably sounded more like a dog in the summer with thick fur, panting and heaving for breath as you tried to listen for footsteps.

After a few seconds you heard some shuffling, turning you saw now more than the one that had chased you, there were now four of them, slowly walking in your direction. You sighed and glanced at your ankle, it had just gotten better and now you had to run again, for the hundredth time without a brake or a possibility to see how bad the damage was. You leaned your head against the tree, closing your eyes and giving yourself a few seconds to gather up your courage before bolting once again, your knife in your hand and your ankle burning, you had no idea where you were headed, you just needed to get away from those walkers, four were too many for you to handle on your own.

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 32 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: In the confines of a Tower, conversations are held as the survivors prepare to face Beta and the horde.

Word Count: 4681

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Outlaws of Love” by Adam Lambert

Note: I can’t believe I have been writing this since AUGUST. Only one more after this and I think it is going to wrap up nicely. Enjoy a little down time before the big battle and yes, Maggie will make an appearance in the final part. Thanks!

—————

For as long as you could remember, you loved being up high.

You could remember climbing trees as a kid and jumping off the rope swing at summer camp as soon as school got out. Nobody in your family ever understood why you felt more comfortable off the ground, but the truth was, you felt safer there than down below.

No matter how high, it was almost as if you were untouchable, immune from the world around you. When the world ended, you found yourself searching for the highest points possible. It was exactly why you had decided to pick up a sniper rifle in the first place.

The guard towers at the prison, the top of the barn at the Greene farm, and even the old clock tower that once stood in Alexandria, were all your comfort places.

The tower you now stood in, however, felt more like a trap rather than a place of freedom.

Daryl, Michonne, and you had realized that with Negan declaring war on the Whisperers by killing Alpha, Beta would be coming for everyone with an even more vicious vendetta. Negan was docile when it came to the decision. He said ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘yes sir’ as he moved through the community. Nobody dared say anything negative towards him, but they weren’t praising him either.

They knew that no matter how he did it, Negan had saved more lives than not when he killed Alpha. The only one who was still dealing with the fallout of it all was Lydia.

As soon as Negan told everyone what he had done, Lydia had shut down. She still stayed with you when it was time to rest, but she didn’t say much. From all the time you were a teacher, you recognized the anger that she was feeling. You also knew that it was only a matter of time before she unleashed that fury on Negan.

Then, there was Daryl.

You couldn’t get a proper read on him and it was starting to worry you. Daryl was a smart man, but when it came to facing down an enemy at this caliber, he tended to get reckless. If he didn’t get it together soon, Beta would have the upper hand and you were not going to let that happen.

Beta had to die and you were going to be the one to do it, no matter what it took.

Looking out the window of the tower, you braced your hands on the window sill and waited for the horde to move in because you knew one thing for sure, Beta wasn’t going to stop until you and Negan were both dead.

—————

“Did you get any sleep?” Michonne asked Negan as she joined him against the wall as they watched the room before them.

“Not a bit,” he said. “You?”

“RJ snores like his father,” Michonne said fondly. “So, no, not much.”

“He’s a good kid,” Negan said as he watched RJ pet Dog who was curled at his feet.

“Yeah,” Michonne said with a sigh. Negan looked over at her, raising a brow.

“What’s up?”

“I can’t see how we get out of this one,” she admitted.

“And so you’ve come to me for comfort?” he asked with a snort.

“That’s what you get for playing hero,” she said.

“Nah, I ain’t a hero,” he said as his eyes scanned over to Lydia who was playing with one of the stray cats that occupied the building. “I’m just trying to knock some years off of my eternal damnation.”

“I didn’t peg you for the religious type,” she said.

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m just covering all my bases.”

“Do one of those bases include (Y/N)?” she asked. Negan sighed, leaning further back against the wall, crossing his ankles

“I don’t know why they even bothered to forgive me,” he said, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I would have sent my ass packing.”

“Guess that makes them the better person,” Michonne proposed.

“Ah, well, that was never in question,” he said. “(Y/N) was the only thing that kept me going while I was out there. You know when Beta came back and said that someone with a sword had nearly ended him, I knew it was them and that terrified me. I always knew they were a total badass, but hearing how close they came to being gutted by that bastard…”

“I know that fear,” Michonne said. “There was a time during the war with your people that I thought Rick had died.” Negan was patient as she began to tell her story. “We were at this old fairground looking for weapons and we became overwhelmed by Walkers. We started to make a game out of how many we could get before the other,” she said with a small smile. “Rick climbed up onto this rickety Ferris wheel, taking aim with his gun. I was on the other side of the yard when the mechanism broke and he fell.

