#bought another but here’s the thing i’ve no idea where either went but also i’m pretty sure i might’ve just drank the 2nd one too

[bibleofficial]

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I WAS TALKING ABT I WAS SO FUCKING DRUNK 😭😭😭

IMPORTANT FOR YEMEN

we yemeni will deal w in the morning

[lillypad910]

Making Our Home Part 1

Pairing: abused!Billy Hargrove x abused!F!reader

Part 2

Uses (y/n) because I hate “x readers” that are actually OCs

Word Count: 7,789 (yes exactly, I wrote this in my notes app and copied it to word for this count and I went “OH” and this is only about HALF of the note so- still have an extra part that’s already another 7k words).

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! smut, unprotected sex, protected sex, swearing, violence, blood, abusive parents (both reader’s parents and Billy’s dad), “cheating” (Billy and reader aren’t actually dating), Billy is a jerk BUT character growth (Billy gets better I promise, so does Reader’s dad I definitely projected my own daddy issues, so I apologize in advance), pet names (Doll)

Summary: (y/n) has lived in Hawkins, Indiana her entire life. Everyone knows her, she’s the one that sits in the second row of class, with good grades, is kind, and has lots of friends. Billy was the new guy at school, the new “king” of Hawkins High. He’s a complete jerk to everyone, even her. So why does she feel so safe with him…?

A/N: This is something I’ve been working on for over a year now, and I think I finally got it to where I’m comfortable to share. I hate when Billy is written as this “jerk but nice to you” cliché, cause let’s be real, he wouldn’t be. He’s a racist and an asshole, but I think having someone who understands his source of anger would help let him begin to learn love.

Also Scent idea: Coconut Sandalwood (bath and body candle) is EXACTLY what I imagine Billy to smell like without the smoke or cologne. Like y’all KNOW that’s his Shower gel 😩 (I may have bought one for that reason 👀)

You can’t remember when these nights began. Maybe it was the supposed ‘one night’ that started the comfort you feel with him, or maybe the continued nights you both shared after, maybe the safety you felt in his arms. You weren’t sure. All you knew is that you didn’t hate it, unlike everything else in life.

Billy Hargrove moved to Hawkins with his dad and new step mom and step sister. You had lived in Hawkins your whole life, so when the new boy took charge as the new ‘King’ of Hawkins High School, you weren’t a stranger to it. Walking around school, you always thought Billy was attractive, like any other girl. Billy was everyone’s new favorite.

Growing up here, you were known around as the girl with a kind heart. But they all didn’t really know you. You were a kid in the second row, focused on school. But what people didn’t see was the important part. Your dad is a drunk, has been since you were little. Your mom cheats on him by going to the bar every night and not coming home until 3 in the morning, wobbling in the door, rolling her eyes seeing your dad passed out on the couch. Every morning awoke to screaming and crying, your mom being shoved into a wall and slapped, maybe a punch to your dad’s chin.

You didn’t understand why they didn’t divorce. Actually, that’s a lie. Your little sister was the reason, she was the only thing keeping you there, only thing keeping your broken family on the string.

Sometimes in bursts of anger during your mom’s late night adventures, your dad would wake and mistake you for her, beating on you and calling you names. You look so similar to your mom, that you blow it off as the blurry vision of alcoholism.

The abuse never stops though, it’s a constant spiral into farther depression. Your only hope is getting good grades and getting a scholarship, going away to college, moving out of this town, maybe taking your sister with you. It is the only chance you both have at a better life.

Or at least thats what you thought.

Billy was the first person you felt safe with. You weren’t about to loose that either.

Laying out on his bed, his hands squeezing your thighs as you both moan into the now humid air of his room. You feel safe and warm, comforted by his large hands against your skin. His lips smother yours in sloppy kisses, begging for you more. You love him. God, you love him. He slams into you harder, making your back arch. “Fuck, (y/n)…” his voice is raspy and deep, lulling you to reach up to his face and cup his cheeks in your hands, pulling him closer to you for a kiss. A real kiss.

When the event is finished, he lays over you, arms around your waist. You drink in everything about him. His curly hair sprayed out over your bare chest, his sent, fuck, his sent. He reeks of cigarettes, but a strong sent of a hefty cologne masks most of it, something woodsy, but you can still smell his shower gel or maybe his shampoo? Something with coconut, something you can’t notice unless he’s this close. You reach your hand up to pet his hair, but he pulls away before you can, getting up and throwing away the condom.

Things with Billy aren’t easy. He’s rough and mean, never one for aftercare unfortunately, which is really all you need sometimes.

Walking over to his dresser, he grabs the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it. He places it in between his lips before pulling on his boxers. You lay there for a minute, trying to have his sent linger there as long as you can. You finally sit up, looking over to the mirror over his dresser, looking at him through it. He stares down on something on his dresser. You look at yourself in the reflection. You have hickeys all on your body, a blush creeping up your face as you stare longer at the marks he left on you.

“You staying or going tonight?” He asks, blowing out smoke from his mouth. “Am I allowed to stay tonight?” You ask, eyes glittering at the man in front of you. You’ve stayed before, but every time you felt like you were forcing him to let you, and you hated it. You hated forcing him to do things, he would just get mad about it. “You can. Not like you haven’t before.” He doesn’t look at you, but you can hear the annoyance in his voice.

You never understood why you feel safe with him. Maybe it’s more that he’s better than being at your house.

“I would like to…” you mumble. He opens a drawer in his dresser and pulls out one of his t-shirts, turning around and throwing it at the foot of his bed. You crawl over, legs shaking and pick up the shirt, throwing it over your head.

When you look up, a light gasp leaves you when you sees he’s standing right in front of you. His hand reaches and grabs you chin, tilting it up to make you look at him. “Don’t get too cozy with me, Doll, I’m not a kind man.” He drops your chin and snuffs out the cigarette in the ash tray on his dresser before turning back to you. “You know this already though, right?” He asks, leaning back. You nod, staring at him. “Fuck, (y/n), don’t look at me like that. Those soft eyes are gonna kill me one day.” He walks over, wrapping his hand around your neck before smashing his lips to yours. You kiss back almost instantly.

You wake up in the morning, the t-shirt thrown on to the floor at the foot of the bed. You move, only to feel Billy’s hand land on your waist and pull you closer to him. He may claim to not like cuddles, and only in this for sex, but he always does this in the morning.

He always pulls you close, snuggling his face into your hair. You love waking up to this Billy, this gentle, kind Billy. Still sleeping Billy.

You hear his alarm go off and you sigh, knowing it will wake him up and he’ll pull away. He always pulls away. You snuggle into his chest, not wanting to move, just enjoy these few moments when he’s unconsciously loving.

Billy shuffles swinging his arm back, slapping his alarm clock, before snuggling into you more. “Five more minutes…” he mumbles. You breath in his scent. You could live like this, right here. Just laying with him. He doesn’t even know he’s holding you but he is.

You close your eyes, and before long, the alarm goes off again, Billy pulls away and you sink from the shift of weight on the bed. He sits up, landing his feet on the floor, stretching his arms before placing his hands back on the mattress. His back covered in scratches. You didn’t even notice them last night. Scratches you made last night. You marked him.

Billy stands, snatching his boxers off the floor and slipping them on. He lights a cigarette, opening his curtain a bit to look outside. The sun blares in and you flinch at the bright light, “For fuck’s sake, Billy.” The words leave your mouth before you can even process them. He turns to you and glares, opening the curtain more just to blind you. “Morning, Doll.” He spits.

You glare at him and snatch one of the pillows off his bed, chunking it at him, “Fuck you, close the god damn curtain.” The pillow hits just at his dresser next to him, “Hey!” Billy yells. You turn over, now pissed off, your wonderful morning turned sour just from him waking up. Billy closes the curtain.

The next thing you know the blankets are pulled off your bare form, the cold air hitting you. You flinch before looking back at him, “What the hell, Billy!?” He slaps his pillow back on the bed just by your head. “Get up.” He glares. “No.” “I’m not asking, (y/n).” “Don’t care.” He rolls his eyes and grumbles, walking over to his closet.

Billy drives you down the road, speeding like a fucking mad man, before parking. “You can go slower, Jackass.” You roll your eyes hopping out of the passenger seat. Max steps out from the back seat, sitting her board down and kicking off towards the middle school. “I drive how I want.” Billy glares at you, before turning around to snuff out his cigarette into the ground. You slam his car door shut and watch him whip around and glare at you. “Fucking hell, (y/n), careful!” You roll your eyes at him again, throwing your bag over your shoulder and walking into the school.

You go your separate ways for the day, focusing on your school work. “(Y/n),” you turn away from your locker to see one of your popular friends. “Party at Carol’s tonight, you down?” You think for a moment.

Your parents don’t care when you go missing for days on end. Hell, you stayed with Billy for an entire week once and then came home at 2 am, dad passed out like usual, the only person acknowledging your absence being your little sister. Your mom asked you the following morning where you had been, but you could tell she didn’t really care. “A friend’s.” You told her. She shrugged it off with a simple “Ok.” They don’t fucking care about you.

“Sure, why not?”

You caught a ride with one of the guys your friend had been trying to set you up with for the past year. God, when will he take a hint. You wear a slutty outfit, hoping Billy will be there, honestly knowing he will be.

Hopping out of the car you spot Billy on the keg stand. Fucking dumbass. When he drops he throws his fist in the air, a cheer goes across the crowd circling him. He catches eyes with you. The guy who drove you wraps his arm around your waist.

Billy would never admit it, but he hates seeing you with other guys. It just pisses him off. He can’t explain why, he refuses to. He glares at you as the guy leads you into the house. Billy can’t keep his eyes off you no matter how hard he tries.

Billy has had a rough life, his mom fucking packing her shit when he was smaller than Max, his dad being a total abusive jackass all the time. He gets told to watch over Max, make sure she’s ok, and if she gets home late or something happens it’s always on him.

But for some fucking reason he doesn’t hate you. He claims he does, cussing you out or calling you a filthy whore when he finds out you slept with another guy. But he never means it. It’s hard because all he’s ever known is hatred.

He knows of the things you’ve dealt with at home, obviously being at your house a few times to learn how shitty your parents were, same with you with his dad. He hated when your dad beat you, he would sneak into you room just looking to let off steam, and find you crying with a bruise on your cheek. He hates you crying.

Billy doesn’t know how to handle tears, so when he finds you crying in your room, all he can do is give you an escape. Laying you back on your bed and roughly making you forget about your pain.

So yeah, seeing you with another guy pisses him off.

Walking into the house, Carol greets you. You give her a quick ‘hey’ before going straight for the alcohol. You take a red solo cup, dunking it into the punch bowl. Steve walks up finding you as you chug it down. “Whoa, whoa, (y/n), hey.” Steve snatched the cup from you. “Fuck off, Steve, not in the mood.” “Just… slow down, damn…”

He hands you the cup and you lean against the counter. “What’s up? You hate parties.” “Feeling like I need a distraction.” You glare at the crowd of teens in the living room, Billy on the other side, now flirting with what ever bitch he can get his hands on.

You know you have no right to be mad, you’re just fuck buddies, not exclusive. But it still pulls at your heart seeing him run his hands over other girls. You can practically feel them roam your skin, gripping at your hips-

“(Y/n)?” Steve pulls you from your stare. “What?” You ask. “You ok? You seem so out of it…” Steve places his hand on your shoulder.

You and Steve have been friends for a while, hanging around the same crowd since elementary. Honestly you used to date, but after you broke it off, trying to focus on school, Steve started going out with Nancy Wheeler, a girl in the grade under you. You thought they were perfect for each other. Steve loves Nancy, but he still cares for you and you for him. You stayed friends even now.

“I’m fine, Steve, I’m fine.” You tell him. He nods and removes his hand. “Ok, if you need anything, just let me know, ok? You’re still my friend, (l/n), you can’t cut me off that easy.” You giggle slightly. He always lightened your mood. “Yeah, dork, I know.” You ruffle his hair and step away from the punch bowl, trying to find the guy you pulled up with. You wanted attention. Even if it meant just more sex, at least maybe you could get aftercare from someone.

You run into Tommy, one of Billy’s friends, who immediately starts flirting with you. You reciprocate, wanting to honestly just have a good time. After a couple dances, Tommy takes you upstairs.

Pulling him immediately onto the bed, you kiss him just wanting someone to touch you. Tommy climbs over you, quick to scurry off his pants, but you stop him. You help him remove them before leaning down, being quick to take him into your mouth.

He’s no Billy, but the rest of your evening consisted of your legs wrapped around his waist, kisses dancing across your neck. You know that if Billy found out he’d be so pissed. So you enjoyed yourself, letting him have you all night long, any position he wanted you. But again, he was no Billy Hargrove.

The next morning, Billy waltzes into the boys locker room. He is already pissed off, you never answered any of his calls last night, couldn’t find you at the end of the party.

When he is getting changed, Tommy starts bragging about a bang he made last night. Billy’s ears perk, curious as to what secret whore was let out at the party. “Fuck, man, (y/n) was incredible.” Tommy smirks to himself. Billy froze. Why the hell was Tommy Hagan talking about you, his girl.

When the group gets out into the gym, Billy steps up to Tommy, “heard you had a good fuck last night?” “Yeah, don’t tell Carol though, she’d flip. Honestly this chick was way better.” “Yeah?” Billy asks, a smile on his face. “Yeah-“ Billy smashes his fist into Tommy’s cheek, practically throwing the guy to the ground. “What the hell, man?!” Tommy yells out, holding his cheek in his hand. Billy grabs Tommy’s shirt and yanks him to his feet, before throwing him against a wall, punching his fists into his face over and over again. Tommy’s face starts bleeding fast, but Billy doesn’t stop.

The fight builds up a crowd quickly, you being included. When you see Billy beating on Tommy you immediately squeeze through everyone, “Billy!” You run up and grab Billy’s arm, pulling him away from Tommy, trying to get him to stop. “Billy, stop!!” You get shoved down to the floor just as Carol comes running up. “Tommy!! Billy, quit it!” Carol smashes her body into Billy, getting him to finally shove off her boyfriend. You quickly stand, getting in between the couple and Billy. “Billy, stop!” You tell him, holding your hands against his chest, which shockingly he stops. Carol cups Tommy’s face in her hands, examining his wounds, before turning to you both.

To be honest you would have felt guilty in that moment, knowing you spent the night at her house with her boyfriend, but you didn’t. Honestly you were more so shocked. You got a reaction from Billy.

“What the fuck, Billy?!” Carol screams at him. The crowd around you watches you all carefully. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” She yells, obviously and rightfully pissed.

“Oh, fuck off, Carol!” Billy yells back. You stare at him, genuinely blown away by the way your touch is calming him down. He glances down at you hands, then back up at your face. His hand lifts and slaps your hand off him. “Get the fuck off. Fuck you. Fuck all of you!” Billy walks out the side door of the gym.

“Tommy? You hear me, baby?” Carol makes her boyfriend look at her. “What the hell happened?” She asks. You turn to Tommy, meeting eyes. “Nothing, he just… fucking attacked me. That fucking psycho.” Tommy breaths out. Carol’s eyes soften, but you knew. You knew Billy found out about last night.

You step out of the school at the end of the day, only to spot Billy walking up. You glare at him, pissed he got in a fucking fight. He was completely ok too, no bruises no marks, Tommy didn’t even stand a chance. “Billy.” You went to go walk past him, but he grips your arm, snatching you to stop and look at him. “You fucking bitch.”

His words slither out of his mouth with the purest venom. “This is all your fucking fault.” His grip on your arm tightens but you don’t move, not even flinch. “Fuck off, Billy. We aren’t dating, remember?” Billy couldn’t help but wanna fucking slap you across the face right there, but he knew if he did, he would be just like his dad.

He glances down and watched for a second as your chest raises and falls. For fuck’s sake he loves your chest. Your entire body. Everything about you. You are his guilty pleasure.

Even now, as you stand before him, knowing you fucked another guy just last night, he still wants you. “God fucking- fuck.” Billy drops his hand, before barging into the school, leaving you alone.

You make it home only to have your mom home, a shocking display. “Hey,” your mom calls as you enter the house, “where the fuck have you been?” She growls. “Your dad’s passed out, Penny has had to heat up fucking egos for the past three days!” You look away from your mother. “You never cared before.” Your mother raises her brow, “excuse me?” You go to repeat your words louder, not having a damn care in the world anymore, but a sharp stink hits your cheek as your face is whipped to look towards the tv.

You take a deep breath, your hand raising to brush against your now red cheek. Your mother’s hand lays out slightly in front of her. “Don’t you. Dare. Talk to me like that again! I’m your mother! You ungrateful-”without even thinking, your hand flies, slapping against her jaw so hard she stumbles. “I don’t have a mom.” Your voice spits with such distaste towards the word. “You have no right. Claiming to be a mom? Please! All you do is fuck around with guys at bars, leaving dad here for me to fucking deal with!” You press you finger to your chest, pressing into your skin. “Me! A teenager! You hate it here! So why don’t you just fucking leave! Life would be so much better if you just fucking died!” You practically spit at her, before running up stairs.

You slam your door shut, pressing your back against the white wood. Sliding down you lift your knees to your chest, allowing yourself to cry into them. You want comfort. You want him. You fucked up so fucking bad and you hate yourself for it. Your mom deserves hell, but you deserve much worse.

Before long banging comes from the other side, making you jump, a quick scream leaving your lips, as you press your weight against the door. “Open the door, (y/n)!” Your mother screams. “Open the god damn door!!” You reach down, tears streaming down your cheeks. You lock the door, before moving as much of your furniture you can in front of the door. You panic, looking around the room.

Opening your window quickly, you climb out onto the ledge of the roof, like Billy has done so many times before. You climb down, dropping to your knees as you hit the ground. You take no time to stand and start running.

Stopping at the door of the house, you knock hard, knowing your tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes were gonna give you away. Billy opens the door, his shirt off, “aww, missed me all ready, Doll? Done with that prick, Tommy?” “Oh fuck off.” You hissed at him. You body aches as you stare at him, his bare chest smooth and perfect. He raises his hand and grips your jaw, turning your head to the side to see the red mark on your cheek. You could still feel it stinging.

“What the hell happened?” He asks. Your body betrays you, soft whimpers leaving your lips as more sobs choke up from your throat. Billy stares at your eyes, trying to read your expression. “Did he hit you again?” He was asking about your dad, but all you can do is crumble. “Doll,” Billy stiffens as you lean into his chest, laying your head on his shoulder. As stated before he hates you crying.

“Doll, come in.” He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you inside, closing the door before slamming you against the wood. You let out a gasp, but don’t protest as his lips fall to yours, deeply placing kisses on your lips. “Fuck, Doll…” his hands raise up your shirt, before lifting you up so you sit around his waist. You run your hands through his hair, melting into his touch. God, you missed him.

He scoops you off the door, letting you lay your head into his neck as he walks you upstairs to his room. He lays you back, pressing soft kisses to your cheek then down your neck. “Billy…” your moans fill his ears, electrifying him. Fuck, the things you do to him. He fumbles with his belt as you lay on your back, wrapping your legs around his waist. He yanks out his belt from the belt loops quickly dropping his pants and boxers before sliding your underwear down your legs.

He takes no time slamming into you, starting at a fast pace, holding your hips against his waist. Your gasps and screams fill his room, followed by his deep grunts and groans. He climbs onto the bed, pushing deeper into you. Fuck, you made him crazy.

He places a hand on your lower stomach, pushing down, getting a lovely moan to slip out of your perfect lips. “Fuck, (y/n)…” his voice is groggy, deep, he grabs your thighs and pushes them down, opening you to be a perfect display for him. Your eyes roll back. Skin slaps against skin, the temperature in the room rising. “F-Fuck, Billy…” your toes curl.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck!” Billy leans down to kiss your stomach. “God, I’m gonna fucking cum, Doll…” your legs find themselves wrapped around his waist again, each thrust sends him deeper to your core. “B-Billy, please…” your voice begs him. He lets out a soft chuckle, “Please what, Doll? Do you wanna cum?” Billy asks, slapping his hand against your ass. The sting sends a shiver down your spine, but you like it. “Please…” he thrusts faster, your whimpers making this completely worth the workout. “Fuck…” Billy groans as he feels you release around him, making him tumble over his edge. He spills into you, placing his hands beside your head. “God… fuck…”

You pass out within seconds, laying into his bed comfortably. His scent fills your nose as you sleep, making you feel safe.