“I saw him disappear into a crowd of Walkers and as I ran towards him I saw those things tearing at flesh and blood. I remembered that I stopped breathing, unable to even comprehend what I was seeing. I had dropped my katana and everything was moving in slow motion. It wasn’t until I heard his voice calling my name that I knew he was alive. Rick had found a way to survive and then he threw me my sword and we fought together. I had never been happier to see him than at that moment.”

Negan smiled softly at that, thinking of the man as well. “Wait,” he said, “if they weren’t eating Rick…”

“It was a deer,” Michonne said. “He owed me one after you and the Saviors took the one I carried into Alexandria.”

“Ah,” he said. “Always the gentleman, huh?”

“Yeah,” Michonne said as her eyes were on her children. “ You know, I once asked you to do for (Y/N) what they were doing for you,” Michonne continued. Negan nodded, remembering.

“Not sure if I ever completed that task,” he said, thinking back to the night you lay in the infirmary recovering from the blizzard. Michonne had asked him to help you as you had helped him.

“I disagree,” Michonne said, surprising the man next to her. “I thought that (Y/N) needed to be coddled or helped through all this trauma, but I was wrong. They just needed a reason to fight through all the shit in their life. That reason ended up being you.”

“I’m not much to fight for,” Negan said casually.

“Since when do you see yourself like this?” she asked. Negan could tell that his sudden self-deprecating attitude was confusing to her, just as it was to Gabriel or Rosita.

“I guess,” Negan began, taking a deep breath. “I guess I just got tired of trying to be a somethin’ I’m not. I’ve spent too long actin’ as if I got my shit together when in truth, I’m just fucked up as everything else in this godforsaken world.”

“Ever think that’s just the way it’s supposed to be?” Michonne offered. “If any of us were completely sane or normal, we’d all be dead.”

“There’d be a lot less bloodshed if we were,” Negan offered, but Michonne was shaking her head.

“No, I think there’d be more,” she said. “Negan, regardless of what any of us have done, we have all believed in one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That people are the future and in order to survive, we gotta start savin’ them. No matter what.”

--------

“Since when do ya hide from your problems?” Daryl asked as he approached you. 

Standing by the window, you cast your eyes towards him. “Who says I’m hiding?” you asked. 

“Negan’s out there trying to be helpful and you’re all alone in here waiting for a war,” he said. 

“Isn’t that what we’re all doing?” you asked. 

“Nah, I’m preparing for one, not wishing for it.” Sighing, you fully faced him. The new scars on his face were stark against his face and you knew that you didn’t look much better. 

“All I want is Beta,” you said. “Then, this will all be over.”

“It will never be over, (Y/N). You know that and so do I. There’s always going to be another problem to deal with. The world doesn’t stop tryin’ to end just ‘cause we beat another enemy.”

“Remember when Walkers were the only enemy?” you asked. 

“We all knew that wasn’t going to last long,” he said, bracing his hand against the wall.

Over the past year or so, you had begun to see Daryl differently. He was no longer just the right-hand or the hunter. He was now a leader and one that had stepped up to the role that Rick always knew he could be. There wasn’t anyone else that you respected more than Daryl Dixon.

You had grown into a new version of yourself as well. For a long time, it had felt as if you were the outsider, the one who never quite fit, but now that felt as if it was changing. You used to think it was Negan who was bringing out this new side of you, but the truth was, it was just you. 

You had become stronger because you had always been strong and resilient, you just hadn’t allowed yourself to break through that shell. 

“What happens now?” you asked.

“We fight,” Daryl said. “We may not all get out this, but we’ve never given up and we ain’t about to start now. I know you want Beta, (Y/N), but you gotta survive first.”

“You’re on his hit list, too,” you said. 

“And if he comes for me, I’ll be ready,” Daryl said. You both were quiet for a moment, letting the stillness of the tower surround you. 

“Aaron and Alden shouldn’t be out there alone,” you whispered. 

“They know what they’re doin’,” he assured you. “I’m about to do a perimeter check soon.”

“Need some help?” you asked. 

“Nah,” Daryl said, shaking his head. “You gotta stay up here. You’ve always seen better up high.” 

“Maybe the thinner air will help me work things out,” you said with another sigh. 

“Don’t think that just cause you want to forgive him, that you have to right now. You’re human, not a damn machine.” 

“Have you forgiven Carol?” you asked. 

“I ain’t turning my back on her if that’s what ya mean,” he said. You gave him a look. “Of course I forgive her. She’s my best friend, (Y/N), and if that stops meanin’ something then we’re all lost.” 