Billy lays in his bed, unable to sleep. His mind keeps replaying the last few hours in his head.

You passed out over his bed, and to be honest it scared the shit out of him. His body reacted before his brain, grabbing your face and patting your cheeks softly, “(y/n)? (Y/n).” You stirred, a hum leaving your lips, letting him release a sigh of relief. He pulled away from you, pulling out a shirt from his dresser and lifting you up, throwing it over your head. “Why the hell did you have to pass out on me? God, can’t even take it rough.” He mumbles to himself.

He stops when you lay your head on his shoulder. “Billy…” he froze, stiff as a board. “Yeah, Doll?” He spoke quietly. You didn’t answer and he looked over at your face, a soft smile on your lips. Fuck.

He laid you back, lifting your underwear off the ground and lifting it up your legs. He lets you lay back on his bed while he lights a cigarette. He takes a puff only to watch you wiggle in your sleep. “Billy…” his name leaves your lips, and he feels his heart skip each time. “God, what am I gonna do with you, Doll.” He leans over you, cigarette still in is mouth. He brushes your hair out of your face. “You stress me out… make me worry when I don’t know where you are.” He sighs. “God, you’re so pretty…” “Billy…” he brushes his knuckle against your soft cheek, “What’s on your mind, Doll. Tell me, I wanna know.” He mumbles.

He does want to know, he really wants to know. He wants to know what you think of him when you aren’t using a filter, when you don’t shout hate back at him.

“I love you, Billy…” the words are soft as they leave your lips, but just enough to make his heart jump out of his chest. He hasn’t been told he was loved since he was younger than Max, since his mom was still around. But here you were, thrown over his bed, mumbling that you love him in your sleep.

“You’re gonna kill me, Doll.” He leans over and places a soft kiss on your forehead, before pulling the covers over you, letting you sink deeper into his mattress. When he finishes his cigarette, he lays down with you, turning his back towards you.

He doesn’t know how to process this new information. You didn’t know what you were saying, he knew that much. He was bad for you, everything about him was awful, he knows that. But you love him.

You wake up to Billy, his back turned towards you. You glance over at the clock on his nightstand, 2:45. It’s still dark out, you sit up and rub your head. You glance down at yourself, you’re in one of Billy’s shirts, your underwear back on you. “Billy…?” You whisper, you know he’s probably asleep, but you really wanna cuddle him.

You slide yourself closer to him, just wanting to be next to him. You lay your forehead against his back, snuggling into his skin.

Billy feels you move against his back, trying to get closer to him, but not too much to freak him out. He feels his eyes water, unable to handle this much affection, but he let’s you continue to get comfy beside him.

In the morning, Billy is the first to get out of bed, like usual. His usual morning stretch and cigarette. You lay on your stomach, watching him carefully. You could watch this man walk around naked all day.

Billy opens the curtain and you brace yourself for the aggressive beam of light that hits your eyes, but it never comes. He sticks his head around the curtain, peeking outside. When he sees what he wants, he closes the curtain, making sure that the only light coming in is the amount spraying out from the sides.

“Doll,” Billy pokes your side a few minutes later. “Up, come on.” He’s being oddly gentle this morning. You sit up, your body still sore from last night. “Can we just skip today?” You ask, rubbing your eyes with your fist as though you were a child. Billy freezes before turning to you. “Doll, we have a test in physics, we can’t skip.” He tells you.

You like this Billy, a softer Billy. You nod and throw your legs over the bed. You go to stand but your legs wobble and send you crashing towards the ground. “Whoa, hey,” Billy comes over and helps you off the floor, “don’t be fucking stupid, take your time.” You nod as he lets go of you after sitting you back on the bed.

Last night must have been rough, you’ve never not been able to walk the next morning, but here you were, legs shaking as you were needing to get out of bed for school. Billy leaves the room and you take this time to get ready.

You have to stay leaning against furniture and walls to keep yourself from falling over. After your dressed, you try to remember all the events of last night. You remember him fucking you, hard. You remember both of you finishing, but after that it goes dark, until you woke up later in his clothes.

You conclude you passed out. Obviously, that’s the only real explanation. But why was he being so gentle this morning? He’s never this nice, it’s weird.

When Billy enters the room again, you watch him carefully. “Did I do something?” The words slip out nervously. He looks at you confused. “What?” “You’re just… you’re different this morning…” you mumble, twiddling your thumbs. “I mean you passed out last night. Made me have to fucking dress you.” His voice growls.

There he was. A comfort waves over you. “Sorry,” you speak, “I didn’t mean to.” “Yeah, no shit.”

You get into his car, now feeling like your legs aren’t jelly. Max hops into the back, now used to the fact that she doesn’t get the front seat as often anymore. Billy drives you all, speeding like usual and you just ignore it.

Getting out of the car, shutting the door, Billy speaks up, “yeah I know, go slower.” He rolls his eyes. You think for a minute. “Oh my god you’re learning.” Max stifles a laugh getting out of the car. “If only, fucking dumbass will kill us one day.” “Hey!” Billy glares at her. She flips him the bird before dropping her board down and skating off. You walk into the school, heading straight for class.

At lunch you sit down with Carol, who is already crying. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask. Carol sobs and sniffles. “Tommy slept with another girl at the party the other night.” Another girl speaks up. “Carol found out from one of the boys. We think that’s why Billy got in a fight with him, defending Carol.” You wince, knowing damn well Billy wasn’t defending Carol, but the girl Tommy slept with, you.

“That Jackass.” You grumble and the girls all nod. “He fucking cheated, in my own house no less! Then came to school and let me fucking care about him!” Carol growls. “That’s so gross.” “Not cool.” “At your own party, disgusting.” The girls all pipe in, giving their thoughts on Tommy.

“Do you know who the girl is?” One girl asks. Carol shakes her head. Oh thank god. “He refused to tell me, just that she was better. That fucking asshole! That girl better watch her back though, I will fucking find her.”

Walking to your next class you get pulled into a classroom. The door shuts behind you and you whip around. Tommy.

“Tommy, what the hell?” You glare at him. “Sorry, I just…” Tommy takes a deep breath. “I really had fun the other night… and I was wondering…” he steps closer to you and you step back against the wall, “if you wanna maybe do it again sometimes?”

“Tommy, are you fucking serious.” Your eyes widen. “I just ate lunch. With Carol.” You snap at him. “Remember, your fucking girlfriend?” Tommy shrugs. “Not any more, I’m a single man, now, Love.” You wanna hurl at the nickname. “Tommy, it was a one night thing, I’m not interested.” “Oh please, (y/n), you were taking me so well. You expect me to believe that you jumping in yesterday wasn’t because you care about me?” “Yes.” You snarl at him. He hesitates for a moment.

“Oh, oh. I get it now.” He smirks at you. “You wanna keep us a secret, so that you don’t have to feel the wrath of Carol.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, he’s stupid. “No, Tommy. I don’t want to date you.” I clarify. “Who said anything about dating? Just fucking is fine with me, Sweet cheeks.” “Ew.” You go to grab the door but he cuts in front of you. “Ew? Bitch, you’re the reason I broke off a three year long relationship.” He glares at you. “Well maybe instead of thinking with your dick, you should have thought with you head and chose the girl that actually loved you. Not the girl that just wanted attention for a night.” You roll your eyes and shove past him.

Billy is waiting for you at his car when school ends, “have a nice time with Tommy?” He asks. “Fuck off, Billy, nothing fucking happened.” You glare at him. “Yeah, no shit, Doll, you came out ten minutes later, unless it just doesn’t take him that long.” He chuckles at his own words.

“So now what? You’re spying on me? Watching my every move?” You ask him, leaning against his car. He glares at you. “Hell no. Why would I be?” “Oh I don’t know, you just seem to always try to know where I am. What I’m doing.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t flatter yourself, (l/n). You’re nothing special.” He tells you. “Yet you keep coming back to me.” You roll your eyes, before walking around the car.

“Hey,” you look up at him, his eyes are narrowed, “you came to me last night, remember? Don’t forget that.” He says opening the door to the driver’s side. “Not waiting on Max?” You ask him. He glares at you, “She can skate home.”

You sit in the car in silence, well as much silence as Scorpions screaming in your ear can give you. Billy bangs his hand against the steering wheel, and you stare out of the window. You look forwards only to see a group of kids on bikes. “Billy,” he looks over at you and speeds up. “Billy, slow down!” You yell at him. He just stares at you, “You know those kids?”

You do. Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, and Will Byers. Mike’s little sister Holly is friends with Penny. “Billy, I’m not fucking joking, slow the god damn car!” You scream at him. You watch the kids speed up their peddling as they all try to race the speed of the car barreling towards them.

You place your hand on the wheel and push it to swerve around them, just missing them. “Billy, you jackass!” You slap his arm. He slams on his brakes, almost making you slam into the dashboard. “Get out.” You look at him shocked. Is he fucking serious? “I said get out!” He yells at you. You grab your stuff and step out of his car. You slam the car door shut and flip him the bird as he speeds off.

“(Y/n)?” Mike looks at you shocked as you turn around to face the group of boys. “Are you guys ok?” You ask, walking over to help lift Dustin off the ground. “Yeah, yeah.” Lucas tries to catch his breath. “Totally.” Dustin stumbles, catching himself on Mike’s shoulder. Will stares at you. “Why were you riding with Billy?” You stare at the group of middle schoolers as they stare back at you.

“It’s a… long story.” You glance to the tree line across the road. “Come on, I’ll walk with you guys.”

As you come by your house, you stop, staring at the building, the boys staring at you. “What’s wrong?” Lucas asks. “Nothing. Just thinking. You guys go home, now. It’ll get dark soon enough.” You ruffle Dustin’s hair. They all nod and leave you standing outside your house.

You stare at the empty driveway, your mom’s car not there. A relief sets in. You step into your home, shutting the door quietly to not wake your dad. You walk upstairs only to see your little sister’s door peep open.

Her eyes glitter in the crack of the door. “Hey, Pen.” You greet her. She slowly opens her door, “Is Mommy home?” “No, she’s not.” You tell her. She thinks for a minute, you can practically see her gears turning in her head.

She runs out of her room and tackles your legs, “Hey, now, careful. Don’t wanna send me flying down the stairs do you?” She shakes her head against you skin. “Penny,” you crouch down to her height, “I’m sorry I haven’t been home much recently…” you choke out.

You hate leaving her here, knowing she has to hear all the yelling and fighting and not have you with her to help her through it. But you also know it’s better when you’re not here. Your mom treats her with more care than you. You would never hold that against Penny, though. You adore her. She’s the light in this dark house.

You know why your mom favors her also. Your mom and dad haven’t slept together since you were little, so when your mom got pregnant with Penny, you weren’t fucking stupid. Penny isn’t your dad’s kid. She’s some result of a hook up your mom had, some old flame from high school. You know who, though you didn’t know his name. You met him, years ago, when your dad was still working late nights at the plant. Your mom would bring this guy home almost every night.

Even so, knowing who Penny was, she was still your sister, no matter who or where she comes from. You love her.

“Have you eaten?” You ask her. She shakes her head and looks up at you. “What do you wanna eat?” Her eyes light up. “Pizza?” You let a soft chuckle escape your lips, “I can do that, tortilla or do you wanna order?” “Tortilla!” You nod and gesture for her to go downstairs.

Following your little sister into the kitchen, you both quietly pull out all the things you need to make your pizzas, you also preheat the oven to broil on high. You pull out the little step for your sister to make both the pizzas, helping her spread around the sauce onto the tortillas. “What are you girls doing?” You both freeze and look up, your dad now stands in the door way of the kitchen. “We…” you glance towards your sister and back at your dad, “we’re making tortilla pizzas for dinner.” Your dad’s eyes soften, “Oh, mind making me one?” He steps closer and you nod.

You have never seen your dad as a bad guy, he was genuinely a sweet guy when he was sober. When he was still working at the plant, he would take you to get ice cream after his late nights at work. Especially on Saturdays. Saturdays were the day your mom was out of the house for work, but your dad was always home, watching you. Saturdays used to be your favorite day, now you don’t have a favorite.

On Saturday morning you would wake up to your mom leaving for work and your dad just getting off his shift. He would come into the door, tackle you in a bear hug and you would both make breakfast together, pancakes and eggs. Sometimes mixing it up and making waffles. Then after eating, you both would sit on the couch and watch what ever you wanted, usually because he would end up passing out, finally getting some sleep. You didn’t mind that he slept though, happy just to be able to hang out with him for a day.

When he would wake up, sometime around 1:00, you would get into his truck and go to a local diner for lunch, getting a burger and fries. He would always get the turkey club sandwich. After that you would get one banana split and share it, he would always make the day worth the wait.

You miss those Saturdays, nothing but happy memories. You don’t know why that tradition stopped, but it stopped sometimes around when Penny was about 2, and your dad lost his job. Back then he was so kind, only wanting to make you both happy when he could. Now, now he was a shot in the dark.

After you all made your pizzas, you go to pick up the pan and place it in the oven, “Here, Pumpkin,” the nickname catches you off guard when your dad’s rough hand places on top of yours. “Let me, please.” He stares at you, those dark eyes, soft and sweet. You nod, letting him take the tray and place it into the oven. You allow yourself to finally relax.

You all sit around the table, laughing and catching up, as if you all don’t live under the same roof. Your dad’s smile fills the room, making your heart melt. You always did love his smile. After eating, he scooped out some ice cream while Penny and you cleaned the kitchen. You all move to the couch and put on a movie.

Sitting on the couch, your sister now sprawled across it, leaning against your dad’s chest, passed out. Her feet lay on your lap but you don’t mind, it’s nice to see her being comfortable to nap on the couch. You look over at your dad, he’s wide awake, stroking Penny’s hair with his palm. He looks up to see you staring at him.

“What’s up, Pumpkin?” You hesitate, a knot forming in your throat. “I missed you.” The words fumble out of your mouth as tears form in your eyes. “I really missed you.” He smiles softly holding out his arms and you crawl across the couch to him, laying against him, but making sure not to crush Penny in the process. “I know… I missed you too, (y/n).” Your tears run down your cheeks, dampening his shirt.

His fingers run through your hair. He presses a soft kiss to your head. “I’m sorry, I know things have been tough for you, I should have been there.” He nuzzles into your hair. “You’ll always be my little girl, Sweetie. I’m so sorry. You’ve done so well taking care of Penny, taking care of all of us, but you shouldn’t have to do that. God, I’m so sorry.” He kisses you forehead and you can’t stop crying.

His scent makes you feel comfortable, the smell of cigar smoke and cranberry. You missed him, so much.

As midnight strikes on the clock hanging on the wall, your dad wipes away your tears, laying his hands against your cheeks to cup your face, before placing a soft kiss on your nose. “I always hated seeing you cry.” You let out a laugh in between your sobs. “I probably look stupid, nose all runny.” You let yourself smile. “Oh no, never.” He shakes his head, a playful smile on his lips. “Not my little girl, you were always a pretty crier, even as a child, all snotty and whaling around, thumping your fists.” He chuckles to himself.

He lets out a soft sigh. “We should probably get Penny to bed.” You nod, getting up from the couch. You go to scoop up your sister, but he stops you. “I got her. Will you grab the bowls?” You nod and collect all the dirty dishes off the coffee table. You place them in the sink and watch as your dad slowly lays your little sister over his chest, supporting her bottom with his arm.

“Daddy?” You hear her soft voice call out, “Shh,” your dad mumbles to her, “Time for bed, Sweet pea.” She nuzzles into his neck as you come back into view. You follow your dad up to her room, helping him lay her down in her bed. “Good night, Penny.” Your dad places a soft kiss on her head, and she hums in response. He steps out, turning off her light and shutting the door as quietly as he can.

“She’s gotten big.” He puts his hands in the way he was having to carry her, obviously exaggerating. You let yourself giggle. He smiles at your laugh. “Tomorrow is Saturday, right?” He asks. You think for a moment. Tomorrow is Saturday. “Yeah,” he smiles and lifts a hand to ruffle your hair.

“How about we reawaken our old tradition, make breakfast in the morning and go get lunch at the diner across town?” Your heart thumps in your chest. “I would like that, Dad. I would like that very much.” You smile, a genuine smile. “Good. Now, get to bed, Pumpkin.” He pulls you in for another hug, before heading back downstairs.

You make it into your room, slowly shutting the door. You know by morning, he probably will have forgotten, probably be drunk on whiskey again. You know he probably will forget about the whole evening he spent with his two little girls on the couch, shoving ice cream into your mouths and a movie on the screen. But you don’t care, you want to soak in the night for as long as you can.

[flautistsandpeonies]

End Racism in the OTW: AITA For Always Buying My Wife Cooking Themed Presents?

Read the Previous Part [Here]

Word Length: 2,060

Time to Read: 12 Minutes

You can also read this on my Wordpress.

Chapter Summary: Jin Zixuan posts on the AITA Reddit.

Curious about the title of this fanwork? I’m joining an effort to call on AO3 to fulfill commitments they have already made to address harassment and racist abuse on the archive. Read more, boost, and get involved here!

So, I’ve [23M] recently come under hot water with my wife [25F] after I gave her another anniversary gift. It was a 20-piece cobalt blue dutch cooking set with matching cooking mats, oven mitts, cutting board, and utensils. I was planning to have that one shipped to our summer house in the Mediterranean since we were going there for a vacation soon, but it looks like I might be returning it. I thought that she would really like it as cooking has been her favorite hobby ever since she was a child. I usually get her a new cooking set for each house we buy; like I got her a bronze cooking set after we bought a flat in France, but this time it actually made her really upset! She burst into tears and started talking about how we never truly talked about the things we liked to do when we were courting and how we’ve fixed ourselves into a relationship where we give each other meaningless gifts. She also likened us to our parents’ marriages, only that we didn’t fight as much as they do.

I got upset at first and shot back that she never tried to talk to me about any other things that she liked; that she only ever showed me the side of her that liked to cook. In the heat of the moment, I also made the quip that “unlike our fathers, I’m not afraid to divorce you if this marriage turns sour”. However, I really regret what I said and I want to make it up to her. I’m not really sure how to do that, however. Usually I buy her a gift if she gets a bit miffed with me, but I think that would only make this situation worse. I’m not the best with words either, and I’m afraid I may make her cry again.

As things are, we haven’t spoken in a couple days. We still sleep in the same bed and whenever I wake up breakfast is done, and lunch and dinner is cooked while I’m working, so things have only really changed on the social side of things.

Everyone, I really love my wife. I will admit that I used to not like her because when we were younger our mothers made a deal that if we were two separate genders then we would have to marry when we were older. I hated the idea of marrying someone I didn’t love, and I took the arranged marriage out on her by pretty much either pretending she didn’t exist or I was kind of rude to her.

I got lucky when I was 16, I went to a prestigious school program offered by one of the other families in our social circles. My wife’s little brother and foster brother were allowed to attend, and about three months in I said something kinda bad and her foster brother knocked my lights out, so our fathers ended up breaking the engagement. You may be thinking “how is that lucky?”, but by breaking the engagement I wasn’t forced to be with her, and a couple years later I decided to actually try to get to know her a bit and ended up falling in love. So, I guess I should probably thank her foster brother for punching me too huh?

But anyway, how should I fix this? Can I fix this? Or was I too much of an asshole and ruined my marriage to the best thing that’s ever happened me ever since my dad got sick and had to step down as family head?

...

Comments:

Marshmallow-Strap-On: YTA she’s probably sick and tired of you buying the same old things. You should really just try and sit down and talk things out. Maybe try to write down what you want to say to her since you have trouble voicing things out? -Original Poster: That’s an idea. I’ll definitely try it. --Marshmallow-Strap-On: Do you have any idea as to what her other hobbies may be? ---Original Poster: Honestly? No. You see, my wife was reared to be the “perfect madam” like all other heiresses in our social network, meaning she’s supposed to be able to handle the financials of the household, play an instrument, know a bit of strategy, that sort of thing. Other things such as hobbies, while she may have some, is not supposed have any interaction with the husband’s life and duties, as ugly as it is to say. ----Marshmallow-Strap-On: ....Oh my word..... (Click Here to Continue Thread)

Blade: YTA -Original Poster: Thanks...

10000-Karot-Blade: NTA, she should be grateful you even remembered to buy her anything. I own a few houses myself and my wife never complains about what I give her. Your wife sounds pretty selfish tbh, maybe you should think about that divorce. -Bach-Chow: Yeah right, I think I met your wife. Her name’s Brazzer’s Inflatable Princess, am I right? --10000-Karot-Blade: Oh fuck off, you dirty sewer rat. I’ll have you know I am a member of the elite Golden Phoenix Order, and I will not have you say such slander to me, over the internet or not. ---Original Poster: ...Zixun, is this you? ----10000-Karot-Blade: It is me, cousin. I can’t believe that you are looking to the lower class to solve your marital problems. Your father would be disappointed in you, the head of the family seeking help from the internet. ----Bach-Chow: This asshole is your fucking cousin? -----Original Poster: Small world, isn’t it? And no, he doesn’t have a wife, most woman are afraid of him. ------Bach-Chow: That brings me dread rather than pleasure. (Click Here to Continue Thread)

Russian-Doll: YTA, but since it seems like you want to do better, here’s some advice from a woman who’s been married for thirty-seven years. You two need to sit down and have a long talk about each other. Make sure to listen more than you speak, apologize if you interrupt her and do your damnest not to do it again. This conversation isn’t about who was “right” in the previous argument, it’s about gaining a better understanding of who you both are as people. -Original Poster: Oh my heaven, thank you, thank you, thank you so much. --Russian-Doll: It’s alright dear. How long have you been married? ---Original Poster: Two years, but we dated for four years, and we’ve known each other since we were children. ----Russian-Doll: Mhmm, and you said your mothers arranged your marriage, but then your fathers broke it up? -----Original Poster: Yeah. Our fathers know arranged marriages very intimately as they didn’t want to marry our mothers. Especially in my wife’s father’s case, he was forced to by his and his wife’s parents. ------Russian-Doll: He was forced to marry her!? (Click Here to Continue Thread)

Spy-Kids: Wait, so your moms wouldn’t have allowed ya’ll to get married if ya’ll were the same gender? -Original Poster: Nope. They would have had us been sworn siblings instead. --Spy-Kids: What planet do you people come from? ---Original Poster: I don’t follow your line of questioning.” ----Spy-Kids: Your mothers are homophobic? -----Original Poster: My mother has not mentioned her opinion on LGBT people, but yes my wife’s mother is homophobic. Unless we have the urge to become deaf we try not to bring it up in front of her. -------Spy-Kids: Jesus (Click Here to Continue Thread)

Small-Chungus: YTA. Odd, this is the second time I’ve heard about rich families and arranged marriages in a span of like a couple months. Quick question, your wife’s mother wouldn’t be happening to try to take her foster brother to court would she? -Original Poster: Umm, actually yeah she is... How would you know about this? --Small-Chungus: Here https://www.reddit.com/r/AmItheAsshole/comments/jc1ch1/aita_for_sticking_up_for_my_mother_against_my_father_and_foster_sibling/ ---Original Poster: ......Oh my heaven. Oh my fuck, a-Li has to read this. ----Small-Chungus: a-Li? -----Original Poster: My wife’s nickname. Oh my fuck she is gonna be so mad about this. ------Who-Killed-Roger-Rabbit: Wait, what happened? ------- Who-Killed-Roger-Rabbit: Ok, nvm. Holy shit, that guy’s your brother-in-law? What am asshole! --------Original Poster: This is so fucking crazy, he’s lost his fucking mind. Oh shit, I hope Lan Wangji hasn’t heard about this, he’s dead if he has. ---------Small-Chungus: Who’s Lan Wangji? (Click Here to Continue Thread)

Cooking-Companions: YTA for owning so many houses, nepotism baby. -Original Poster: Buying a house is cheaper than renting a space for a few months or getting a hotel. --Cooking-Companions: How many houses do you own? ---Original Poster: I will not tell you as I can tell your reply will not be respectful. ----Cooking-Companions: You do not need more than one house. There are thousands of people in the world who could use that space daily than you on your little vacations. -----Original Poster: I am a philanthropist, I can assure you I’m not like the other members of my family who flaunt their wealth and lord themselves over others. ------Cooking-Companions: I cannot relay to you how much I do not fucking care. (Click Here to Continue Thread)

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...

Edit:

I’ve decided to update everyone on how things went with my wife.

So...it went really well!

I sucked it up and sat her down in the living room and we talked it out for hours. We went over our relationship from the beginning to now, we talked about our childhoods, our parents, our hobbies, pretty much everything.

I’ve learned that my wife loves wood carving, pyrography, map making, embroidery, and jet skiing! And she also likes the idea of entomology but her mother wouldn’t allow her to get into it cause it’s not “lady like”. I’m gonna get her some books on entomology as a surprise gift when we head to the Mediterranean.

We’ve also decided to talk to a marriage counselor. While we were still in the no talking phase my wife apparently spoke to her foster brother and he suggested counseling. I agreed cause it can’t hurt can it?

I’d like to thank everyone who gave me a push in the right direction. Our marriage is saved because of you all!

...

Comments:

Im-Mister-Heat-Mister: Looks like your NTA now, good job my guy.

Small-Chungus: Congrats man. Here’s to you becoming a better husband. NTA

Marshmallow-Strap-On: NTA anymore. Those entomology books sound like wonderful gift; hope she likes them!

Russian-Doll: Wonderful job young man. NTA

10000-Karot-Blade: I’m disappointed in you cousin. -Bach-Chow: Oh shut the fuck up, asshole

Cooking-Companions: So when are you going to give your extra homes to the homeless?

Breath-of-the-Wild: Looks like you owe your brother-in-law once again. -Original Poster: Oh heaven, yeah I know, guess I should probably do something nice for him. Uhh. Guess I could send him a pre-wedding gift? --Breath-of-the-Wild: He’s getting married? ---Original Poster: Yeah, he’s marrying the second son of another influential family. They hit it off in secondary school. ----Breath-of-the-Wild: Awesome, yeah dude, send them a gift! -----Original Poster: Now I only got to think what. Hmm, maybe some Emperor’s Smile. He likes that wine, but his fiancee doesn’t drink. (Click Here to Continue Thread)

WAP: I never considered you the asshole, and I believe that you should rethink this decision with your wife. If you are as rich as I believe then she could be a hindrance to your future goals. Certainly there are better woman out there? -Original Poster: I’m not divorcing the love of my life. --WAP: Love and business cannot mix my boy. If your love for her overcomes your work, then your work will fail. There are people who probably rely on you more than your wife; you should think of them too. ---Original Poster: I don’t think you understand. I love my wife. I don’t want “better”. I want her. ----WAP: Are you sure? -----Original Poster: Of course I’m sure. ------WAP: Are you sure you’re sure? -------Original Poster: Why the hell are you so invested in my life? --------WAP: I had a son in an arranged marriage just like you, in which the arrangement was dissolved just like yours. He ended up marrying her and parts of his business started to fail rapidly, but he was too in love with her meekness to do anything about it. ---------Original Poster: Listen, I don’t know if your lying or telling the truth, but what happened to your son is not happening to me. My work is doing well. ----------WAP: If your cousin above is a member of the Golden Phoenix Order like he claims then you are likely a high ranking member of the Jin family. Their profits have sunk since the clan head axed some of the business’s partners. ----------Original Poster: You mean he axed the people who were laundering money from less fortunate people. Of course they were axed. I’d rather have less money than hurt innocent people! -----------WAP: Your business is sure to crumble. How can you stand by such childish thoughts? ------------Original Poster: Get the fuck off my post asshole.

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Author’s Notes:

Another one done! Believe it or not, Jin Zixuan was a bit harder to write than Jiang Cheng, not because he’s hard to understand, but because there’s so little of him in the canon story I had to find a way to actually give this chapter substance.

Hmm, gimme ideas on who I should do next. Su She? Jin Zixun? Wen Chao or Wen Xu? The possibilities are endless, and I’m excited to try and come up with something new.

Read my Prompts and Other WIPs [Here]

[umichenginabroad]

Madrid Week 4: the rhythm of the night

Holaaaaa otra vez!! Niko here again, back with another blog for week 4 of studying abroad in Madrid! This week marked my official first month in the city, which means that I’m 1 month down of 3.5 (or 2/9ths of the way through). I wonder how my perspective of the city and life here will have changed by the 4/9 point, by 8/9 point, and when I’m finally gone. I guess we’ll both have to wait to find out ;).

This week, February 13th, was my birthday. I turned 21 years old — which is a pretttty big deal in the United States. 21 is like the final frontier of birthdays. After that, anything (except for renting a car, for some reason) (and also running for president) is possible. Order a beer? Done. Get into a club? No problem. Is it weird to me that we can join the military before those things? Yes, but I don’t know enough about the prohibition era to make a substantial claim on the laws we have in the USA.

Being that it was a Tuesday and I wasn’t quite in the partying mood, I went out for a nice dinner with a friend and bought myself churros for the walk home -- perfect birthday tbh. However, an American in America turning 21 will typically go out, buy alcohol legally, get into some bars with their actual ID (maybe Rick’s for my UMich people, which is finally on-limits :0 ), and likely get very very drunk with their friends. In Spain, that doesn’t happen for 21 year olds — or 18 year olds, for that matter.

I think that the basic differences in drinking culture between the USA and Europe are somewhat well known. To generalize: binge drinking is much less common in Europe; people may drink more but pace themselves out over the course of many hours; people start partying late and stay out much later. However, living in Spain and experiencing the nightlife firsthand has given me a new understanding of this culture — and I’ve found that it’s a rhythm I really enjoy.

An Aside on Work-life Balance

In Madrid, the people place a lot of value on social life — which lasts throughout adulthood. I think that in the United States, social life ends up giving way to work for many adults as they get older and their career becomes more demanding. In Spain, people subscribe moreso to the ideal of “working to live” instead of “living to work”.

This is a generalization, but I think it’s a fair one to make in comparison to the culture of the USA. This perspective may be a product of the bubble I live in as a student studying abroad, but the "competitive, always-searching-for-the-next-opportunity, never-staying-complacent (satisfied?)-with-your-current-position" vibe is something I have not yet felt or witnessed here. I think that difference can be explained in part by the USA's strong capitalistic nature (and Europe's slightly more socialist environment), but I'm no expert ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

I don’t think that I want to subscribe fully to either ideal.

I don’t want my work to be my life. I think that I value a lot of things higher than money — relationships, new experiences, personal growth — and that's where I want to focus. However, working is an unavoidable part of life for (almost) everyone. I think that treating the idea of work as a career — something to be developed, something to find passion in, something that adds to your life instead of taking away from it — will enable me to live a happier life. And, to become truly satisfied in my career, I’m gonna have to put in that effort.

I think that the key to maintaining a healthy relationship towards work is deriving that hard-work mentality from within, instead of from the pressure of outside influences (living up to expectations, competition with others, greed, etc). In this way, achievements will be something I can be proud of myself for -- especially because I did those things in alignment with my own contentment and happiness. Admittedly, this conclusion is spoken from my "very wise" position of having had only 1 full time internship and a few part time service jobs, but this is where I'm at with my experience pursuing a college degree. Guess we'll see how it turns out down the road.

Nightlife

Anyways, back to partying in Madrid. House parties don’t really exist like the do in the USA, or frankly, at all. This is partly because there’s an ordinance that prohibits loud noises indoors at night, and partly because there’s no need for them — there’s a seemingly infinite amount of bars and clubs to go to, on every night of the week (yes, including Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday). 

First, you’ll have dinner, shared with a group of friends and never earlier than 8pm — usually closer to 10pm. Pregames (previas) might happen at someone’s apartment, they might happen on the street, either on the way to the club or in a group just chilling (botellon). In general, (especially with young people), as much alcohol as possible is consumed outside of the club, for economical reasons. A beer bought at the corner store is half the price and twice the size than at the bar. The streets in Madrid, especially on the weekend, are always lively. Simply walking around popular areas is an energizing feeling.

If you’re going out dancing to a club, you might also hit a few bars beforehand, which are more commonly frequented a bit earlier in the night - 12am ish is peak.

Like I mentioned previously, things also start late. A club will not be in full swing until 3am. If you arrive to a club at 12 (which is when most of them open), you’ll be dancing alone on the floor. This is in stark contrast to the USA, where at 3am, you might be dancing alone because everyone else has already gone home. Things will start to wind down around 5am on weekends, and a dedicated group will still be around at 6am when the lights turn on to kick everybody out.

Personally, I love this rhythm. Starting so late, you get a full day in beforehand — and much more time with friends spent during the night. Drinks are consumed slowly, and far fewer will end up on the toilet at the end of the evening. Things feel more relaxed, less like we're on a time crunch — probably because there’s simply more time to party.

I’ve only got one big qualm in comparison to the USA — sleep. If you’re out until 6am on Saturday, you’re probably sleeping until 3pm at the earliest. Which kind of throws off your Sunday. If you were looking to grab brunch, or god forbid be productive, forget it. But maybe, a loss of productivity isn't such a big deal. I would love to hear from you all what you feel about the work/productivity culture in the USA, and how you perceive (or have experienced) it in different cultures.

So, needless to say, I have been partying a good amount, and I think I’ve been doing so in a pretty authentically Spanish way. I’ll spare details on my escapades, but I’ll include some pictures (along with some more in depth descriptions) that may give a little insight into the ~vibes~. I’m a big fan of electronic music, and Madrid’s scene for that is vast.

For anyone reading this that’s going to Madrid sometime soon — either for studying abroad, vacation, or whatever else — I’ve been putting together this list of all the nightlife sites I’ve gone to, with little descriptions on my thoughts accompanying each one. I hope it serves at least a few people well, and spares them the work of finding the places that are a little less obvious to non-natives.

Hope everyone has a fantastic week! :)

Hasta luego,

Niko Economos

Aerospace Engineering

Universidad Carlos III de Madrid

Madrid, Spain

[ineffmoth]

i already admitted my covid supernatural shut-in meltdown era so here's some snippets of a wip that i just stumbled across

the archangels all become mortal post-season 5 and god tells them the only way to get their grace back is for castiel to decide to give it back to them of his own free will, without them telling him to. and then they go on a road trip together.

“This is why I left Heaven in the first place,” God said wearily. “All the arguing. It was so noisy all the time. And don’t get me started on the trumpets.”

“What do you mean, the trumpets?” Gabriel asked. “You love the trumpets! The trumpets were your idea!”

“Everything was my idea,” God said. “But not all ideas are winners. Writers figure that out real fast, let me tell you.”

“I can’t believe this,” Gabriel said to Raphael. “All these years I’ve been blowing that stupid horn and now He says He doesn’t even like it.”

“Your horn is lovely, Gabriel,” God said. “It’s just that sometimes silence is the sweetest music of all.”

“Whatever,” Gabriel said. “I lost that thing ages ago anyway.”

“Did you?” Lucifer asked with interest.

“You are not allowed to blow my horn,” Gabriel said, pointing a finger at him.

“I never said anything about blowing your horn,” Lucifer said innocently.

“I’m preemptively outlawing it,” Gabriel said. He turned to Raphael and Michael. “Neither of you are allowed to blow it, either.”

“Please,” Michael said. “Like I would ever want to blow your horn.”

“I already have a trumpet,” Raphael said. “Why would I want to blow yours?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “Why do you do anything? Spite, probably. But if you do, just know that I’ll be blowing yours right back.”

“You will not,” Raphael said, affronted.

“I will so,” Gabriel said. “I’ll slobber all over your trumpet and blow as hard as -”

“Nobody is blowing anyone’s horn!” God interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose.

----------

“I have been reliably informed that road trips are a common method for conflict resolution among human social groups,” Castiel said. “I’ve seen many examples of such behavior during my time here on Earth.”

“Because the Winchesters are the picture of healthy family relationships,” Lucifer said dryly.

“Not just the Winchesters,” Castiel said. “There are also many movies and books on the subject. I saw the beginning of one such film while staying at the home of Sam and Dean’s friend Bobby last month.”

“Just the beginning?” Raphael asked dubiously.

“Yes, it was interrupted by a breaking news segment about a terrorist attack in Washington, D.C.,” Castiel said. “Another sign of the coming Apocalypse. I never saw the rest of the movie, but it featured two women who -”

“Thelma and Louise drive the car off a cliff at the end, Castiel,” Gabriel interrupted.

Castiel frowned.

“There was no indication in the film that the car was capable of flight,” he said.

“It wasn’t,” Gabriel said.

Castiel visibly deflated.

“Well,” he said. “I already bought the van.”

----------

“Hold a moment,” Raphael said, reaching out to grab Castiel’s wrist. “Is this how you’ve been paying for everything, Castiel?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “The plastic cards are filled with money. Dean explained it to me.” His brows furrowed slightly. “Human currency has become quite complicated over the centuries. I’m still not entirely sure what ‘bitcoin’ is or how it works.”

“And where did you get these plastic cards?” Raphael asked.

“Dean -”

“- gave them to you,” Raphael finished, plucking the rectangle out of Castiel’s fingers and bringing it closer to himself for examination. “Yes. I can see that. This says, ‘Benjamin Dover.’”

Lucifer sighed loudly and lolled his head back to look at the ceiling, clearly bored with the exchange. “Would you just pay already so we can go?”

“We can’t allow Castiel to use these,” Raphael said.

“Why not?” Lucifer asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said, glancing between them. “Why not?”

“Because,” Raphael said, “this is credit card fraud.”

Castiel’s spine went ramrod straight. He blinked in confusion, lips curled in a small frown as he looked from the credit card to the snacks on the counter to the read-out on the cash register and then back to Raphael.

“It’s what?” he finally asked.

“Credit card fraud,” Raphael repeated. “When you use these, you’re lying about who you are and your intention to repay the amount you’ve spent at the end of the month.”

There was a pause.

“But that’s theft,” Castiel said flatly.

“Ding ding, we have a winner,” Lucifer said.

“Fraud is punished in the eighth circle of hell, brother,” Raphael went on. “Few acts are considered more vile.”

Castiel looked to Lucifer for panicked confirmation.

“It’s true,” Lucifer said, scrunching up his nose in a commiserating smile. “Specifically the pit of snakes for this one, I think. Treason’s still worse. And fratricide and patricide.” He gestured to himself.

“Oh - oh God,” Castiel said. His face was pale. “What have I done? All this time…”

“What’s the hold up?” Gabriel chose that moment to ask, elbowing his way between Raphael and Castiel to dump an armload of Twinkies and Hostess cupcakes onto the counter. “I thought we had places to be.”

“Castiel has just discovered the evils of credit card fraud,” Lucifer informed him from behind an ill-concealed yawn.

“So?” Gabriel asked. He examined Castiel’s horror-stricken expression. “You’ve been running with the Winchester bros for how long and you didn’t know where their money came from? Geeze, nobody tell this guy what hustling pool means. Hurry up and pay already.”

“Gabriel, this is fraud,” Raphael said, scandalized.

“And you know who’s getting defrauded?” Gabriel asked. “Credit card companies. Do you know what a credit card company is, Castiel?”

“No,” Castiel admitted warily.

“A credit card company,” Gabriel said in a patronizing tone, “is a bunch of super rich guys who loan money to people who don’t have any, and then charge interest until the loan is repaid.”

“But that’s usury,” Castiel said.

“Exactly!” Gabriel said, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “That’s, circle what?” He glanced at Lucifer.

“Circle seven,” Lucifer helpfully supplied.

“Circle seven!” Gabriel said. “So who cares if you steal from ‘em? The way I figure, the sins basically cancel each other out.”