“I lost my best friend,” you said, fighting back the lump in your throat. 

“He ain’t completely gone,” Daryl said, tugging on the sleeve of the duster that you wore. Your hand slid to the pommel of your sword, too, feeling Paul’s memory in your mind. “He loved you and he always believed in you. Sasha, too,” he said and you closed your eyes at that. “I know ya still miss her like crazy. Next to Maggie, you were the closest thing she had to another sibling after Tyreese.”

“Maggie never saw it that way,” you said. “She and I… we were close once. Then, after Glenn… Maggie stopped coming to me. I always wondered if I did something wrong or if she blamed me because was one of the first people to agree with Rick about the satellite station. Whatever it was, our relationship was never the same and Sash got caught between.” 

“Maggie has her own demons just as you have yours and Sasha had hers. You can’t compare them. That ain’t how it works,” Daryl said. 

“Then how does it work, Daryl?” you asked. “In case you haven’t noticed, Maggie’s demon is the man that I fell in love with.”

“Negan ain’t the same that he was back then. Even I can see that the son of a bitch has changed. I don’t like to admit it, but what he did, takin’ out Alpha like that, that proved somethin’. He could have run when Carol let him out. He could have joined up with them and took more of us out, but he didn’t. Why? Cause he’s in love with you? Maybe. But I think it's more than that. I don’t think the bastard ever wanted to be what he was. He thinks so, too.” 

“Is there a lesson in this speech, D?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “get out of your damn head, stop thinkin’ about what Maggie would think, and start thinkin’ for yourself. We know better than anyone that the future ain’t always certain. There’s no time to overthink shit when you already know what you want. So tell me, what do you want, (Y/N)?” 

It had been a long time since someone had asked you that question. Before, you would have brushed them off and made some lame joke about wanting to watch TV or go to a concert again. However, now, you didn’t feel the need to hide at all because you knew what you wanted and you were damn well going to fight for it. 

“I want Beta dead, my family safe, and I want Negan by my side for all of it. I don’t care what people think of him because I love him and if that makes me some sort of outlaw within this group, so be it. Enid once told me that I have lost too much to feel guilty for loving someone and she was right. I love him, Daryl, and I am done feeling ashamed about that.” 

Daryl nodded, standing up straighter. Reaching out, he laid his hand against your shoulder. 

“Finally,” he said. “Finally, ya understand.”

“Understand what?” 

“Yourself.”

---------

Negan had been dancing around it all day but he had to speak to Lydia. 

He had seen her wandering around, playing with the cats or speaking with Carol. He wasn’t entirely sure what that relationship was all about, but it made sense for the two of them to connect. Lydia had loved Carol’s son. Negan had been worried about talking to the teen especially since she seemed to be avoiding you as well. 

You had become like a parent to Lydia and Negan thought perhaps she had begun to see him like that as well. However, now, after what he had done, Negan wasn’t sure of anything. 

Approaching her, he waited for her to look at him, but her eyes remained on the dirty floor. “Hey. I, um... I don't think you've eaten anything today,” he tried, feeling like an idiot. 

“I'm good,” Lydia said dismissively. 

“You know,” Negan continued. “I can't tell if it's just one of those things or the craziness of us all moving to an abandoned tower... or if you're just avoiding me.”

“I'm avoiding you,” she said plainly, causing Negan’s brows to rise quickly.

“Well, shit, that's honest,” he said. 

“You want me to lie? Make you feel better?” Lydia said, getting to her feet and narrowing her eyes at him. 

“No, I don't,” Negan said. “I’d rather you were always honest with me.” 

“Okay. Well, then you can give someone else the rat stew,” Lydia said. 

“It's not rat. It's possum. I mean, yeah, it is basically a big rat.” Lydia looked at him as if she was wishing he would just go away, but he had to say his piece. “Look, kiddo, your mom, I mean, she did some horrible shit and there's no excusing any of it, but there were things about her that were complicated. In some ways, I wish you could have seen some of the truth that I did. Maybe then you would understand why I did what I did.”

“We all know why you did it,” Lydia said. 

“I know, but if there's something that you wanna say to me, then you should say it cause this whole silent treatment shit ain’t working.” 

“Fine,” Lydia said. “Most of us wish you'd died, too.”

“Don’t you say that to me,” he said. “Not me. There was a time when you and I respected one another, when you would talk to me. Now I get that you’re pissed, but don’t act like you’re a founding member of my hate club cause you’re not.”

“You don't get to tell me what to do,” Lydia snapped. 