“That is not how it works,” Raphael said tightly.

“And anyway, we’re on a mission from God, aren’t we?” Gabriel continued, ignoring him. “A real life divine pilgrimage, ordained by the Lord on High Himself. That used to mean something back in the old days. Allowances should be made for the gravity of our circumstances, don’t you think?” He glanced slyly at Raphael and raised his eyebrows. “A little lying’s fine when it’s for the greater good, wouldn’t you agree, brother?”

Raphael scowled.

“...I suppose you may have a point,” he grit out. Mouth set in a grim line, he handed the card back to Castiel. “Go ahead, Castiel. Pay with this false money.”

“If you’re sure,” Castiel said, still looking doubtful.

He turned back to the counter and offered the card to the cashier once again. The cashier stared down at it, then looked back up at the four men before him.

“You guys realize I’ve been here the whole time, right?” he asked. “I heard everything you just said.”

“And?” Lucifer asked, straightening out of his casual lean. He crossed his arms and made steady eye contact with the cashier, using Sam’s full height to his considerable advantage.

The cashier swallowed and took the card.

[steve0discusses]

S5 Ep 42 Pt 1: It’s All In Your Head

Every week with long covid is like a new batch of symptoms. Last month’s symptom, among other things, was “words no work no good,” and so we just uh...didn’t do an update. I probably needed to chill and nap anyway. Not that I’m fully better yet, today I did laundry and pulled out a blue shirt that I clearly own and bought with my own money--but I have no memory of it. Zilch.

The brain is amazing, that with this brain fog, I can’t remember my blue t-shirt, but I can remember Yugioh. Weird, right? So anyway, thanks for your patience in this weird time of my life, glad to have a blog to write about anime in that is so chill with our very long breaks.

Also, I finally went through my old caps to toss old pictures so that way I can make new stuff, and guess what I just realized?

Kisara is not a dragon!

Seto’s girlfriend isn’t a dragon! She’s just on top of the dragon, I can’t...I just can’t believe this.

Truly a crime that this season, the final ultimate season of Yugioh, is what I’m doing while on Long Covid fruitloops, so I can miss every damn point that this show fires at me. But, at least, I hope it’s funny to read. It is like every single update where I realize I was wrong about the obvious, and don’t worry, it’s gonna happen again in like 4 seconds. My borked brain.

Anyway, Yugi and Co have walked all the way to the palace. Because we’re still on S4 time and space conventions where Death Valley, the Grand Canyon, and San Fransisco are all next to each other. Like Yami fell in the Nile in a fight that was just outside of the city--but I assumed he got pulled way out there. Either way, it’s a kid’s show, never think about geography.

(read more under the cut)

Yugi can conveniently walk through doors now, and after a quick shoutout to his homie Yami, they phase through.

Including Tristan who is...

Well,

APPARENTLY TRISTAN WAS POSSESSED.

Freakin, my brain is a bunch of salad dressing, lmaoooo even last episode I was like “wow Tristan is drawn kinda evil and I don’t really get why” and it was RIGHT THERE. He’s been possessed probably since Bakura grabbed him by the neck right in front of me. I somehow missed this!

And like, I figure, if I try and wait out long covid it may take a whole other year, so like this is just me now. I started this blog as like a competent analysis (ish), and now I get to the end of S5 giving you just an incoherent rorschach. It’s kind of fitting for this show really, everyone has to end up at least a little bit of a mess. Keeps you humble. Even me. I also have to become the mess.

Anyway, speaking of becoming a babbling incoherent mess, we go back to Bakura, who has fully lost his game in Battle Basement of a 7 vs 1 game.

Only in Yugioh would they make a 7 vs 1 game feel evenly sided.

And as I wonder if I’ve already made that joke four months back and have forgotten, they all watch Bakura do a mad dash to screw them over one last time.

And while they stood there and just allowed Bakura to fumble around with the doom rocks made of human souls, from no where, Aknadin stumbles through the door all day drunk like freakin Kramer.

And no, in the show he did not reveal here that he was Seto’s dad, but he does in like 2 minutes so I didn’t really care about where I put it. The big thing is that Aknadin’s gone full-tilt cray and not even he can fully explain his motive anymore.

That’s when they realize Aknadin’s babysitter, Shada, has been punk’d on the bottom of skull tablet basement. Which like, Imagine the day that Shada’s been having. I guess Aknadin just left him at the base of like 10000 human skulls then, hahaha.

I have checked my notes and I decided that 2000 people died in Kul Elna a few months back but eh I don’t feel like changing this cap. Overall, I have no freakin idea how many people lived in this freakin town and they can’t tell us because 4Kids would never allow it.

Which is when Bakura decided to teleport his bean into another bean because this bean is broke.

Which is when we met this guy, a guy we’ve only met for like 4 seconds of the show so far. Hello there, Original Bakura.

Straight up, he wasn’t on screen long enough for me to over-analyze his accent before he was a small mound of dust on the floor.

Ah the death count! Oh damn it, I write these notes on the caps sometimes, expecting I’ll put an actual number there later but lets be real, I just need to publish this episode, so let me open the Google doc...

7,805,847,572

Yeah that’s how many people have died in this kids show so far. We’re right on track. Thanks Bakura, for another death, but no you have not caught up with Dartz. Although I will hand it to him, Dartz didn’t end up killing himself nearly as many times as Bakura has.

Speaking of dying and being dead on a kid’s show, in enters Shada.

So lets go see what Yugi’s up to hm? The four have decided to separate in this Egyptian palace to each find Yami’s name. Mind you...there’s some flaws with this plan.

The flaw being that none of them have graduated high school or know freakin anything about Egypt, other than they hang out with an Ex patriot Egyptian. (2 ex-patriots if you count Yugi’s Grandfather. Although honestly, are you an ex-pat if you are reborn in a kid’s body on the other side of the world? You are, right? You are). But, whether or not Yami can or can’t read Egyptian in Canonical Yugioh, we know that Yugi apparently super can’t when Yami isn’t in his bean.

And Joey just can’t focus for the life of him, which, damn, relatable. But, he did find a room full of women.

He also went to the only room with like lots of water. Real pissed focused mind here, and no the piss plotline will not be resolved.

Tea, still GOAT.

This castle, man. I love the complete disregard for interiors that this animation team has. Like...what even is the purpose of this weird maze room with masssssive stone tiles, Yugioh? Like...what is this even supposed to be? Why are the tiles so SHINY?

Anyway, lets go back to Shada and hear his excuse for what the hell happened last episode.

Which is when Aknadin decided to just start cursing everyone, which he would have done earlier if he wasn’t constantly in a sick bed this season.

This very well might be a yugioh card effect that turns you into a rainbow filter, but it also looks like a complete mess of artistic directions on the screen.

Which like, after that cutesy filter, lets pull our eyes out.

Which is when Yami makes the biggest logical leap known to man.

That’s right! Yami has figured out that this entire time, this entire arc, he’s been sleeping at this RPG table that Bakura’s built in his mom’s basement Yami’s Puzzle Necklace.

In fact, when Yami wakes up to all of this, wearing his normal ass school clothes, and Bakura sitting across from him in his popped collar duster jacket, Bakura says something on the line of “bout time you woke up.”

the fic shippers must have had a FIELD DAY with one.

Anyway, everything is a lie, Bakura is controlling people like puzzle pieces, which not only explains why Aknadin’s motives went a 180, but can lead us to believe that Yami also COULD control everyone else, but just chooses not to. Just like he does in real life.

I think, overall, you just have to go with it. We’re playing D+D, except it’s about your embarrassing past. Like if you made D+D about your middle school experience and you can’t remember your first name.

What a way to die, really. What a weird ass way for Yami to almost die.

Anyway, here’s a link for those new here to read these from the beginning. I have the 2nd part already drafted up, should be up in a few days and not an entire month, haha. Hope your 2023 is looking up!

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[because-of-a-friend]

Enemies to Lovers!Jeonghan

MASTERLIST

One day I will come up with titles for my works lol. 

Hi Hannah!!!! Thanks for requesting! I loved doing this one! I went ahead and went with Jeonghan cuz I feel like he fits this trope best! Sorry you had to wait so long, this particular fic got deleted like... three times so it was a struggle lol. I hope it’s what you were looking for!

I hope this is a good one, I’m realizing I get real insecure about my writing anytime I’m not doing a bulletpoint or reaction fic, so I don’t feel great about this time. Also I only started recently putting actual detail into my kiss scenes and idk how I’m doing with those???? Like do they seem ok??? Also I feel like I make it so obvious that I am such a sucker for SVT having cute nicknames for siblings, friends, partners, etc in fics lol. Anyways...

Also, I really said: Jeonghan... but in different types of lighting

Remember I don’t own the gif! Link to OP is right there if you want to go give the creator some love!!!

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Mentions eating, reader is using female pronouns (I will keep things gn unless you request differently), I think that’s it, pls let me know if I missed any

You’re not sure exactly how it happened. It was probably just an instance of getting off on the wrong foot, that led to more awkward interactions, giving both of you the wrong impression of each other. You knew this, you could rationalize it all. You were well aware that all it would take was one “I think we might have the wrong idea of each other” conversation and it would all be over. You could easily fix it all, but…

But his stupid smug face. The sarcastic jokes. The never-ending pranks that were not as funny as he thought they were. His ridiculous arrogance. His overall unapologetic nature towards all of it.

You couldn’t help but hate Yoon Jeonghan.

*****

“I don’t know, Wonnie…” you say uneasily over the phone. In previous years, you’d go over to the dorm without hesitation. You loved spending time with your brother and many of the other boys. But ever since you had officially met and begun interacting with Jeonghan…

“C’mon, [Y/N]! I bought that new game you were talking about! We can play it together on my gaming system!” Wonwoo began to persuade. You knew you’d give in; you always did. Your brother was far too sweet a person and far too comforting a presence to reject. The question was how long did you want to argue with him about going to the dorm.

You sighed, accepting defeat early to save time, “I’ll head over there in a bit.”

Wonwoo gives a small cry of victory, “Ok, I’ll have Gyu make extra ramen.” Wonwoo abruptly hangs up the phone right after, leaving you in silence to groan in regret of your decision.

You immediately straighten yourself out, though, trying to put yourself in a mindset of determination. What were you thinking? Just because you and that asshole didn’t get along meant you couldn’t go see your own twin brother without feeling uncomfortable? Screw that! If he wanted to keep the peace then he was going to have to start watching where he stepped around you. 

*****

You knocked loud and clear on the door of their dorm, knowing that with thirteen people living inside, it was usually too noisy for them to hear someone signal their arrival. To your relief, Seungcheol opened the door just moments after you knocked and greeted you with a warm smile followed by a hand sneaking into your hair to ruffle it, “Hey there, kiddo! How’s it hanging?”

“Just fine,” you tilt your head down slightly in his direction as you pass him to enter the dorm. “How are things here?” As soon as you ask, your ears are met with the noise of someone dropping something in the kitchen, followed by Seungkwan crying in alarm.

“Same as always, I supposed,” Seungcheol sighs, but his smile doesn’t fade. “I think Mingyu and Wonwoo are already in the computer room, if you want to go ahead and see them!”

“Ok, thanks Cheol!” you call as you both rush off in different directions, him towards the kitchen and you towards the small room that would provide you solace from the possibility of having to see Yoon Jeonghan.

You were determined not to let things go how they usually did: you with your mouth clamped shut as Jeonghan spoke whatever teasing words he had saved up for you, and the most you can do to fight back is by rolling your eyes and finding any way to get away from him.

This time, you would still avoid contact with him, but if it happened, you’d speak your mind and not care what he thought, since that’s how he treated you.

But there was no sign of him or anyone else as you walked to the computer room. You could hear Mingyu and Wonwoo yelling and cheering at the game long before you opened the door. It was pitch black inside, the piercing light of the screen making you squint your eyes.

The two men inside both turn immediately to check who offended their dark space with the soft, yellow light from the hallway.

“Oh [Y/N], you came!” Mingyu beams up at you. You nod, matching his bright expression.

“How’s the game?” you ask simply, looking up to your brother.

“We like it so far,” Wonwoo’s smile is wide, he always gets excited about new games, whether they’re good or not. He leans over to grab a can of some sort of energy drink before gulping it down. “We left some ramen for you over there on the table. Eat first, then I’ll let you have a turn.”

You roll your eyes, though Wonwoo was only mere minutes older than you, he found those moments to be enough leverage to order you around and act like you should be dependent on his care. There were times when he even referred to himself as “oppa” to you and insisted that you do the same.

Most of the time you let it slide, especially when you weren’t in the mood to argue. However, there were times when you’d pull out the “We’re the same age,” “Even if you’re older, I’m smarter,” or “Don’t boss me around when I’m more mature than you” cards at the drop of a hat.

“Can you at least turn on the LEDs while I eat?” you ask, tip-toeing in the darkness towards the table at the back end of the room. You hear a click before a soft blue glow fills the room, finally giving you a clear view of your path. You pull the bowl of ramen towards you as you sit and resist the urge to comment on how little they left you. The dorm was filled with food anyways, you could find more later if you got hungry again.

Wonwoo and Mingyu begin to eagerly tell you what they like about the game as you eat. You listen happily, feeling safe in the presence of your brother and friend.

Then of course…

“Hey you two, Cheol wanted me to remind you that we have to get up early tomorrow,” you can’t help the sour expression that comes over your face as Jeonghan enters the room to speak to Wonwoo and Mingyu. “Oh, hey there cutie, I didn’t know you were here!” His smirk makes you sick.

“Don’t call me that,” you say bitterly into the nearly empty bowl.

Wonwoo looks nervously between you and his bandmate, well aware of the dislike you have for him. He’s grateful that you’ve always kept it so civil, but still feels bothered by the unrest between you.

Jeonghan lets out a little giggle in response, and Wonwoo feels a tug in the pit of his stomach, he wishes Jeonghan wouldn’t be so hard on you sometimes. He knows his hyung doesn’t mean anything by it, but you…

You feel your heart sink as Jeonghan steps fully into the room, striding to sit across from you at the table. You can only stare in wonder at his audacity as he slides the bowl towards himself and finishes off the ramen in one bite.

“I was eating that,” you try to keep your tone measured, attempting to keep within the balance of standing up for yourself but not starting any drama that would affect the boys.

“Go make more if you’re hungry, then,” Jeonghan says casually, making your anger positively flare.

You don’t even give your brother the chance to mediate, jumping up from your place and leaving the room, wanting to be anywhere but around that prick.

*****

“You’re leaving already?” Mingyu pouts at you.

“Gyu, I’ve been here for hours,” you laugh, stretching out your fingers as they start to prick from pain of slamming into a keyboard for so long. You had returned to the computer room but only after Jeonghan left. Part of you had wished you had done more to confront him; another part was glad you didn’t start a fight and put Wonwoo in an awkward position. “Besides all of you, as well as me have to get up early tomorrow, it’s already late. I need to get back home.”

“You can stay here,” Wonwoo was quick to offer.

You shook your head at him, “Then I’ll just have to get up even earlier, I’ll go back to my place.” Wonwoo nods almost reluctantly, standing to walk you out.

All of you run into Joshua on your way to the front door, he turns out to be the only one smart enough to ask how you got there.

“Oh, I took the bus,” you say slowly, knowing this is about to cause issues.

“Well, the last one would have already stopped running by now,” Mingyu says looking at the time on his phone.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Josh offers immediately.

You bring your hands up to shake them back and forth, “No, no, I can find a way home, you all need to go to bed.”

“[Y/N],” Wonwoo speaks up immediately in that stern voice you hate but also can’t help but listen to, “let Josh take you home. It’s either that or you stay here, I won’t have you walking around alone at night.” Wonwoo waits a moment to gauge your expression. He finally nods affirmatively, before speaking directly to Joshua, “Take her home, please.”

Joshua nods before walking off to grab his keys. You and Wonwoo send Mingyu off to bed. Once you’re alone, your brother pulls you in for a tight hug. “Do you want me to say something to him?” he asks lowly.

You shake your head, “I don’t want to cause any problems with you guys.” You sit in silence for a moment. “Come and stay over with me sometime, I miss our sleepovers.”

Joshua comes back and Wonwoo pulls away, “Thanks, hyung. Please get her home safe.” For the second time that night, your hair gets ruffled before your brother disappears to go off to bed.

The ride home with Joshua is comfortable. He speaks kindly to you and makes you smile.

You begin to wonder how amongst all these angels, there exists a person like Yoon Jeonghan.

*****

Wonwoo used the new game as leverage to guilt you into coming over quite often in the following weeks. You hadn’t realized how much you had limited your time at the dorm until you started going consistently once more. It was nice being able to spend time with the boys again. You hated that Jeonghan had become such an unbearable presence that it affected your relationship with the rest of your friends.

But ever since you had started to stand your ground and talk back, he had finally begun to avoid you. You supposed it was only fun for him when you sat there and took it.

It didn’t stop the two of you from bickering when you saw each other, but now both of you preferred to avoid each other instead of Jeonghan seeking you out to tease you.

The following weeks of visiting were fairly comfortable. Whenever Jeonghan wasn’t around, you got to spend plenty of time with the other boys and your brother. Plus, the new video game was even better than expected.

Jeonghan’s presence slowly became uncomfortable in a different way.

Instead of being smug and overbearing, he became strangely quiet around you. His facial expressions became more serious as he sent genuine glares your way before letting out bitter remarks and going on his way.

It made you even angrier.

Who the hell was he to torture you all this time and then act like a kicked puppy when you finally fought back???

Your anger and his bitterness slowly escalated the tension between you two. Although they were happening less frequently, the arguments between you became more serious and almost hurtful.

Whatever, you told yourself, he could do as he pleased, you wouldn’t let it affect you anymore.

*****

You stared down at your phone screen. Why? Why did it have to be here, while you were at the dorm?

The call was only five minutes. They didn’t even do it in person. Of course, they had warned that because of hard times, there’d be lay-offs soon. But they couldn’t even do it in person? And all you got was a simple “Sorry, come collect your things on Monday”??? You were a hard worker, passionate about the job, more efficient than most of your coworkers and this is how they treated you???

A part of you could’ve guessed, many of the employees your age had gotten in because of nepotism. But you didn’t want to believe that they’d just brush off all your years of hard work just to avoid stepping on the toes of higher-ups who had relative connections hired at the company.

You squatted against the wall of the hallway, still too in shock to move.

So, you simply sat in silence, for what seemed like forever.

“You good?” you had never felt worse than the exact moment his voice reached your ears.

“Go away,” you said sternly, knowing you’d be crying soon.

“Geez, forgive me for asking,” Jeonghan responds before turning to walk away. He stops abruptly after you sniffle. “So, you’re not ok?”

“No offense, Jeonghan,” you say hating the way your voice is shaking, “but you are the last person I want to speak to right now.”

There’s a heavy silence for a long moment. You silently pray that he’ll just leave. “Do you want me to get your brother?” he asks lightly.

You shake your head, “No, I don’t want to ruin the mood. I’m going to go home, just tell him I had a stomach ache.” You push yourself up and begin to walk briskly towards the door.

To your surprise, Jeonghan reaches out to stop you. You stare at his hand wrapped around your arm and wonder if you’ve ever even allowed him to touch you before. “It’s already late, let me give you a ride.”

You pull his hand off of you, “No, thanks.” You grab your coat and start to dig around in your purse to make sure you have all of your belongings.

“[Y/N],” Jeonghan’s voice rings clear in your head despite your brain feeling fuzzy. You don’t want to look at him. Who is this person that’s showing concern and speaking kindly? You don’t like it. It feels fake. It feels like a predator playing with a wounded prey. You’re just waiting for him to laugh or make a remark or do anything to make you feel worse than you already do.

But Jeonghan simply grabs the keys laying on the front table, grabs your arm once more, and leads you out to the car.

*****

The ride is suffocatingly silent. You wished he’d at least turn on some music to cover up the sound of your crying, but you remained in the quiet. You rolled down your window and stuck your head out, letting the warm night air and sound of wind comfort you. Since you were turned away from him completely, you didn’t see Jeonghan glancing over at you throughout the drive.