“You're right, I can't. I am not your father, but I sure as hell ain’t your enemy,” he said. 

“Then what are you, huh?” she said, getting angrier. 

“I am trying to be someone who is there for you.”

“You tied me to a chair and left me alone in some swamp!” she hollered. 

“To protect you!” Negan said before lowering his voice. “Your mother was going to kill you as some sort of animal kingdom ritual. I couldn’t let that happen.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Lydia rasped out.

“I know, I know,” he said, “but you gotta try to. You have to let this anger out. Otherwise, you are gonna drift further from these people, and I know you don't want that.”

“The hell do you know what I want, huh? Tell me. You're a selfish asshole,” Lydia shot at him. “You only killed her so they'd think that you're a hero. But nothing you do will ever make you that here! Because you only care about yourself.”

“That's not true,” he said.

“Right, I forgot that you wormed yourself into (Y/N)’s heart. Though, that may say more about them than you, huh?” she said as the tears began to well in her eyes. “Why do you even care?” she asked. “Why do either of you care,” she said. “You and (Y/N) look at me as if I need fixing.” 

“Is that what you think? That we want to fix you? Jesus, Lydia, how could you think that?”

“I know you see her when you look at me,” Lydia said. “You see my mother in me.” 

“I see the good parts,” he said with a nod. “You have your mother’s strength and resilience. No matter what she did with it, she passed that on to you and that means something,” Negan argued. “Lydia, you have to mourn her. You know, you need to say goodbye. Otherwise, it's gonna eat you up from the inside. Just trust me on this.”

“Good parts? How the hell can you tell me that there were good parts? I hated her!” she yelled, lashing out at him, hitting him in the chest. She breathed in a shaky breath, trying to control her anger, but she couldn’t. “I want to hate her, so screw you for telling me I can't even do that!”

“It's okay, Lydia,” Negan said as Lydia began to cry, her shouts of anger turning into sobs.

“No! It's not okay!” she said, hitting him in the chest. “It's not okay! It's not okay!” Negan grabbed her into a hug, holding her close to his chest so she couldn’t keep lashing out. Lydia quickly fell against him, clutching at him as she cried. 

“It's okay,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay.”

As Lydia sobbed in his arms, Negan held her and tried to make everything seem as if it was going to okay, but not even he could promise her that. 

--------

It was well after Negan had calmed Lydia down that you found him at one of the watchpoints. 

“Dianne, give us a second?” you asked the archer who nodded and excused herself. You sat down on an old crate and invited Negan to join you. He did, his bat settling next to his feet on the floor. You grabbed it, feeling its weight in your hands. Negan didn’t say anything as you examined the weapon, wondering what its namesake was truly like. “Lydia seems like she’s settled a bit,” you observed. 

“She just needed to get it out of her system,” Negan said. “It’ll be a while before she’s better.” 

“I know,” you said. “I remember what it’s like to lose a parent.” 

“So do I,” he said. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said, spinning the bat in your hands. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on being any place else,” he said. 

II know,” you said with a nod. Looking over at him, you handed him back the bat. He took it from you and placed it back on the ground. “I was thinking about something earlier.”

“What was that?” 

“There was a line in the letter that Carl left me,” you began. “It said, ‘stop trying to see everything through the scope of your rifle and start seeing what is right in front of you,’.” 

“Sounds incredibly wise for him,” Negan noticed. 

“Well, that was Carl,” you said. “That line has stuck with me since I first read it. I never really understood what he meant until his dad died and then more recently when you came home.” Negan was quiet, his eyes focusing on you completely. 

“For so long I was trying to stay three steps ahead of everything,” you went on, “but I never took the time to match pace with anyone. I think that’s why it took me so long to realize that you and I are never going to be the perfect couple. We’re not going to be the couple that takes nightly strolls or agrees on everything. We are, however, going to be the couple that fights like cats and dogs and who are willing to risk everything for each other. I finally see that is what this,” you gestured between the two of you, “is supposed to be and I am sorry if you ever felt as if I was pressuring you to be someone you’re not.”

“You weren’t,” he assured you. “I was pressuring myself into not screwing everything up because you are right, we are not normal in any sense of the word. But you know what?” he asked, reaching over to take your hand. “Fuck normal. It’s so goddamn overrated anyways.” 

“That it is,” you said as you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.  He kissed you back before leaning his forehead against yours. “So, we can be not normal together, right? Cause I am not ready to go any further into this screwed up world without you.” 

“You don’t have to,” he said. “You’re stuck with me.” 

“Good,” you said, smiling softly. “I just hope we can do that without someone breathing down your neck with a weapon.”