You couldn’t have left that car faster when you finally pulled up to your apartment.

To your dismay, Jeonghan also gets out, apparently intent on walking you up.

“You don’t have to-” you start but abruptly stop when he gives you a look telling you an emotion you don’t quite understand.

Jeonghan finally speaks when you’re riding the elevator up to your floor, “I don’t really mean it, you know.”

“Mean what?” you say weakly, starting to feel the exhaustion from crying so much.

“When I talk to you like that… I mean when I’m… rude,” he trails off, running a hand through his hair. “Usually it’s just teasing, but obviously I went too far with you. And I didn’t realize it until you started showing how upsetting it was for you. I should’ve known before that, though.”

“You seemed ruder after I started talking back,” you say, confused.  

“I was just being petty and defensive. I kept telling myself things like: It’s her fault, isn’t it? She should have made it more clear from the beginning that it was upsetting her. How was I supposed to know? But that was just me being immature, I should’ve just talked to you.”

“Is that an… apology, Yoon Jeonghan?” you ask, letting yourself be a little smug.

For the first time, you get a genuine smile out of him, “Maybe.”

There’s more silence for a second.

“It’s a two-way road, though,” you say finally.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean, I could have also come and talked to you instead of letting things escalate,” you say. “I played some part in all of this… unpleasantness. You can’t entirely blame yourself.”

Jeonghan smiles again, reaching out to ruffle your hair the way Seungcheol always did. Then he takes a dramatic deep breath and rolls his shoulders, “There! That feels better, doesn’t it? We can finally be friends!”

You roll your eyes in a playful manner, but you feel it too, a weight has been lifted.

*****

Wonwoo showed up at your door in the middle of the night that night. You took one look at his frantic face and groaned, “I told Jeonghan I would tell you myself.”

“You should have told me immediately!” your brother pouts as he passes you to walk into your apartment.

“I didn’t want to worry you so late, especially when all of you were having a good time. I was going to tell you tomorrow,” you close the door behind him. You watch as he turns on the TV and starts picking through your pantry. “Hmmm, yes it seems quite clear that you came here out of concern for me,” you can’t help but use a sarcastic tone.

Wonwoo sends a glare your way as he grabs snacks and settles on the couch. You sit next to him, grabbing your fair share of the food. You try to keep your attention on the show, but the feeling of Wonwoo staring straight at you is distracting.

“I’m fine, you don’t have to worry,” you sigh.

“Really? Because Jeonghan described you as an emotional wreck,” your brother scoffs.

“I was just shocked and upset. I’ll be ok. I have a good resume, I can find a new job,” you insist.

“I keep telling you, you don’t have to work-”

“I don’t care how much you make,” you interrupt. “I’m not going to depend on you. It’ll just make trouble for both of us.”

“Will you at least let me help out if there’s any problems before you find a new job?” Wonwoo kicks at your leg.

“Like I would even tell you if I was having trouble,” you return his kick.

“You just can’t help but be difficult,” your brother complains quietly.

You let the sound of the show take over the room for a few minutes. “I do have good news,” you finally speak up, wanting to give your brother some peace of mind about something. “Me and Jeonghan made up. We figured it out.”

Wonwoo bolts upright with a grin on his face, “Really??? It’s really all good now?”

“100%,” you say, unable to stop yourself from pinching your brother’s cheeks, finding his excited expression cute.

“Let’s celebrate soon then! We can have a big gaming party with all of the boys!” You agree to your brother’s proposal. You feel content in this moment, knowing you’ll wake up in the morning in an uncomfortable position, immediately kick at his legs and tell him to get his stinky feet away from you.

*****

Your time at the dorm increases with the weight of you and Jeonghan’s rivalry being gone. You’re enjoying getting to know him as a friend instead of constantly walking on eggshells around him. Going to visit the boys is once again a happy and comfortable experience.

You hadn’t realized how much Jeonghan had affected you until you two had worked things out. The world felt light again and you could breathe, no longer in constant worry of possibly ruining things between your brother and his bandmates.

You hoped things would remain without complications for a long time.

*****

“Seungkwan, you should come with us!” you begged. “The carnival only comes once a year; you can’t miss it!”

“But it’s so crowded and there are screaming kids everywhere,” Seungkwan complains.

“Oh, whatever,” Soonyoung interjects. “You love it every time we go.”

Seungkwan gives Soonyoung a look that has you laughing through your mouthful of ramen. “Oh, shoot,” you say feeling liquid start to dribble down your chin. “Can I get a napkin?”

“Here’s one,” you hear Jeonghan’s voice as he enters the room. You reach out to grab the napkin as Seungkwan and Soonyoung continue bickering. But instead of handing it to you, Jeonghan extends his hand not holding the napkin towards you. His fingers come to lightly touch your chin and turn you towards him. Jeonghan wipes your face with the napkin himself, taking the time to make sure it’s really all clean. “All better,” he smiles at you, running his thumb across your chin to check its cleanliness one last time.

As Jeonghan walks away, you turn to see if Seungkwan or Soonyoung saw what had happened. They were still arguing, though. The boys showing you physical touch or affection wasn’t really all that uncommon. But for some reason, the way Jeonghan had grabbed your chin just now… Why was your heart beating so hard?

*****

You couldn’t stop yourself from dragging Wonwoo all over the carnival. It was nice to get out in this environment, the lights, the laughter, the food, the games, the rides. You wanted to do everything, but not before you looked at all there was and took in the spectacle.

You could hear all the boys laughing excitedly behind you, you knew they’d want to try everything as well. You shook your head at Seungkwan’s bright expression, you couldn’t wait to play the ‘I told you so’ card later.

The night was a blur. All of you ran from games to rides to snacks and then all over again.

You couldn’t help but stop completely in your tracks as you passed a booth with a giant stuffie of your favorite animal as a prize. Your fascination with the plushie doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You want me to win it for you?” Jeonghan’s voice is suddenly speaking right into your ear. You jump after realizing he was right behind you. You grip your cotton candy a bit tighter and shyly nod. The way Jeonghan grins at you fills you with warmth.

You watch him walk over to the booth. His light hair and pink shirt were illuminated by the soft glow of the surrounding lights. Jeonghan takes his wallet out and hands some bills to the vendor. You step up closer to stand next to him as he plays the game. He laughs as he chats back and forth with the vendor. You watch in awe as Jeonghan clears the game, no problem.

“Anything from the top shelf!” the vendor exclaims happily.

“That one please,” Jeonghan points right at the stuffie you had been staring at.

“It’ll be a wonderful memory for your girlfriend,” the vendor smiles as he hands the prize directly to you.

“Oh, I’m-”

“Of course!” Jeonghan interrupts you almost instantly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and starting to pull you away from the game. “We’ll cherish it for a long time! Thanks for the game!” The vendor waves kindly as you two walk away. After a moment, Jeonghan pulls his arm off of you, “Sorry, sometimes it’s just easier to agree than explain, you know?” You nod in agreement. “Wait a second,” he stops you by putting his hands on your shoulders and standing in front of you. Before you can ask what’s wrong, his hand comes up towards your face as it had earlier that day. He quickly swipes his thumb across your lips before pulling to back to show you remnants of your cotton candy. “Do you always eat this messily?” he grins and then, to your surprise, puts his thumb in his mouth to clean it off.

You stand there, frozen, unable to really comprehend what just happened as Jeonghan walks away towards the other boys.

“For the second time today?” Soonyoung is suddenly standing next to you.

“So you did see what happened earlier!” you exclaimed, hitting his arm lightly. “It was weird, right?!”

“Can’t tell yet,” Soonyoung replies cocking his head to the side and putting his hands in his pocket. “Sometimes Jeonghan is just sort of naturally flirtatious. But I’m not sure about you. I figured since you two didn’t get along at first, it’d take him awhile to warm up to you at that level. He seemed to get comfortable with you quite quickly.” Soonyoung turns and shrugs at you after his words.

“You’re no help at all,” you say emotionlessly. There’s a pause before both you and Soonyoung slowly look at each other and laugh at your quip.

You decide to brush off your new concerns about Jeonghan and enjoy this night with the boys. The vendor was right, it was a good memory, and you’re sure it’d last you for your whole lifetime.

*****

You hate yourself a bit for it, but you once again seem to be avoiding Jeonghan. He had made you so nervous that day, and the way your heart pounded… You didn’t want to get sucked into having a silly crush on him if he wasn’t actually trying to flirt with you.

No, from now on, interactions with Jeonghan would be friendly but short and appropriate.

You were stupid to think he wouldn’t notice.

It wasn’t long before there came a night when Jeonghan insisted that he be the one to give you a ride home. You couldn’t help the way your nerves spiked at his determination to be the one to take you. You knew he most likely wanted to talk to you about your sudden distance from him.

The ride itself was nice, Jeonghan rolled the windows down for you, remembering that you enjoyed the warm night air of summer. You talked comfortably with one another. Jeonghan was always able to make you smile so easily.

You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him. He was just wearing a t-shirt and sweats but… His blonde hair being illuminated in the moonlight as he ran his hands through it and his bright smile as he laughed...

He really was beautiful.

Once again, Jeonghan came with you to walk you to your door. And once again, he finally spoke up in the elevator, “You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart.” Your heart drops to your stomach at the nickname. “Is everything ok? Did I do something to make you mad again?”

You quickly shake your head and pull your hands up to shake them as well, “No! Not at all!”

“You sure?” he insists.

“Yoon Jeonghan, you really don’t think I’d tell you if you did?” you say.

He giggles, “Yeah, that’s true. You’d let me know the moment I messed up, wouldn’t you?” The elevator dings and opens up to your floor. You and Jeonghan step out together. “Is everything else ok, then? You don’t start avoiding people for no reason.”

You nod as casually as possible, “Everything is great.” Your tone isn’t convincing and Jeonghan nudges you. “I guess, I just got… nervous? I mean one moment we were like enemies and then the next we were suddenly really… close, and-”

“I made you uncomfortable?” Jeonghan’s voice is slightly panicked.

“No, you did nothing wrong! It’s all on me, I just got caught up in my emotions and-” you stop abruptly when you realize what you were about to do.

Jeonghan nods quietly as if to say he understands, but what it is he understands, you’re not sure. “Is it ok for us to remain close, or do you want me to back off?”

“I don’t want any more distance between us, but…” you trail off.

“But, what?” he prompts you again.

“I don’t want to get the wrong idea about anything…” you say, finally reaching your door.

Jeonghan watches as you slowly unlock your door and push it open, “You haven’t gotten the wrong idea about anything.” He avoids eye contact when you look up at him.

You’re shocked by his forwardness. But once he voices his thoughts out loud, you once again feel the feeling of a weight being lifted.

Jeonghan gestures for you to step inside, catching your arm once you fully pass him. He pulls you back to him, close enough for him to lean in and leave a quick kiss on your cheek, “Night, babe, I’ll see you later.”

You stand there, completely still, staring at your door that had shut closed in front of you. You can feel heat rise from the tip of your toes all the way up to your ears. You finally let yourself fall into a squatting position, covering your face with your hands, and letting out a squeal.

*****

Jeonghan invites you to meet up outside of the dorm. It’s a cute little coffee shop at a quiet part of the city. You’re already sitting when he walks in. Maybe one day, you won’t be completely caught off guard by his beauty… but today is not that day.

His whole person is bathed in the glow of the early morning light as he approaches you, the softest, most genuine smile gracing his face.

“No, don’t get up,” he says when you try to leave your chair, “I need to go off and order anyways.” Jeonghan leans down to kiss your forehead firmly. “I just wanted to come say hi first,” he whispers, holding your face close to his.

Your first date sets a wonderful precedent to the rest of your relationship. Jeonghan gets your heart racing with flirty comments and sweet touches. But he also makes you feel calm and content, easily keeping a smile on your face. You just feel… good throughout it all.

You insist on walking him back to the dorm, since they had schedules that day.

“So, we’ll be doing this again?” Jeonghan asks hopefully, as you reach the front door.

“Definitely,” you nod enthusiastically up at him, wondering how you had ever managed to despise the man that made you feel so whole and happy.

Jeonghan looks utterly happy and a tiny bit nervous as he stares down at you. His hand reaches up to brush back your hair before settling firmly against your face. Jeonghan looks at you so fondly as he leans in. His lips connect to yours… so softly… so sweetly. You can feel his nose nudge against your face to push it into a preferred position. He pulls back slightly after every little kiss to let out laughter so sweet, it sounds like it should be coming from the mouth of an angel. But he’s never far away for long, reconnecting to you quickly every time. You let him take the lead, allowing his lips to take care of yours, giving them the sweetest kind of attention. He pulls back for a moment longer to nuzzle his nose against yours, an action that has you gripping his shirt to keep him close. His hands keep themselves entertained by running across your face or through your hair.

He’s going back in to kiss you once again when he front door of the dorm opens, leaving you caught in the act. Wonwoo stares at you two for a long moment before making a single comment that causes you and Jeonghan to laugh.

“You know, when I said I wanted you two to have a better relationship, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Sugar, Spice, and a Heart to Entice

AKA: Jango Fett speedruns a romance with someone who should be his enemy. (It's okay. We know he makes bad choices.)

Note: Ahsoka uses the pseudonym "Ashla" in this fic. Warnings: slavery, references to drug use, crude sex jokes, undressing of an unconscious person (for medical reasons)

----

The girl that they shove into the chains next to him is... worrying.

(Well, probably a girl--he'll adjust later if it turns out he's wrong.)

She's not that much younger than him, he thinks. It's hard to tell, with the way her skin is taut over muscle and bone, too little water and too little sleep, and probably not enough food for whatever labor she's been doing. He's also, admittedly, not great at gauging ages in the first place, and certainly not for Togruta. Still, he thinks it's safe to say that they're close in age, and that she's probably younger than him.

She's lucky, by some measure. The spice ship is terrible, but it's probably better than the fate tog girls are usually subject to in this industry. They're hazardous conditions, and violent ones, but Jango's yet to see a slave here stripped of their clothing for anything other than a whipping.

He thinks it's probably a matter of money. That kind of violation lowers the profit margins, he imagines. Spice is more lucrative than anything, and pain is a better motivator than... well.

So she's lucky, by that measure, and that measure alone.

They clap her in bindings before he even sees her, even though she's unconscious, and bring her sometime in the night cycle. Jango doesn't have a lot of pity left in him, but some goes out to her. He won't say she's too young for this, because nobody is ever old enough for slavery, nor do slavers have any compunctions about selling babes in arms, but Jango would wager she's already led a hard life.

She's fairly covered, but what little is visible shows enough old battle wounds that he can't imagine she's stayed off of battlefields. He knows how to read a Togruta's markings for stress history, too, and hers tell a story. Her facial marks are thin and delicate, and he'd say they're certainly more complex than the average; the striation on her lekku and montrals is thin and jagged, like marble. It's pretty enough, but it's also a sign of the fact that her life has likely been anything but easy. Some of it might be genetics, and he hopes it is, but with the scars he can see... he doubts it's much.

"Keep that one alive," the overseer orders, eyes on Jango and hand gesturing at the tog girl.

He leaves.

Jango isn't sure what they're hoping to get out of putting her with him. The room is built for four, yes, but they usually don't try to have anyone share with Jango. Maybe they ran out of room, or just assumed Jango was the most likely to know field medicine, or just figured there wouldn't be any trouble until she woke.

As he gets closer, his confusion grows. The tog's got burns all over, ugly ones that aren't going to heal cleanly without bacta. They're going to get infected, as likely as not. He hasn't got much besides water in here, but the overseer's left behind a box of what looks like bandages. If he's lucky, there's burn cream in there.

(He's not lucky.)

He works slowly, careful of every movement. He builds up a story in his head as he does, based on the wounds he finds and what he starts to notice of the clothing. He can't see all the details, not in what little light he has, but there's plenty to notice.

He hadn't realized, with how dim it is, but most of what she's got on as an outer layer is hardened leather, real leather, not synth. There are attachment points for armor at the shoulders and hips, and he thinks he sees signs of wear for vambraces and greaves. She's no Mando'verde, not with how he can see that the fabric at her torso and upper legs is intended to stay light and flexible and uncovered, but the crafting of the leather layers is familiar. He thinks she might have contacts among Mando armorers.

She might even wear beskar, if she's impressed the right person.

The wounds are recent, and unfamiliar, and he thinks she was probably fought into chains, rather than bought in them. She's a captive, not a purchase, or maybe... maybe they just found an unconscious woman, and decided that she was worth keeping.

He thinks she lost a fight, or won but with great injuries, and just... stumbled off and collapsed. He gets the feeling no one on board the ship could have fought this woman, except for himself. It's not based on much, not until he can see her move, but he's got good instincts for that sort of thing.

Jango keeps his assessment of her torso quick and clinical, not even bothering to mentally apologize for stripping her bare. This is medical, and he's not a doctor, not even a field medic, but he's professional nonetheless. Even though there's nothing in the box but bandages, not even the burn cream he'd hoped for, he'd still rather know if there's a broken rib to worry about. He doesn't want to wait for her to wake up and then find out she's got a punctured lung, even if he can't do anything about it. He finds bruising, but... he thinks that if anything is broken, it's hairline at most.

Lucky, he thinks again, in the unluckiest situations.

She doesn't wake that cycle. It's all he can do to get some water in her, dripped into her mouth in a trickle, but it's something.

----

When the Togruta girl wakes up, it's sudden. Jango is wiping down her lekku with a wet cloth in hopes of staving off a fever, kneeling next to the bunk. She opens her eyes, stiffens with a sharp breath, and then twists off the bed. Before he's fully processed this, her legs are up and around his neck, and then he's being wrenched to the side and onto the filthy ground, cheek grinding down into the grit. He feels a bony knee press into his spine, and the growl of a predator.

"Where am I?" the tog girl demands.

"Spice ship," he says, and oh but this place has ruined him for fights; he's having trouble breathing from whatever she's done to him, and she doesn't even have the use of her hands. "Deep space. You're in the slave cells. Don't mess with the collar, it'll explode if you try to remove it."

"Spice refinery?" she repeats, sounding completely baffled. He gives her a second to process, but she blindsides him. "Someone got me in their hands and they went for spice slavery?"

"As opposed to..." he really hopes she gets off soon.

She doesn't answer him immediately, and he can't get a look at her face. He gets his arms out to the sides, plants them to the floor, and shoves back. She doesn't fall off, but she does slide to the side to sit on the floor.

The expression she's got is best described as 'shell-shocked,' he thinks.

"You don't know me," she says, faint and confused. He shakes his head; he's pretty sure he'd have recognized her if he'd known her at all, given the time he's spent cleaning her wounds and trying to keep her alive. She laughs, breathless and a tad hysterical. "You don't--fuck. You don't know me. That's... great. Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Don't know how they missed it, but okay."

"Bounty on your head?" he guesses.

She smiles, thin and unpleasant. "Something like that."

"Thought as much. You're built like a fighter." He intends it as a compliment, but he doesn't think she takes it as one.

"I've never had a choice otherwise," she says, and when she next looks around, it's to find a place to sit. She pushes herself up to the thin mattress of the cot behind her, and Jango mirrors her on the cot across the room. It's not his bed, technically, but it's not like there's anyone to complain. She frowns at him; it's not a rude look, he thinks, but an attempt to put something unfamiliar in place. "What legion were you with?"

He blinks at her. He's been part of an army, but never one that big. "Legion?"

"Were you with special forces?" she tries again. "Or--wait, did you even get off Kamino before--"

"I'm not whoever you think I am," he tells her. "None of that means anything to me. I know what a legion is, but I've never had reason to be part of one."

"But you're..." she trails off, brow furrowed. "I guess just a similar face, then."

"To who?"

"The clones?" she hazards, as if that clears anything at all up. "I have no idea where we are; maybe the war holos never made it out far enough for you to know what they looked like..."

"Which war?" he asks, because he feels like he'd probably have heard of a war that used clones, especially one that had enough holos spread around for this woman to expect him to know what the clones in question look like.

"The... the clone war," she says hesitantly. "With the Separatists?"

None of that means anything to him.

It must show in his face, because her brow furrows, and her eyes go wide in a way he doesn't like. He can't tell if her skin's losing color or anything, but he's pretty sure the curl at the tip of one lek is a sign of anxiety. He's not sure how to help, but part of him already decided he liked this woman, just on the suspicion that she was friendly to Mandalorians.

(It's been a solid year and a half since Jango has had anything approaching a friend. He may be, subconsciously, a little desperate.)

"What's your name?" she asks, voice pitching in discomfort, and tight as a garotte.

"Jango Fett."

She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and... he can't see, can't know if she's trembling, but he thinks she is. She lets her head fall back against the wall, and breathes in sharply. It's a shaky breath, and he doesn't like that much, either.

"Fuck," she repeats. "No wonder--fuck."

He gives her a few seconds, but she doesn't elaborate. He asks another question instead. "Do I get to know your name?"

Her eyes crack open, and then she sits up straight and looks him over. Her lips purse, and she comes to some decision, though he's at a loss for what. "Call me Ashla. She/her, if you'd rather stick to Basic."

Fake name. Alright. She mentioned a bounty, so it's probably about that.

"Well met, Ashla."

She laughs, empty and painful. She swears in a mix of Huttese and Mando'a, and a few languages he doesn't even recognize. The Core accent on her Mando'a is strong, but he thinks whoever taught her might have been from Concord Dawn.

"How old are you, if you don't--"

"I'm twenty-one," she says. He was right; she's only two years younger than him. "At least... fuck, okay. What's the date?"

He tells her, and she screws up her brow and mouths something to herself. He's not entirely sure what.

"How long ago was..." she trails off.

"Was what?"

She presses a hand over her eyes. "I don't know what year it is."

Ah. Well, he can help with that much. He tells her that, too.

Ashla drops her hand. She visibly mulls it over, eyes on the underside of the bunk above her. He has no idea what she's thinking.

"Why aren't there other people in this room?"

"Weak ones couldn't sleep because I'm 'too intimidating,' and the rest kept trying to throw their weight around." He shrugs at the look she points his way. "I'm not dumb enough to start a fight with a bomb around my neck, but I'm not letting someone knock me around so they can earn a reputation."

She purses her lips, but lets it lie. "You let me take you down, then?"

"You had the advantage of surprise," he says, and doesn't bother to list every other advantage. She's better fed than he is, has spent less time in spice-suffused air, was unconscious and resting while he was awake to keep an eye on her fever. He's got the feeling she already knows.

When she speaks again, it's low and in fluent Mando'a, heavily accented though it may be.

"You'd get out of here eventually," she tells him, eyes half shut. "But you'll get out faster with my help, Mand'alor."

His stomach twists.

----

"They are either very stupid, or very cheap," Ashla mutters a day later, when he's supposedly helping her change some bandages. It gives him the excuse of leaning in close.

"Probably the former," he says.

She grins, and then stiffens and hisses out a low breath as he pours some of the stolen whiskey over one of the burns. It's not a real disinfectant, but it's the best they've got at the moment. Jango still isn't sure how she managed to get it from the overseers without them noticing, but he's quickly gotten the gist that she's a fair shot sneakier than he is.

"What did they do?" he asks, and she huffs out a laugh.

"I need you to promise you won't try to kill me," she says, and he stills.

She seems to be waiting on his response. Great. "That's not an auspicious start, Ashla."

"Eh, I've survived more than my fair share of people trying to kill me. No offense, bro, but I could take you," she says.

She's probably right in their current circumstances. "Let's hear it."

"I left the Jedi Order when I was seventeen."

The whiskey bottle slips from his fingers.

An invisible hand catches it, and it settles quietly on the floor of their cell. No guards will come running. It's a damning sight, for him.

A Jedi.

A Jedi who--who left.

Jedi committed Galidraan, but she left three years before that, but she was--was--

She has her back to him, trusting.

Or just arrogant.

She phrased it that way on purpose, phrased it so he'd know she left before he--before--

"I was framed by my friend for a terrorist attack," she says, and he can't find his voice to tell her to stop talking. "And sentenced to death by a non-Jedi military tribunal for it. By the time they figured out I wasn't guilty, I'd already been kicked out."

He forces his hands to his knees, grips at the bones that are too close to the skin, and orders himself to breathe.

Ashla turns on the spot, blinks at him. "I'm telling you this because it's how we're going to get out."

"Your people killed mine."

"I wasn't a Jedi when Galidraan happened," she says. There's more she wants to say, he's sure, but she keeps the words locked behind her teeth. That might be a good thing.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

"Only for long enough to get out of here," she tells him. She shrugs, easy as anything. She's done this before, maybe. "Trust me, I have plenty of reasons to hate you, too, but I'm a little more concerned about getting this ship taken into custody, and having all the slaves freed."

"And you can just... make that happen."

"I told you, they're either stupid or skint," she says, with that same disarming grin. "I had lightsabers on me, and they kept them on the ship. They haven't drugged me since I woke up. They put me in normal cuffs, Jango."

He hates the way his name sounds on her tongue.

He hates the fact that he sees her plan already.

"You don't even need me," he points out, resisting the urge to try to kill her here and now. He doesn't have his armor. He doesn't have weapons. He's good, but she's got the Force and thighs that can crush a bantha skull.

"I'm not exactly... legit," she admits with a grimace. "Once you're back in Mandalorian space, you at least have an identity. People that will give you a place to stay. A chain code."

"And you don't."

She smiles, brittle. "Give me a week to scope out what I need and get us out of here, and maybe I'll explain."

A week. Fine.

And once they're out of here, and he has a blaster and a meal and a good night's sleep, he'll handle her.

----

He hates the fact that he likes her, still. People had already noticed, even just one day in. The first time someone notices he's giving Ashla the cold shoulder in the workroom, they joke at him about her not putting out. He's known her one day, and they think--

He stops the thought in its tracks.

Jango doesn't start fights here, but he is tempted.

"Oh, he wouldn't dare," Ashla simpers, sweet as spun sugar. "I bite."

She smiles, every pearly white tooth on display. The fangs near glint in the light. She eyes the speaker, squeezes the tool in her hand. Her tendons strain, but the metal bends with a creak.

The overseer shouts for them to get back to work.

Jango steps closer to her, lets his elbows brush against hers, and glares off anyone that tries to get too close.

"I don't need protection," she mutters to him from the corner of her mouth.

"I keep my word," he replies, hating himself for it.

He said he'd have her back. He may hate what she is, but... she left the Order. She's not a Jedi anymore. If he thinks it enough, he can believe it.

----

There's always a camaraderie in shared suffering. Jango is aware of this, and he feels his fondness for Ashla grow against his better judgment. They're both slaves on a spice ship, and he can't change that. It makes him tolerate her more than he sensibly should.

She acts like a Mando soldier, sometimes. She's not at all like Haat Mando'ade, but she knows some of the jokes that Mandalorians grow up with. She walks like a woman used to beskar'gam. She knows a drinking song or two.

(They don't waste the whiskey. It's for injuries, not intoxication.)

"I had brothers, once," she tells him, late at night. "A lot of them. They had a Mandalorian parent, sort of, but he'd never seen fit to really... let them have the culture. I lost them all, mostly to slave chips, and a few to just normal deaths, but... I learned what I could about Mandalore, after, for their sake. In their memory."

It's not a terrible reason, he thinks.

"Irony for you to end up in chains, then," he mumbles, and she barks out a sharp laugh.

"Tradition, more like," she says, and explains before he can ask for her to keep talking. "My... teacher was born a slave, and I... have a suspicion he ended up back in chains after we lost contact. His teacher was enslaved at least twice that I know of."

"Shitty tradition," he says, because there's nothing else he can think of.

"Could be worse," she tells him. This time, she doesn't elaborate.

----

He likes her more than he should.

----

He likes her so, so, so much more than he should.

----

She steals datachips when nobody's looking, using the Force instead of her fingers. She wraps dismissal around her like a cloak to access computer terminals without anyone but Jango noticing. She slips spice into the drinks held by guards and overseers.

She moves through the ship like smoke, in the dim lights of the false night.

Someone notices. Someone always notices, in Jango's experience, but they have no idea who's doing it. They lock down the cells for the sleep cycle, turn down the temperature, leave all the slaves shivering in their beds.

He pulls Ashla into his cot without hesitation, fits their bodies together to conserve heat, and ignores the rest. They're both soldiers; there's no shame in survival for those like them. The lekku at her back drapes over his neck like a scarf, and he almost wants to laugh.

He's pathetic. His men would be so damn disappointed in him, sharing bunk with a Jedi.

"You're thinking too loud," she mumbles, shifting somehow closer. The chill clings, creeping in through the thin clothes and thinner blanket, but he feels like it's bearable with Ashla here.

----

When they enact the plan, it's so much quieter than Jango would have run it. Ashla holds his hands in the early morning, before anyone is awake, and smiles. When she closes her eyes, sinking into a light meditation, the collar around her neck just... comes apart. Nuts and bolts and curves of metal float about her like a wretched parody of the mobile hanging above an infant's crib, and then land quietly on the nearest cot. When she opens her eyes, hazy and distant, she looks at his throat, and frees him with a thought.

It's a heady thing, freedom.

"Come along, Fett," she goads, almost crooning the words, backing out of the cell with his hands in hers. Nobody is awake yet, or at least they shouldn't be. Her words curl in the air like something cloyingly too-sweet, and he's sure it's her way of trying to piss him off. It's only working a little. "We've work to do."

Said work involves slipping past guards with a Jedi's timing, commanding them to sleep with a whisper and a poke to the forehead, and drugging the ones that she claims are resistant to Jedi tricks. The work is, as such, mostly hers to do. They hide the bodies, but the alarm goes off by the time they get to the weapons locker.

That's fine, because the weapons locker is where they were headed.

"Oh, hell yes," she hisses through a grit-tooth grin, and a matched pair of lightsabers float to her. Jango turns off the energy field by the time they reach her, and she hooks them onto her belt. Beskar plating follows, exactly the pieces that Jango had guessed from wear and tear. It's real beskar, too, not even an alloy, and Jango doesn't ask the questions on the tip of his tongue. She straps it on in practiced movements, without hesitation and almost without thought.

"See anything better than what you got off the guards?" she asks him. "Or did they all take the best blasters for themselves?"

"The latter," he says.

(His eyes trace over the armor she wears, and while she does wear it well... he's jealous.)

(He misses his armor.)

(Envy is unbecoming of anyone, but he thinks he can be afforded a little leeway.)

There are people in the hall by the time they exit, a dozen blasters at the ready.

The people in the hall are... not a problem.

Ashla had called it the Sword and Shield maneuver, when walking him through her experiences working in a Mando/Jetii team. He'd laughed, because the saber was the shield. She'd smiled at him, and he'd cursed himself for it.

If he'd had his armor, they'd have been able to move forward as a pair of unstoppable monsters. As it stands, they're... still doing that, really, just a tad slower.

"You're a Jedi!" one of them shouts. "You're supposed to be diplomats! You're not supposed to kill!"

Jango could laugh at that horrible, horrible lie.

"I am no Jedi," Ashla says, and the words cut through the air like something she's said a million times, and will say a million more.

Jango could do a lot with that line, tucked away in his memories for later.

There's a moment, though, where they're stuck at one end of a hallway, and the door to the bridge is just on the other side, and Ashla grins at him, a challenge in every inch of her body, and asks, "You wanna see something cool?"

He can't help it.

"You planning to show off, Jedi?" He can say the word without flinching, and it's... absurd. It's absurd. What in all the hells is she doing to him?

(He's been told that war makes for strange bedfellows, but he's long known that trauma does the same.)

He takes cover when she moves, and oh, does she move.

Ashla's a whirlwind, dangerous as anything and beautiful in her careful, precise violence. She knocks people out, more often than not, but there's more then one dead body left in her wake. It appeals to something in him. She flips and twists and throws people with the Force. She slices and kicks, and smacks people across the face with the blasters she lifts of their comrades. She headbutts at least two people, and then jumps to bounce off the ceiling and back down so she can land feet first on an enemy.

He hopes he'll get his common sense back when he's had time to put himself together, because the sight of those sabers doesn't make him flinch. After all he's been through, after all his nightmares, it really should. The sound alone should have him shivery and shooting.

Maybe there's just too much spice in the air.

A head drops to the floor in a different direction from the body it had previously been attached to. Jango's throat goes dry in response.

When Ashla stands at the end of the hall, a saber in each hand and the floor behind her littered in both bodies breathing and bodies bereft of life, she looks back at him over her shoulder. She deactivates her swords, and smirks. She's smug, and she makes smug look very, very good.

"So," she says. "Verdict?"

Fuck.

----

The bridge is easy enough to handle. They land the ship on a Republic planet, one with relevant authorities and at least some reputation for actually handling things with a degree of kindness and transparency. Ashla does the talking, letting Jango lurk behind her. She lies.

"Half-truths," she later tells him, in a low voice. The smile she wears is amused and self-assured, just a twist at the corner, and the slightest of pouts. He can't see it, when she leans in to murmur in his ear. "I certainly used to be a Jedi. They don't need to know this wasn't an officially-sanctioned infiltration."

Her breath hits lightly against his ear, and he wants--he wants--

"Have a comm code for any old friends?" Ashla asks, stepping away. Her face twists unpleasantly. Frustration, he's sure. "I've got credits, but no contacts."

He eyes the little pack she's got around her waist. "Stole that from the slavers?"

"We'll consider it payment for services rendered," she tells him, with an impish grin Jango wants to kiss off of her face, because apparently he's kriffing suicidal and wants to bed a Jedi. "I'll give you most of it, if you want. Call it the two years of backpay they owed you."

He snorts before he can stop himself. "Just one year, sorry."

"Oh, it's hazard pay," she insists, blinking innocently. "Dangerous conditions having been what they were, of course."

She presses a comm--probably also stolen--and a few credits into his hand, then loops her arm through his. She sets off at a lazy walk, ignoring the people who stare at them with distaste and disgust. "We'll find a hotel. We'll shower, with real water, and fancy soaps, and a little sonic just for the clothes. I'll run out and get you a basic outfit, and then we can go shopping, and once that's done, and you've had a chance to comm a companion, we can reunite you with your buddies, and you can go hunting for your armor, and I'll split and--"

"Stay."

She tilts her head at him, though she doesn't stop walking, and he feels his face burn. He hopes it's not visible. She hums lowly. He can't learn anything from it. "You hate Jedi, though, and I might not really be one anymore, but I'm still more Jedi than not."

"You wear beskar and speak Mando'a," he says. "You helped the Mand'alor. You're halfway to being one of mine already."

"One of yours, huh?" she mutters, eyes somewhere distant. He doesn't know what it is that she's seeing, but he's gotten used to it. "Alright, let's have this conversation again after you've had some sleep and clothes and a good meal, yeah?"

He can take that compromise.

----

"What do you mean, you're from the future?!"

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

Show Me [Part 2/2]

Summary: Spencer finds out his girlfriend’s a virgin. But she wants him to change that.

A/N: This is Part 2 of an anon request. I was shocked by the response to Part 1, and I’m so excited for you guys to read this one! (I also set up an 18+ sideblog @spenciebabie if you wanna check that out)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Mostly smut, and a lil fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, oral (female receiving), fingering, masturbation (female), penetrative sex, please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed

Word count: 4.1k

Request: “Omg I’ve just found your account, you’re an amazing writer! If you’re taking requests, could you write something with virgin!reader and like season 13/14 Spencer?”

Masterlist

Read Part 1 Here

He’s booked a hotel room. A nice one. A really nice one.

They spent the whole week hoping that they wouldn’t get pulled away on a case. Just counting down the days until the weekend hit and they could finally release all of the pent up tension that had been building in each of them.

Of course she was still nervous, but the good kind of nervous. The kind that made you giddy more than it made you worried. Since she’d opened up to Spencer he’d been nothing but kind and supportive. It sort of made her want to sleep with him even more than ever, but he insisted that they wait, he wanted it to be special.

And now that she had time to prepare, she did all the things she thought you were supposed to do before having sex. She got waxed for the first time, and it hurt. It hurt way more than she was willing to admit. She bought lingerie. She had no idea what Spencer’s taste was when it came to things like that, but she did what Spencer would do and she made an educated guess. She knew that he liked it when she wore dresses, he would always compliment her when she wore pale colors. He said she looked pretty in everything, but especially in white.

So she picked out a set that was white, with lots of intricate little lace details. No one warned her that lingerie was so expensive, but Spencer was paying for a hotel room, so she figured she could spring for some pretty underwear. It wasn’t just for him, when she tried it on in the dressing room she knew she couldn’t leave without it. Something about the lace and the way it hugged her body just made her feel amazing.

Not that Spencer would’ve minded if she’d done none of that. He’d still find her sexy if she turned up in sweatpants and a t-shirt with stains on it. She was perfect to him. Which is why they didn’t want to jump into it right away. Where was the sense of occasion in that?

Instead Spencer had planned out the evening, he’d pick her up from her apartment, and they’d drive to the hotel, drop their bags, then head out for dinner. When they returned to the room that evening, then they’d have sex.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that it didn’t sound so sexy when he gave her a regimented list of activities like that. But she knew he just wanted her to have the best possible time, and she trusted him. As always.

And she was right to trust him, but Spencer had been losing his mind about that all week. Stressed that he was going to be a let down. She’d never been with anyone else before and what if he was underwhelming? What if it was the worst first time anyone ever had? He knew the statistics, how few women cum their first time, how few cum from penetration alone. And in spite of himself he was determined. Determined to make this the best it could possibly be for her.

She was perfect, and she deserved no less than perfection.

He thought about filling their hotel room with roses, so many that you’d hardly be able to see the room. Or maybe just rose petals, scattered along the bed and the floor. Would candles be too much?

Instead he stopped himself, and he kept it simple. He bought a bouquet of roses before he went to pick her up. When he showed up at her door, flowers in hand she wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. Her hair and make-up were pristine, but she was still in sweatpants and an oversized jumper.

“Are we staying in tonight? I could’ve sworn we had plans?” he jokes, stepping inside and handing her the flowers.

“Haha, very funny. I just need 10 minutes to change.” she swats his arm, “Aren't you a walking cliche, a dozen red roses?” she admires the bouquet, bringing her nose to them to take in the sweet scent.

“Nope” he says with confidence, “Only 10. While red roses signify love and romance, the number of roses given actually carries it’s own significance.” he explains, “And the message that 10 roses sends is, ‘you’re perfect’, which you are”. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he says it. He feels so sappy but from the way she looks up at him he can tell she’s just as sappy.

“You’re too much” she says, and pulls him in for a short kiss, “Will you put these in some water for me while I get dressed?” she asks, and he wants to tell her not to bother, they should ditch the plan and he’ll just scoop her up into his arms right now and take her on her bed. But he just about manages to stop himself.

When she emerges from her room again she’s in the sweetest little dress. It’s white, and the bodice hugs her while the skirt fans out once it hits her waist. She looks like a fucking princess. He loved her, he loved that this was what made her feel confident, and sexy. And he can’t escape the little gasp that falls from his lips. She just giggles at him.

“Close your mouth” she teases.

“No way, come here” he reaches out for her and settles his hands on her waist, pulling her in close and pressing their lips together, slow and deliberate. Taking his time to taste her, making sure she can feel exactly how excited he is to be with her. It takes longer than it should but she has to press her hands on his chest and push him away gently to break the kiss.

“If you keep kissing me like that we’re not gonna make it out of my living room” she says, and it’s supposed to be a joke but they both seem to know it’s only just shy of the truth.

— —

The hotel’s not far from either of their apartments, but it feels like a completely different planet. It’s expensive looking, and it’s such a stark contrast to all of the motels they have to stay in across the country.

The bed is plush, and high off the ground with crisp white sheets. And even if they weren’t planning on having sex in it, they’d still be excited to sleep in it. As they enter the room Spencer drops their bags while Y/N all but sprints over to the bed, throwing her body onto it with such force that she bounces back up off it just a little.