“So do I,” Negan said with a soft chuckle. Suddenly, something dawned on you.

“Hey, do you have any idea what happened to Brandon?” Negan froze. “He sort of disappeared after you did.” Leaning back, he gave you a sheepish look. 

“Well…” Negan began. “The little psychopath found me on the road.” 

“Seriously?” you asked. 

“He was some sort of ‘fan’ of mine, apparently. His old man was a Savior and he wanted to be just like daddy. Problem was, he was fucking crazy.”

“Go on,” you urged. 

“We came across a mother and her son. I helped them and that’s when Brandon told me that he wanted to either rob them or kill them. A fucking woman and her kid…” Negan said, rubbing at his brow. 

“What did you do?”

“Told him to get lost,” Negan said. “Tried to offer him some decent life advice, but it clearly didn’t stick. When I came back after looking for some firewood for the mom, Brandon had bludgeoned them to death with a tire iron.” 

“The kid, too?” you asked, shocked. 

“There was more blood on the ground than in their bodies, (Y/N),” he said. “So, I picked up a rock and beat in his skull before he could murder any more innocent people.” You were silent for a moment as Negan’s word resonated. Eventually, you just sighed and shook your head. 

“Shit,” you swore.

“Yeah.”

“Fucking Brandon,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

“Fucking Brandon,” he agreed, but then was confused. “Are you not mad that I  killed him?”

“Why would I be? I’d have done the same thing,” you said. “You don’t just get to kill a kid in cold blood and move on with your life. Though, I am surprised that you let him tag along as long as he did.”

“You and me both,” he said. 

“Were you going to tell me about that if I hadn't asked?” you wondered. 

“Eventually,” he said. “I just couldn’t find the right time.” You nodded. “And I should have told you about a lot of things.”

“You’re talking about your deal with Carol?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I know you’re pissed at me over that.” 

“I am,” you said, “but if I can overlook everything else, I can overlook this.”

“I am so sorry,” he said. 

“I know you are,” you assured him, rubbing his hand between yours. “You did it because you were doing the right thing. You should have told me though. I would have been on board in helping you. “

“I couldn’t risk it,” he said. 

“You’re a moron,” you said. 

“I know,” he said with a wink. 

“And I really, really wanted to hate you when I saw you in that mask.”

“But you couldn’t,” he reminded you. 

“Never,” you agreed. Negan smiled and then reached up and placed his hand on your throat, running his thumb over your pulse point. 

“You do that a lot, you know?” you noted, gesturing to his hand. Negan shrugged. 

“Your pulse calms me,” he said softly. 

“Oh, and here I thought you were just into choking,” you joked.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he warned and this time it was you that winked. “You know, we never did have make-up sex.”

“Now is not really the time,” you said, gesturing around at the chaos of the tower. 

“Jesus, Teach, not now. What kind of man do you think I am?” you laughed, rolling your eyes. 

“Like you weren’t thinking about it,” you said with a knowing look. Negan just shrugged again.

“Sorry, I just really missed you,” he said. 

“What have you told you about apologizing,” you whispered. 

“Habit,” he said back before kissing you again. When you pulled back, you took your face in your hands and then your right hand slid to the side of his neck, feeling his own pulse. 

“He’s coming for us,” you said. 

“He’s all yours,” Negan said. “I will make sure of it.”

Just as Negan was about to bring you closer, Gabriel ran into the room. “Gabe?” you asked, leaning back from Negan, but not letting go of him. 

“The horde is coming,” he said, breathing heavy. “It’s time.” He then rushed from the room as you and Negan went to the window.

It was as if a tsunami was moving in, but instead of water, Death approached in the form of the largest herd you had ever seen. 

“Negan,” you said, worried. 

“I know,” he said, taking your hand in his as he beheld the sight. “Can you promise me something?” he said, turning you so you would look at him. 

“Anything,” you swore. 

“Just survive,” he said and you were reminded of something similar you had said to Lydia before the Hilltop battle. “I know what you are going to do and I will not stop you from taking your revenge on him, but for me, please survive.”

Reaching up, you took him by the shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. Negan buried his head in your shoulder as you took one last moment to be with each other before the fighting began.

“I promise.”

--------

As Beta moved through the horde, his guardians protected him as they always had, but elsewhere, a guardian in their own right read a letter sent from an old friend. As Walkers approached the tower, Maggie Rhee picked up her bow and went in search of her family.

Note: One more to go...

TAGS: @not-too-tall-for-trick @lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541 @pulplorrd @felicisimor

[variantia]

BELLUM.   anyway I’m gonna be probably on my general art/writing blog over at @crystallinearts and/or @yougainedlove for most of the day but send me asks if you’d like !   Undertale and Deltarune babies because whew the mood is high for that

and ALSO before I Houdini over there

for anyone who’s new or just doesn’t understand my ... weird Dreemurr fam here, their main verses are kind of an AU ?   main points being :

everything that happened in Undertale still happened, pacifist golden ending

Kris is the oldest, they’re currently in their early 20s and were adopted as a baby when monsters were still Underground, haven’t thought up their backstory much yet

Kris has been away at college for like a year now and has only recently returned home for a break, for maybe a year before they go back

Chara was raised in a semi-religious cult that worships magic and hates monsters, the cult is now mostly defunct with its village being largely abandoned with only the leader (their father) and two other members left

Asriel and Flowey exist as separate beings, and they kind of ‘share’ their SOUL (Azzy gets the majority of it most of the time, hence why Flowey is still an ankle-biting little gremlin weed almost always)

as far as the younger kids go, Chara is the oldest at ten years, Frisk is the middle at nine, and Asriel is the youngest at eight, with Flowey technically being the youngest but he has so many memories and shit from RESETs and LOADs that he feels and acts a lot older than he actually is

everybody got they issues, with Kris being taken over by The Player (which is the whole reason they left for college in the first place, so The Player wouldn’t interfere with their family), and Chara and Asriel’s shared trauma of everything that went wrong with their plan, as well as Chara’s trauma and trust issues from almost ten years of abuse from the cult and Asriel’s trauma from his time as Flowey, and Frisk’s reckless behavior shaped by their magic and pressure from their power on their shoulders, and Flowey’s trauma and guilt from everything he did living without a SOUL for so long

they all have a superpowered babysitter, Lorelei “Lo” Snow @starfoam, and will talk about her a lot because they all care her

Asgore and Toriel aren’t “together” but they live in the same house as a family for the kids’ sake, just that nobody including the kids ever mistakes them for being anything but happily divorced, simply sharing a living space because it’s easiest

Kris still has DARK World adventures, Susie and Ralsei will show up from time to time, and perhaps Rouxls and Lancer, given that Kris has managed to find a way to give Darkners real form in the LIGHT World (Darkners don’t visit often, trying to give Kris their own life, buuuuut, well, when the circumstances call for it ... or when it just seems like fun)

there’s probably more that I’m forgetting, it’s a really weird AU lmao let’s fuckin GOOOOO lads

[lunarliza]

Dirty Little Secret | Chapter Two: Palm Trees

fuckbuddy!JJ x Kook!Reader 

series masterlist | chapter one 

You and JJ are fuck buddies- strictly physical. But what happens when you find yourself falling more and more for everyone’s favorite golden boy even though all he can see you as is a spoiled rich girl? 

note: just wanna thank ya’ll for all the support! so glad you guys like this. there is smut and drug use under the cut btw 

Three Months Ago-

“Shit,” you heard someone curse. 

You met eyes with an unfamiliar curly blonde boy who mimicked a deer in headlights as he perched down under the tall wooden fence. 

It was a fine, breezy morning. You had set up a blanket on a small patch of sand, under a shady palm tree, just behind someone’s large fenced backyard on the edge of the Eight. You figured no one could catch you casually smoking your pot in the secluded area. 

That was, until a pair of skinny legs darted into your hideout. You quickly hid your joint behind your back while his sea blue eyes pierced yours, but not in an intimidating way, more like a raccoon getting caught with food. He wore a dirty white tee, sleeves chopped off, and torn board shorts. He had bracelets trailing up his arm with ‘JJ’ written across multiple beads. You could tell right away he was from The Cut. 

“What the fuck! Who are you-” 

“Shh no no no,” he held a finger up to your lips. “You did not see me here.” 

He attempted to scurry away, but you caught onto his ankle before he could. “Wait!” 

He plummeted over onto the sand and groaned in response. “What the fu-”

You craned your neck at the fallen twinkie. “Are you stealing?” 

Having just moved to the Outer Banks six months ago, you didn’t know much about the culture besides what made up Figure Eight. From what you were told, the island was basically split between two crowds. 

Ted detested The Cut and anyone associated with it. He called them low lives, thieves, rats. One time, Macy went on a play date with a friend from school there. Once Ted found out where she was, he stormed over, pulled her away from her friend, and threatened the family before flooring the car back home. Since then, he forbade your family to go anywhere near the area. Ted wasn’t a man of many words, but the anger in his eyes that day made it clear he was not kidding around. 