Spencer laughs at her, and her giddy excitement. There was still a nervous energy present in her, but nothing like before. There was no worry, no uncertainty.

He can’t help but admire her, the way she’s spread out on the bed, her hair fanned out around her like a halo, her dress spread out, blending into the white of the sheets as she giggled, her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he says, walking over to the bed, standing so that he’s looking down on her. She just shakes her head from side to side.

“That’s you” she turns it back on him and he smiles. He leans down over her bracing his hands on either side of her head as he leans down to kiss her. Her own hands move up to cradle his face, holding it gently as their lips move against one another. When they break apart she’s just looking up at him adoring.

“How did I get so lucky?” she asks this time, and his heart just about explodes in his chest. He leans in again, kissing her with a little more force than last time. Climbing onto the bed instead of hovering over it so that he can be closer to her, feel more of her pressed up against him than just her lips.

He moves so that they’re both on the mattress, so that he can wrap an arm around her waist and pull her so tight against him while they kiss. He uses his other hand to roam around her body, down her shoulder, trailing delicately along her arm. Along the curve of her waist, gripping her hip just a little when he passes it. He uses that hand to slowly pull up the skirt of her dress. Not with an intentions, just so that he can have a hand on her bare skin. Resting so gently on her thigh so that he can feel the goosebumps that he leaves behind.

That’s one of the things he loves most about her, just how responsive she is. It never takes very long before she’s gasping and moaning beneath him, even if his hands are gentle. And that’s exactly how they end up. With her writhing beneath him, tiny moans passing from her mouth into his as his fingers dig into the skin of her thighs. Hiking up her dress, further and further until he could see her panties. Just like that evening on his couch.

“Spence?” she moans out as his hands creep further and further inside of her thighs. He pauses for a moment to look down at her, to check in.

“Are you okay?” he rasps, his breathing shaky, and she nods quickly, putting him at ease instantly.

“I just— could we— can we do it now?” she’s looking up at him completely doe-eyed, her hands draped lazily around his neck, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation. And all he wants in the world is to say yes. Fuck it, yes of course, anything she wanted. But he couldn’t.

They’d waited this long, what was another few hours. Besides, they had reservations, he didn’t want to have to rush anything to make it to the restaurant in time. He wanted to give her all of the attention she deserved. So he shook his head.

“Nope” he says, telling himself as much as her, “We’ve got dinner in 30”

She pouts immediately, and he wants to give in right away but he pulls himself back, removing his hands from her thighs, and freeing himself from her soft grip. She pouts even more as he stands up off the bed completely.

“You’re really gonna leave me like this?” she asks, more brazen than usual, sitting up on her elbows a little so that she can see him as he walks across the room.

“I don’t want to start something I can’t finish” he jokes, but she doesn’t look impressed.

“You already did” she counters, his eyes darting to her exposed white panties between her legs, but he shakes his head again.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, you better start getting ready for dinner” he points at her as though he’s trying to be stern, but they both knew he was wrapped around her finger.

She’s got absolutely no intention of using this time to get ready. Instead she reclines back in the bed, resting her head amongst the pillows, and she takes up right where Spencer left off. Pulling her skirt up and tucking her fingers into the waistband of her panties to find herself soaking wet. She trails her fingers between her folds, her lips softly parting to let out a small moan at the overall feeling that was building in her already.

She can’t help but cry out just a little as she sinks one of her fingers inside of herself, burying it as deep as it will go and curving it up to hit that spot she knows so well. By the time she’s added a second finger Spencer’s back in her line of sight. And he looks like he’s almost frozen in place when their eyes lock.

“Y/N” he just gasps, so small, she’s mentioned that she was the only other person who'd touched her like that, but for some reason he’d never thought to picture it. And thank god he hadn’t, it wouldn’t have held a candle to this.

“You started it,’’ she whines, “so I’m finishing it” her chest it heaving as she takes in long, labored breaths, her back arching up off the bed as her fingers continue to move inside of her panties. When it looks like she might just be about to cum her intervenes, sitting next to her on the bed and grabbing her wrist softly.

“Let me” he breathes, and she lets him pull her hand out of her panties. Instead of leaving it down by her side he brings it up towards him. Taking the two fingers that had just been inside of her and sucking them into his mouth. His soft lips sealing around them. She didn’t even know what to say.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long” he says once he lets the digits out of his mouth, and she's not only speechless, but she’s breathless now too.

With that he repositions himself on the bed so that he’s lying in-between her legs. He pulls at the sides of her panties and slides them down her legs so that she’s exposed to him. Now that he’d gotten a taste of her he was desperate for more.

Reaching further up under the skirt of her dress so that he could rest his hands on her hips, he uses the leverage to pull her a little closer. So that his face is right up against her centre. He places lingering delicate kisses all along the inside of her right thigh, and then her left. Agonizingly slow, teasing his way closer and closer to where she wanted him.

Once he’s run out of spots to kiss he’s finally at her core, and he introduces his tongue in one tentative lick right through her folds, tasting her even better now. Thankfully he’s got her hips pinned down with his hands or else they’d have sprung up off the bed.

“Fuck” she moans already, and that’s a good sign.

“Do you like that?” he asks, not playful or teasing, just genuine.

“So, so much” she affirms, and he dives right back in.

His tongue swiping between her folds, just grazing her clit every once in a while so that he could feel the way she squirmed beneath him. When he wraps his lips around her clit and begins to suck, with just the lightest pressure, she’s moaning so loud they’re probably going to get a noise complaint.

“Oh god, oh god” she starts to whine, “I think I’m close” she manages to force out. So he takes that as his queue to release his grip on one of her hips so that he can slowly push one of his long fingers deep inside of her. The stimulation from it, coupled with his lips in between her legs is enough to kill her she thinks.

Before she can think about it she’s cumming around him, on him, her hands fisting the sheets for any kind of purchase. Unable to control the moans the ripped through her.

When Spencer reappears from beneath her skirt a moment later his lips and chin are glistening, and there’s a dopey smile on his face, so she can do nothing else but pull him down on top of her for a kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. She wonders for a second if this turned Spencer on as much as it turned her on.

“Spencer” she breathes once they’ve broken apart, “that was amazing.”

“Yeah?” he looks at her, and delighted is the only word to describe his expression.

“Yeah” she tells him and he doesn’t miss a beat before he's on her again, diving in and placing feverish kisses all along her neck, down her collar bone, right to the cleavage that’s just exposed at the neckline of her dress. He starts to pull down the straps on her shoulders, doing anything he can to get it off her without having to move from his position, so perfectly situated on top of her.

“Spencer” she giggles, pulling his face up out of her chest, “What ever happened to dinner?

“We’re already 9 minutes late” he just laughs, “fuck dinner” and he dives back in. And she can’t fight him on that one. He’s sick of working around the fabric of her dress so he sits up the the bed and pulls her up with him.

“We’ve gotta get this off” he says, frantically searching for the zipper, and she wants to laugh at his eagerness, and she would, if she weren’t just as excited to be undressed. She has to help him find the zipper at her side so that he can slide it down. The dress goes slack around her just enough that he can pull it off over her head.

And now she’s just lying down in front of him in nothing but a bra and he thinks he might pass out. It’s a pretty one, white, and lacy, with a little satin bow in-between the cups. It’s so gorgeous against her skin that he almost wishes he hadn’t taken her panties off earlier. So that he could properly admire the whole set.

“I like this” he bites his lip, “I like it a lot” she doesn’t have to ask ‘what’ he’s looking so unashamedly at her breasts that she can’t mistake it.

“I bought it for you” she gazes up at him. And it makes this heart melt, she’d bought it for him, for him to see, to touch, to admire, to remove. “Can we take off your clothes now?” she asks then, and he feels stupid that they’re still on. He was so caught up in looking at her he’d almost forgotten he was even there. So he moves quickly, hopping up for a moment to rid himself of his clothes.

Once he’s in front of her in nothing but his boxers she starts to feel nervous again. She’s seen his cock before, she’s held it, tasted it, but this time was different. This time it was going to be inside of her. What if he didn’t like it, what if she was bad at all of this and he hated it.

He takes them off so that she can see just how hard he is, flushed and leaking, so excited to be with her. And it should feel reassuring, but it just feels like pressure. Pressure to be good.

Once he’s hovering over her again, his mouth working against hers as his hands work to unclasp her bra he can feel the hesitation in her kiss, in her touch. So he stops, and he pulls back.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” he says, his voice laced with equal parts love and concern.

She thinks for a moment before she speaks, “I just don’t want it to be bad for you” she whispers, like she’s embarrassed. And he can do nothing to contain the shock that spreads across his features.

“It could never be!” he rushes out, “This could be the worst sex of all time, and it would still be the best sex of my life, because it’s with you”

She softens immediately, he always knew exactly what to say to put her at ease. To comfort her so completely. So she pulls him back down to connect their lips once again. This time with the passion that she usually did, no apprehension, no worry.

And they stay like that for a few more minutes, him on top of her, their mouths moving against one another. With her bra on the floor his hands caressed and squeezed her bare breasts, fingers gently teasing her nipples in a way that made her gasp.

He has to climb off of her to get a condom from his bag, and for the brief moment that his warmth is gone she misses it more than she ever thought possible. When he returns to the bed, foil wrapper in hand she’s excited. This was it.

“Can I—” she starts, “can I put it on?” she asks sheepishly. And honestly he’s confused, but he hands her the wrapper anyway. She rips open the foil and pulls out the condom. Holding it in one hand as she grips his cock with the other, pumping it gently, softly gliding up and down the length a few times. She leans down into his lap for just a moment and licks up the underside of it, leaving an ever so slight kiss at the tip where it was leaking. Then she starts to slide the condom down his length, all the way down, so, so, slowly until it was at the base. No one had ever put a condom on him but himself, and he had no idea it could’ve been that hot the whole time.

He pulls her in for an appreciative kiss, pushing her back down on the bed so that he was on top of her once again.

“Can you, um— can you be on top?” she asks, biting her lip and looking up at him.

“Of course, whatever you want.” he whispers, “You’ve got to tell me if you don’t like something, or if you’re in pain, or not comfortable, or if you just want me to stop for any reason. Okay?” he asks, so sincere, and so full of love. And she’s so unbelievably happy that she waited for Spencer.

“It’s usually more comfortable and enjoyable if the woman has already cum once during the session, so you should be relaxed, but I’ll go slow.” she nods up at him.

“I’m ready” she sucks in a deep breath and pulls him in by his neck to kiss him, her lips open on his right away as she delves her tongue into his mouth. The taste of her arousal still lingering on his tongue. He pushes in while their mouths are still connected and he can feel her short gasp against his lips. She lets out a small wince at the sensation and it breaks his heart just a little.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?”

“No, no! It just takes a little getting used to, you can keep going” she reassures him. And it does hurt a little, but it’s more like pressure. A pressure she hadn’t felt before. He pushes further in, and further in, and further in, until he’s completely inside of her, as deep as he can go. He moves so slowly so that she can take her time getting used to the feeling.

And if he was honest with himself he needed time to adjust too. She was so tight and warm around him, and whenever he’s still he can feel her clench around his length. He’d forgotten just how good this felt. Or maybe it had never felt quite this good before.

He keeps still inside of her, leaning down to litter her neck with kisses. Giving her time, she seemed to be enjoying it a little more now, biting her lip as she looks up at him.

“That feels so good Spencer” she moans out, her fingernails digging into his back as he raises up to look at her, “Does it feel good for you?” she says, and he almost can’t believe she’d even have to ask.

“It feels perfect. You feel perfect, so tight and wet” he lowers down so he can moan it right into her ear and that does something to her.

“I think you can start moving now?” she says

“Are you sure?” he asks and she nods, enthusiastic. And so he starts to move, slow and deliberate, long deep thrusts in and out of her. It doesn’t take long before she really seems to like it, adjusting to the feeling faster than she thought she would. Her legs come up to wrap around him, heels digging into his back to pull him close.

And they’re both moaning in tandem this time, moving together, breathing in sync, becoming one whole in every sense of the word. When she started to squirm beneath him, her hands gripping at his shoulders, his neck, wherever she could, he almost couldn't believe it. She was close.

So he put one hand on the headboard to steady himself and slipped the other down, skimming it along her torso before settling it right in-between her thighs. Circling her clit with his finger, faster and faster to match the speed of his thrusts as he tried to continue pumping in and out of her.

“Spencer, I think I’m—” she moans out, breathless and perfect, “Ah fuck! Right there!”

“That’s it baby” he hums, comforting and reassuring, his hands and his cock continuing their movements, working her closer and closer, “Cum for me.”

A second later she’s writhing beneath him, her back arching up off the bed, her nails digging so hard into his back that it hurt. “Fuck! Spencer!” she cries out as he works her through her high. It only takes another moment or two before he’s there himself, releasing inside of her, and the feeling is indescribable.

He pulls out of her slowly, taking care not to hurt her, when he’s sure she looks comfortable he allows himself to finally lay down on top of her. Collapsing softly, and resting his head on her bare chest.

On instinct she moves her hands to his hair, it’s just a little sweaty but she combs her fingers through it anyway. He was so beautiful.

“That was—” she wants to tell him, but she’s got no words, none that would do it any justice.

“Just the beginning.” he finishes for her.

— —

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[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 1 - Decoy [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Here we go my loves, the first chapter! ❤ I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

As always, I don’t own anything.

Word Count: 2200

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, death, manipulation, language.

Summary: Trouble has a way of following certain people.

Sometimes you wondered whether you would run away screaming when you were a child if you knew what kind of a person you would turn into.

It wasn’t exactly your fault though. For years and years, several people had put the blame on several different things. Eventually they would reach the same conclusion though; the psychiatrists, your superiors, the very few people you could call your family, they all agreed on one thing.

It wasn’t you, it was the abandonment.

The abandonment you went through when you were a teenager had somehow started this domino, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop this constant fall, not even you.

But as you would figure out soon, you were lucky. Instead of being consumed by your anger, you could direct it somewhere else. You were recruited and trained from a very young age, and somewhere along the way, you realized that if you wanted to survive you were going to have to sacrifice certain things.

Forgiveness was the first one to disappear. Guilt was another.

Then fear.

Then, love.

Ah well. Worse things happen in the world every day.

If anything it made your job easier.

You cracked your neck and opened the door to your apartment, the key sticking to your fingers because of the blood on your hands for a moment and you made a face as you shut the door, leaning back.

A very long shower and a bottle of wine sounded like a good idea.

You placed your gun on the table, took the dagger strapped to your thigh out of its holster and got the knives out of the heels of your shoes before flinging yourself onto your couch and turning the TV on.

“Also called Sokovia Accords 2.0 by the critics—“

“What the superheroes think about this remains a mystery—“

“The first time caused a huge rift between Captain America and Iron Man but nobody knows the new Captain America Sam Wilson’s comment on it—“

You didn’t get to change the channel again when your phone started vibrating in your pocket, making you sit up straight. You muted the TV, and checked the caller I.D before you answered.

“Hey there.”

“Hi, how’s Paris?” the cheerful voice of your best friend reached you, “Had enough croissants yet?”

A small smile pulled at your lips. After your only parental figure had left you to go God knew where, General had decided to adopt you and raise you like a daughter. His actual daughter Chloe had welcomed you with open arms, and you had been best friends since then.

Her being the top analyst of the division didn’t hurt either.

“Mm hm, because that’s all I’m doing. Eating croissants, visiting museums—”

“Killing and maiming targets...” she mused, finishing your sentence for you and you heaved a sigh.

“Somehow that last one isn’t included in the city guide,” you pointed out. “Chloe, you know this is a line for—“

“Official contact from General, yeah yeah,” she said, “In my defense, you didn’t pick up the phone an hour ago when I called you from my phone.”

“Do you know how hard it is to use touch screen when your hands are covered in blood?”

“What happened to your sniper rifle, did it fall into Seine?”

“It required close combat,” you said, “And the target swallowed the chip before I could get it, so I had to perform a spontaneous autopsy.”

“Just so you know, whenever you talk about your job I have to watch like a hundred cute videos after I hang up.”

“Happens.” you said, “How’s everything?”

“You missed us already?”

You grinned, “Maybe.”

“Good, because dad wants you back. He’ll contact you any day now.”

Your head snapped up and you stood up from the couch, “Really?”

“Duh. Have you seen how negotiations for these new Accords are going? It’s going to be a mess and we need you here.”

“The second one hasn’t passed officially.”

“Well no, but you know how my father thinks.” she said and you tilted your head.

“Are we sure it’s General who wants me there and not you?”

“Okay, that was one prank ages ago and I didn’t hear the end of it!” she protested, “Don’t you trust me at all?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I’m being the perfect friend and calling you to give you some good news but if you’re going to be like this, my news can wait until you get here.”

You pulled your brows together, “What news?”

“What do I get in return?”

“My endless gratitude,” you deadpanned, “Come on. What news?”

“You can’t tell anyone yet but I think you’re getting a promotion.”

Your breath got caught in your throat, “You’re joking.”

“Don’t forget about me when you become a handler, you hear me?” She let out a laugh, I need friends in high places.”

“Your dad runs the division Chloe. It doesn’t get any higher than that.”

“That doesn’t count!”  

You pressed a hand over your chest, “Just— what kind of a promotion are we talking about?”

“I mean I snooped around his files and casually committed treason.” she said, “But even I don’t know yet. They must be still making the adjustments.”

You opened your mouth to reply but then your phone vibrated again and you lowered it to check the message on the screen.

It was simple but again, all his texts were simple and to the point.

From: General

Time to come back. Jet leaves in 2 hours.

Here goes my shower and wine night.

“Chloe?” you said, walking to the sink to wash your hands so that you could start packing, “You want anything from here? I’m coming home.”

                                              ***

The best thing about being on the move all the time was that you could pack in minutes and the division would take care of the things you had left behind.

Apartments, belongings-

Not that you carried any belongings with you, or bought any more than necessary. It would’ve made you form a bond, which was less than ideal for any spy.

You suppressed the yawn splitting your face and made your way to General’s office. This jet-lag was going to make your life pretty difficult in the following 24 hours, and you were painfully aware of it, but it wasn’t like you could just ask for some time to rest.

That could wait. Your job was more important.

“General?” you knocked on the half open door and he raised his head to look at you before motioning you to enter the room.

“Y/N,” he said, “Close the door please. It’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Take a seat,” he said and you cleared your throat, then perched on the edge of the chair.

“I’ve heard you eliminated the threat and got rid of our target quite fast,” he said, “And we have the chip now.”

You nodded silently, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Well, that shows me you’re ready for the next step,” he said “No reason to beat around the bush, you’re getting a promotion.”

Pride burst through your system but you tried to control your expression to stop the grin threatening to pull at your lips.

“Thank you sir.”

“Here are the details for your next mission,” he said, handing you a file that was stamped as Top Secret and you flipped the page to find information about your next identity.

Alias: Shrike

“Shrike,” you murmured to yourself, turning the pages, “Like the bird?”

“Mm hm. I assume you’ve heard about the Accords issue?”

You looked up, “Only a little,” you said, “The first one was a disaster and the government had to drop it after The Blip due to the public’s reaction, resurrected people insisted that the superheroes were the ones who saved them, not the government. Then the government said they would go over the details and change it in a way that would benefit both the public and the superheroes, but I haven’t seen the new version.”

“There were some adjustments but to be honest with you, it’s the same deal. We can’t have superheroes running wild with no orders,” he said, “I need you on both fronts, one with terminating specific targets, and one with….well, you’ll see.”

You flipped the page and blinked a couple of times, your stomach dropping.

You were good, but you weren’t that good.

“You- you’re sending me after Captain America, sir?”

“Ah no,” he said, “Don’t worry. Wilson doesn’t have a past we can use against him, and trust me, we checked. The guy is an actual hero but we need a bad guy.”

You turned the page and shut your eyes for a moment.

Bucky Barnes.

Right. You should’ve known.

The government wanted and needed Captain America on their side, but Bucky Barnes could fall for all they cared.