“What?” the boy scoffed, “I’m not stealing, just-” 

“Disrupting the neighborhood?” 

His face knotted in confusion. “Something like that... look what will it take for you to keep quiet about this?” 

You shrugged, kind of enjoying his desperation. You weren’t planning on ratting him out at all, but this was the most entertainment you had gotten all week, so you decided to play along. You tapped your chin, “Hmm, perhaps-” 

“Before you continue, princess,” he mocked, gesturing towards the arm you had behind your back, “you might wanna rethink snitching when you have all that dank on you. How would your parents feel if they found out their precious Kook daughter was smoking weed?” 

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off. “Carry on, asshole.” 

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

Later that night, you were dragged to a party at the famous Boneyard by your friend Jade- a petite social butterfly with a heart of gold and the most toxic dating history you had ever seen. 

She was one of the few friends you made since moving to the OBX. Jade knew of how much you hated life at the Eight, but still tried to include you in as many events as she could. Despite growing up with insanely rich doctors as parents, she herself didn’t quite fit the spoiled Kook mold either. She had her kinks, and you liked it. 

“Jade, I’m not sure about this. If Ted finds out-” 

“Girl, you are fine! Just say you’re with me and my parents will cover. Trust me, they think I’m at some study session right now,” she assured.

“But finals aren’t til next month.” 

“Exactly! See how much they care?” 

Hand in yours, she led you to a spot on the beach where a crowd of people pranced around a bonfire. You could tell it was a mix of Pogues, Kooks, and some tourists in town for Spring Break. 

“Care for a beer ladies?” a tall, tan boy asked as he held out two red cups to you and Jade. You happily accepted, and the guy dared you both to chug your drinks. You shook your head with an ear-stretched grin, attempting to gulp as much of your beer as you could take. 

The confidence juice soared into your throat. It tasted absolutely atrocious, but you were determined to finish it. 

For the first time since moving to the island, you felt alive. The two of you tossed the empty remains into a trashcan and Jade cupped your cheeks with her French-manicured hands. “Isn’t this awesome!” she exclaimed and began shaking her hips to the electronic music- her excitement as contagious as ever. You immediately joined her, the alcohol coursing through your body. 

After a few songs, the same boy who offered you the beers crept up behind Jade’s 5’2 frame. He ran his hands along her hips as she grinded back onto him. 

‘Is he cute?’ she mouthed. You threw your head back laughing, giving her an encouraging nod. She went back to being smitten with her newfound man while you continued to dance by yourself, the outer skirts of your dress gliding up as you moved. 

“Well, it’s funny how the tables turn don’t it?” you heard a haughty voice trail behind you. 

You turned to see a shirtless boy double fisting bottles of cheap beer. His back was towards the fire so you couldn’t make out his face completely. Though, something did click in your half-drunken mind at the sight of the beaded bracelets on his wrists.

“You’re the Pogue from this morning,” you stated, staring intently at his sharp features. He was kinda cute in the dark, murky beach air. 

“Fancy seeing you here on our turf,” he rudely replied taking a swig of beer, “not sure who invited you, but here, we have a strict no spoiled bitches policy.” 

The audacity was so potent, and you were taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck off JJ! Y/n’s my friend, and I invited her,” Jade interjected from a few feet away, “go mack on one of the tourons and leave her alone.” 

“Whatever, Kooks.” The blonde scoffed and jogged away from the crowd, back towards a group of kids sitting on a log. 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his brash comments. Even with Ted’s aversion towards them, you didn’t quite understand the Pogue-Kook rivalry. You once asked Jade about it to which she just shrugged and said, “It’s just how it is.” 

She personally didn’t have anything against Pogues- as one was currently shoving his tongue down her throat in that moment. Though you didn’t interact much with their group, they seemed fine to you. Minus grumpy Goldey Locks on the log. 

Lost in your thoughts, you hardly noticed the tourist boy in front of you offer a shot of his Tito’s handle. The last time you had vodka, the awful taste nearly climbed back out your throat. But you were too fed up with your family and the Pogue boy’s irritating remarks to care. You closed your eyes, dipped back, and let the boy, dressed head-to-toe in Outer Banks merch, pour whatever he had in your mouth. It didn’t take long before everyone around you started looking fuzzy. A thumping noise in the back of your brain told you that you were way past your limit of about a sip and half. The music began sounding like loud thuds and you had no idea where Jade was. With all the strength you could muster up, you trudged up the beach back towards some palm trees to catch a breath, away from the clammy crowd. 

With one hand on the rugged trunk you bent over, knowing your stomach was rejecting all the alcohol you consumed that night. With one glance back towards the party, you felt the bitterness shoot its way back up your body and out hurled everything you drank onto the ground, a few coughs following. 

Out of nowhere, you felt a hand slide up your back as you lifted your head to see a hazy mess of blonde hair. “Here,” the snarky boy offered, holding up a water bottle, “you’ll feel better.” 

Begrudgingly, you took a few sips and handed it back to him. “Thanks.” 

You could see the party was starting to fizzle out, the water sobering you up. He downed the rest and tossed the empty bottle. 

“Fucking hell,” the guy, JJ, uttered, “You Kooks are way in over your heads.” 

“What’s your problem with me anyways?” you snapped, straightening up so you could meet his eyes. “I didn’t rat on you today! But now I’m thinking maybe I should have!” 

“See that’s the problem right there! You didn’t even catch me doing anything wrong. You just assumed I’m doing something bad because I don’t shit money out my ass.” 

“Well were you doing something bad?” 

“That is besides the point.” 

Your eyes were aching to roll out of your head. You hated the way he was talking to you and decided to play into this little hate-game of his since he seemed to get such a kick out of it. 

“Well, maybe if you kept your filthy head out of our side and up your own ass instead, we wouldn’t have an issue now would we?” 

He huffed and inched closer, causing you to back up against another tree, away from the vomit on the floor. “You entitled bitches think you know it all, probably from all that rip-off dank blowing up your head.” 

He was so close you could smell the faint alcohol on his breath. You were completely sober at that point, focusing on the eyes that probed into yours as JJ’s hands reached up to the sides of the tree, fencing you in. The music from the party was hardly a whisper compared to the tension between you two in that moment. The night was humid, but you weren’t sure if you were sweating from the heat or your jolting nerves. 

Then, a rush of boldness swept through you. 

“You talk a lot of shit for someone’s who’s dying to get into a Kook’s pants,” you tempted, glancing briefly at his lips. You then chose to taunt him even more- biting your own and sticking out your slightly exposed chest in the bodice of the dress you had on. 

He dauntingly moved closer, your faces only inches apart. “In your fucking dreams sweetheart,” he muttered before capturing your lips.

It was a hungry, needy kiss. You hardly knew anything about him, yet you didn’t protest when his hands reached up your stomach to roughly cup your boobs. They then glided down under the thinness of your dress to eagerly squeeze your butt. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling the bareness of your ass underneath. His palm slapped your asscheek so hard, you were sure the entire beach could hear. 

Your hands crept down his bare chest, tracing over to his abs. Still on your ass, his hands kneaded at the swollen cheeks. You felt him pull away slightly after a bit. 

“Ever wonder what it’s like to fuck a Pogue?” 

“Just shut up and take me,” you answered hastily. His coarse hand trailed against your lower folds. He stroked over the material of your soaked thong before pushing the string to the side, his middle finger rubbing you gently. 

You reached in the band of his shorts to feel his hardened cock. You ran your hand up and down the shaft before exposing it out completely. He quickly lifted your leg to drape across his waist as he situated his length to your hole with his sweaty forehead resting on yours. 

Slowly, he pressed himself into you as a loud moan emerged from you both. The boy swiftly held his palm to your mouth while you felt him stretch you out slowly. Your eyes rolled back in bliss. 

“Fuck this pussy is tight,” he slopping mumbled in your ear as he continued, feeling your wetness grip him. 

He held a steady pace for a while before he suddenly halted and pulled out. Before you could protest, he grabbed the sides of your arms and whipped you around so you were facing the tree. When he snatched each side of your hips to pull you towards him, you quickly caught on, spreading your legs apart while arching your back so your ass was perked up and ready. He held his pulsing length in his hands, lining himself with you, before shoving it in full for you to take.

He bent over onto you and seized your chin with one hand to spin your head back for another kiss, tongue and all. “You look so pretty taking this dick,” he rasped as your careless whimpers echoed. 

JJ pounded deeper and deeper in you, yanking down the front of your dress so your breasts plopped free. He massaged them in his hands from behind. In response, your arched your back more, wanting to feel him- all of him inside you. As his thrusts slowed, he pulled out and pumped himself a few times before coming on your right asscheek. He slapped the left when he was done. 

You were breathing heavily, collecting yourself as you straightened up. “Not bad,” you panted as a cocky smirk rose on his face. 

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

note: WHEW CHILE! 

chapter 3

tags: @starkeybaby @obxlife @poguesforlife @everydayimfangirling @iamaunicorn4704 @tangledinsparkles