“Sir I appreciate your trust in my abilities but not even an army could take down the Winter Soldier the last time—” you started but General shook his head.

“Y/N, you’re not going to kill him,” he said, “That’s the second front I was talking about. We need you to get close to him, to form a personal bond and gather intel we can use in the future.”

You gawked at him, “I’m sorry?”

“Barnes is the perfect candidate. He can help us with necessary information to prove to the public that superheroes need to answer to someone; us. Besides if it all goes bad, we can just say he was a threat. With that kind of past no one would think he was innocent to begin with.”

Your head was spinning. Scratch that, the whole room was spinning.

You were good at finding and terminating targets, not forming personal bonds or playing this

“When you say get close to him….” You trailed off, your voice way too weak and he smiled slightly.

“You’re an attractive woman, I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that.”

That. That was your promotion.

Not an operations officer, not a handler, but a lover who also happened to kill people.

They were going to use you as a honey trap for him.

“Sir, I don’t think-“ you started, but he held up a hand.

“Before you say no,” he said, “Let me remind you that this will benefit your career greatly, and you will have your own team. Show us you can handle it, and the position you want will be within your reach, you have my word. You want to be a handler, don’t you?”

You dragged your fingernails on the file, deep in thought.

“Barnes is one of the many dangerous people we may need to stop one day, and the only way to do it is to keep him under control and learn everything he knows until we’re ready to take him in.”

“But if these new Accords don’t pass—“ you started but he shook his head.

“Even if they don’t, and that’s a big if,” he said, “He’s still a valuable asset to have. We all have to perform certain missions, Y/N. Even if we don’t particularly like them. You will thank me in the future, when your career flourishes.”

Your blinked a couple of times, a bitterness appearing in your mouth.

“Of course,” you managed to say, “You’re— you’re right sir. It’s a good plan. I accept the position.”

“Great!” he clapped his hands together, “We have a target for you for tomorrow night, there’s this gallery opening. He needs to be eliminated, I think you can handle that? Start planning how it will go with Barnes as well, we can’t lose any time.”

You pursed your lips together and closed the file, “Of course.”

“Congratulations.” he leaned in slightly, “Your dad would be so proud of you if he could see you now.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it felt like it was getting bigger and bigger.

“I don’t need his approval,” you rasped out and walked to the door, but stopped when you heard him speak.

“Shrike,” he used your alias for the first time and you looked over your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I don’t have to remind you that this mission is top secret. If he figures out who you are, or what you’re up to…” he clicked his tongue, “Kill him.”

You paused for a moment, then tilted your head and smiled at him.

“As you wish, sir.” you managed to say, then walked out of his office as if someone was chasing you. You made your way straight to the bathroom and slammed the file on the marble counter, then pulled out the small picture sticking out from the corner. It was an old black and white picture of him with Steve Rogers, probably taken in the 40s, both of them smiling. 

When you lowered the picture to attach it back to the paper, your eyes caught the tiny print under his aliases.

Confirmed Kills: Exact number unknown (Credited with 100+ assassinations)

You were in way, way over your head now.

“Oh, fuck.”

                                  Chapter 2

[thebookreader12345]

Stop the Violence

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Best Friend! reader

Summary: Y/N has been hiding her abusive past for all her life, and somehow, she’s managed to keep it a secret from Intelligence, and her best friend, Jay Halstead, this long. However, when someone sees something they shouldn’t have, Y/N’s world changes, and the only way she can get through it is with Jay at her side

Requested: Yes, by @virtualreader​

Warnings: abusive relationship, talk and depiction of a beating, alcohol abuse

Word Count: 1,764 Words

I tugged my sleeves down for the umpteenth time this morning, hoping that they would stay in their current position, but I knew they wouldn’t. I should’ve just worn a hoodie, but alas, all of mine were dirty, and since I didn’t feel like doing laundry last night, I was stuck with this long sleeved shirt whose sleeves never stayed all the way down my arms, and always found a way to ride up.

“You okay over there?” Jay questioned from where he was seated at his desk across the room.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “It’s just that these stupid sleeves won’t stay down.”

“Just role them up,” Jay proposed. “It’s warm in here.”

“It’s cool,” I insist. “I’ll just deal with it.” Jay hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but ended up not talking and went back to doing his paperwork. That’s when Kevin and Adam entered the bullpen side by side, both with a cup of coffee in their hands. “Hey, guys. Either of you know when Voight’s gonna be in?”

“Uh, no,” Adam responded. “Why?”

“I need to run a quick errand. Cover for me?” I ask Jay.

Jay nodded. “Sure. Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to run an errand for my dad. I’ll be back soon,” I say quickly and stuff my phone into my pocket before heading for the stairs. 

My dad and I have never really been close. I was always closer to my mom, but when I was 16, she passed away from heart failure, leaving my dad to raise me all by himself. That’s when the problems began. My dad started drinking more often, coming home drunk after work. During these times, he would become somewhat aggressive. It was just little things though, like grabbing my arm a bit too rough. I waved it off at first because he was grieving over the love of his life, and I was sure he’d get over it in a few months. Except it never stopped. The drinking continued, not just after work at bars, but at the house too. And the violence didn’t stop either. In fact, it just got worse. Grabbing turned into smacking, and then punching. I thought that when I moved out, things would be different. I wanted to stop going by his house to say hello, but he was the only close family I had left, so I continued stopping by and running errands for him. The abuse didn’t happen as often as before, but when it did, I had to figure out how to hide the bruises, hence me wearing long sleeves and a lot of makeup. It was hard keeping this from the rest of the unit, especially Jay, who was my best friend, but I didn’t want them to think differently of me when they heard about my family life.

The reason for my errand was that my dad wanted a few things from the grocery store, and since he was apparently busy, he asked if I could pick those things up. I didn’t want to because I had work, but because Voight wasn’t in yet, I figured I’d just do it now to stop my dad from bothering me for the rest of the day. So, I left the district and drove to the grocery store, hoping that I could get this done as quick as possible. It didn’t take me long to grab everything my dad needed, including beer. I could’ve just not bought it, but that would make him angry, and I didn’t want to face that at the moment. After loading everything into my car, I made the short drive to my dad’s house.

“Dad! I’m here!” I call out into the house as I stepped inside. To the right was the living room, and behind that was the kitchen. My dad was sitting in the living room on his recliner with the TV on, not doing a single thing, which made me mad because I left work for him, but I pushed those thoughts aside and made my way into the kitchen to set the groceries down.

“What kind of beer did you get?” my dad asked as I headed back into the living room.

“Uh, Budweiser,” I answer.

“I asked for Corona,” my dad spoke.

“Yeah, I know, but I had to be quick cause I have to get back to work, so I just grabbed the first thing I saw,” I explain and fish my keys out of my pocket.

My dad growled and stood up. “So your work is more important than your own father?”

“At the moment, yeah,” I reply. Right after I said that, I immediately regretted it. I could see my father’s face change, and before I could even move, my dad stepped forward and punched me in the face, catching me square in the eye. I cried out in pain and fell to the floor, clutching the side of my face, which was now throbbing. “Dad, please stop,” I beg. But he didn’t stop there and took another step towards me, this time sending a kick straight to my ribs. Pain exploded in my side where the tip of his boot had come in contact with me, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Just before my dad could kick me again, the door to the house was kicked open, and seconds later, Jay and Hailey appeared.

“Hey! Step away from her,” Jay ordered with his gun raised. My father glanced between me and the cops, and decided it was better not to go against their orders, so he took a step back. Hailey didn’t waste any time and handcuffed my father’s hands behind his back, telling him his rights as she led him out to the car.

“J-Jay? What are you doing here?” I croak out and sit up, which sent more pain throughout my body.

“Hailey and I came down to see what was taking you so long, and to tell you that we’ve got no new cases, so Voight gave us the day off. I uh, I saw everything through the window,” Jay mumbled and gestured towards the big glass pane in the wall behind us. “I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay?”

I shook my head. “N-no. I just want to go home.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen. I’ll bring you back to my place, and then I’ll call Will over to check you over,” Jay said and held out a hand to help me up. I took his hand, allowing him to pull me up, but pain racked my body. “All right. Lets go.” While Hailey used Jay’s truck to get my father back to the district, Jay drove my car back to his apartment. A few minutes after we got there, Will arrived to see if any of my injuries were severe enough to where I would need professional care.

“Your orbital bone isn’t broken, just bruised,” Will informed me as he examined my eye. “Jay also said something about your side.” I nodded and lifted up my shirt so that Will could get a look at my side. A reddish purple bruise had already began to form, and based on it’s size and deep color, I knew it would be there for awhile. Will pressed on the bruise, and I winced in pain, immediately tensing away from his hand. “Sorry. Uh, your ribs don’t look broken either. But you should be careful the next few days so you don’t hurt yourself any more. You should also ice your side and your eye. That’ll help the swelling go down.”

“Thanks, Will,” Jay told his brother, who left seconds later, leaving Jay and I alone in the apartment. I took a seat on the couch, my back resting against the arm rest, and Jay sat down on the opposite side, moving his body so it mirrored mine. For a few moments, we sat in silence, but finally, Jay spoke up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I sighed. “What was I going to say, Jay? ‘Oh, hey, just to let you know, I’ve got an abusive father who beats me over the stupidest things?’”

“You could’ve at least talked to Hailey,” Jay put in.

“I know,” I state. “But what kind of friend would I be if I made her relive her own terrible memories?” Again, we were silent for a few seconds, and again, Jay broke that silence.

“How long has this been going on?” Jay questioned.

“Since I was 16,” I reply softly, tears beginning to gather in my eyes. “He wasn’t always like this, but after my mom died, he changed. The beatings, they didn’t start until I was in college, but I think that made them worse.” I took a deep breath and wiped at my eyes, cleaning the tears off of my face. “I-I should’ve said something, should’ve done something. I mean, I’m a cop. I should’ve been able to defend myself, but I just let the beatings happen. I let him hit me.”

“Hey,” Jay murmured and got up from his seat. From there he moved to the seat next to me and placed a comforting hand on my knee. “Don’t blame what he did on you. This isn’t your fault. It was never your fault.”

I sniffled and wiped more tears from my face. “I know, but it’s hard not to think that it is. If anything, I should’ve gone to the unit, or at least talked to you.”

“You’re talking to me now, and that’s all that matters,” Jay confessed and gave me a small smile.

“So, what’s gonna happen to my dad?” I ask.

“He’s uh, he’s going to get jail time. He got charged with assault down at the 21st. It looks like it’ll only be a year or two for him in prison, but I am going to make sure he’s never able to hurt you again. That’s a promise I intend on keeping,” Jay admitted. I smiled and sat up, pushing my legs to the side so that I could lean forward and hug Jay. He squeezed me back tightly, and being in the arms of my best friend gave me the comfort I really needed right now.

“Thank you,” I whisper into his chest. “For everything.”

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. I’d do anything for you. Now, I say we order some takeout and have a movie night. What do you think?” Jay quizzed.

“I think that sounds like a great idea. Lets do it,” I say.

____________________________

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[its-me-im-coraline]

Never Ending // Damiano David

words // around 1400

warnings // angst and it's not proofread very well

pairing // Damiano x GN!Reader, and some EthanxDamiano Bromance

author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. FINALLY I POSTED AGAIN OMG!!!!!

request // yes but II could not find the exact one so this is out of memory

summary // Damiano and reader had been together for some time when they realised their relationship is not going very well. A break up was the best idea at the time, but a while later it gets revealed that it’s not.

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11 @justme-and-myobsession @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @atremendousstrawberrycollection @bidet-and-legolas @hiraetheral

It was almost a mutual decision for them to break up. Almost.

The last few months of the relationship had been painful on both of them, but while Damiano was still hopeful that things would look up soon, Y/N was finding it difficult to hold on. The distance and friction had weighed down on his lover significantly, making it hard to get up in the morning, making it a struggle to ever go back home, knowing that the most probable scenario was fighting and sleeping on different sides of the bed. Y/N could not take it anymore, something had to be done.

That night was fateful for the pair. Damiano could still recall all the crying, from both sides, and the yelling, the pleads, oh the pleads! For the first time in his life, the man was pleading, practically on his knees, for some more time. He was persuaded that if they gave it a bit more time it would work out, it always did. He asked time and time again for his love to give them another chance, but, after hearing their struggle and the pain in their voice, he could not deny that the relationship was making his person whither in front of his eyes; and he couldn’t put the person he loves most through so much pain because he did not have the strength to let go, because he was being selfish.

Since the break up Damiano got isolated, struggling to get out of bed, only ever writing lyrics and throwing them away. Sometimes he would cry, but mostly he would smoke. That was his routine for days. His friends had gotten worried, trying to call him and pull him out of that damned room but it did not seem possible. Nothing would work, no food, no drinks, no parties were tempting enough to get him outside. Ethan, being the one to see Damiano most often, could not stand seeing this unfold in front of his eyes and do nothing.

“Damiano!” Ethan’s voice boomed through the apartment, catching Damiano’s attention.

“No,” he called back, his face deep in the pillow, “get out.”

It hurt. It hurt like a bitch. Both the man that was currently drowning his emotions in the soft pillow of his bed - oh and how it smelled like them, but also his very own friends. Ethan could feel his heart sink every time he visited.

He had begun doing that since the first few days of the break up. Damiano had rushed to Ethan first, crashing in his couch, sobbing in his friends arms. Seeing the frontman self distract day by day worried him and he simply had to do something before he lost his friend in this mess.

“I’m going nowhere, Dami. Not without you. Get up, we have places to go to. Dress nice.” The determination in his voice and the look he gave the lying man left no place for argument. The singer had to get up, and he had to dress nice.

Thus, he did just that, and in all honesty he enjoyed it. The cool water on his face when he finally washed it after days, or the warm water on his body as he showered - he could feel the knots in his back resolving, calming down the physical pain his heartbreak brought. He felt nicer when he shaved his face, being able to smell his own cologne and aftershave made him feel a bit relaxed. Finally getting into some fresh clothes was possibly the best feeling out of all, like the cherry on top.

He never learned where they were going, until they were already there, and that was possibly the last place he wanted to be in. A party was the last thing he needed, but now it was too late. “Ethan-”

“No, Damiano! Enough! I let you grieve this relationship for far too long. You can not be doing this any more. You have to let go.”

No words, no breath. Nothing could come out of Damiano’s lips but a sigh of defeat. Ethan was right, and both of the men knew it - hell, everyone that saw him knew that.

Inside the house the music was deafening, some random radio pop song was blasted through some surprisingly big speakers, the alcohol was plenty - almost never ending, and the snacks seemed to be greatly appreciated. For the first time in a while, Damiano thought he had a chance to let them go. Alas, fate was not on his side tonight. Within his vicinity was the one person he could not face; Y/N. They were wearing that outfit he loved, the one that made him look at them with googly eyes. They looked beautiful, like a nymph, all dressed up in magic.

The day dream was cut short as Leo approached the two men. Small talk ensued, but nothing too much, he could tolerate that. Mindless things, words about drinks, it was all alright. Until Leo spoke for the last time, “it must be hard that Y/N’s here, man. Sorry for that. I didn’t know. I should have ne-”

“Leo, it’s fine. You couldn’t have known, and I am fine.” His lips said that, but he was now not sure he meant it, while sitting on one of the houses balcony, cigarette in one hand and the ring in the other, the only place where he could take his mind off. So many thoughts went through his head. There was the sadness and the anger. Things were just about to be better, he was planning on making it better. He had already bought an engage-

“Oh- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” The door took him out of his thoughts, just now making him realise he had tears in his eyes. Quickly he dried them while hidding away the ring, turning around to see the face behind the voice.

“It’s ok- Y/N?”

“Da-damiano? Uhm, hi. Sorry, I’ll just go-”

“No, no, no! Sit! It’s ok. I know parties can get you overwhelmed… It’s ok.”

Neither of the two knew what to say for a second, they only embraced the silence that fell, as if nothing changed, as if they were still together and enjoying each other’s company with no words needed. Damiano was in the corner of the small balcony, leaning on the bars and looking at the restrained view he could get from the house, the cigarette lit up in his hand as he took puffs from it. He was dying inside just like that, his fingers were grazing the ring in his pocket. He could not get rid of it, he could not move without the only good reminder of what he used to have. It was bittersweet; pain and comfort in one little piece of metal and a stone.

Y/N on the other hand was standing by the balcony door, leaning on the sides of it. They were looking at the city lights, moving or not, but it did not calm their mind, that was running with no break. It was all thoughts of the man sitting not even two meters away. It would be a big lie to say that they did not think about him often since the break up - if anything they thought of him more now, regretting every word that came out that night.

Before either of the two could register what was happening Y/N had started crying, silently at first, but the more thoughts they got, the more their body responded with sobs. The sound was heart-shattering, almost like knives, painful enough to make Damiano scared to turn around.

“I should have never done that,” they mumbled, “I-I… I should have never broken up with you, Damiano. Oh god- I haven’t stopped thinking of that-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” the man whispered, quick to move to his feet and embrace his former lover. Oh how he missed this feeling. “I’ve got you,” he continued.

The next few minutes were spent like that: the two embracing each other, Y/N sobbing in the arms of the man they so much desired, incohorable sorrys and such escaping their lips. Damiano would say nothing but quietly shush them, stroking their back softly, until they finally quieted down. His cigarette was long forgotten on the ashtray, all of him being focused on Y/N.

“I am sorry, Damiano… I- I hurt you. A lot.”

“It’s ok-”

“No it’s not! You were doing your best to keep this relationship alive, and I? Well, I gave up," they huffed, arms wrapped around themselves as shivers run down their spine from the current emotions.

“You were in pain, my love. You were struggling. It’s understandable. It’s ok."

"You can love me again? After all that" Y/N asked, almost shocked at the possibility of a positive answer.

"Who said I ever stopped?"

[o-pandora-o]

Brothers in the Human Realm

No one was a demon to begin with (maybe luci though but-). You meet the brothers as human in the human realm. How would you meet them?

Lucifer:

Apparently some schoolmate of yours have done some violations in the school grounds and they used your name

You were sent to the Principal's office where you were questioned by Principal Diavolo about your wrong doings

You were trying to defend your innocence, but it was no avail

Coincidentally Lucifer was just dropping paperwork to Diavolo

Lucifer is your strict and scary and handsome college professor

He overheard the conversation and he defended you since he knew that you weren't lying

"Mr. Diavolo I must say, MC is one of my exceptional students, they would not do something as idiotic as that, and I clearly observe the behavior of my students"

Your H E R O

The next day, someone gave Principal Diavolo evidence of those who did wrong

Your name was cleared

Apparently you saw Lucifer giving those schoolmates detention, threat, and punishment. You may or may not seen a hint of killing intent in his eyes

You decided to thank Lucifer

"No worries, I just clearly observe the actions of what is mine"

H O L D U P

"Wha-" you replied

"Ah MC I have to go to my next class, take care"

Mammon:

Is a famous model, often the cover and centerfold of the monthly Majolish

For you Mammon was okay? I mean he is famous and many people likes his face

You were going to buy a limited edition  sunglasses that have hint of yellow and orange

You went to a sunglass store and asked the attendant if they they still have it but apparently the one on the display is their only stock

You decided to buy it

Apparently, Mammon also came to that specific sunglasses store looking for sunglasses that is the same as the one you bought

"I'm sorry sir, but apparently it was already bought and we have no stock" the attendant said

"Who bought it?"

"They did, sir" the attendant said as they point to you

"Oi! Can I buy the sunglasses from you? I'll pay double, no one can refuse the great Mammon"

"I'm sorry but I have to refuse. I really wanted it." you said

"Don't you know who I am? I'm-"

"The Great MAMMON, who is a famous model and often seen on Majolish magazine" you cut him off. "R-right! Now can i buy-"

"Nope sorry" you replied as you rushed to the exit

"Oi! What's your name? And contact details" he asked

"the name is MC, thats all you can get from me" you said as you rushed to the crowd

He was swarmed by the number of fans who saw him

He managed to find you and he chats you "Can I buy the sunglasses now?"

In the end it wasn't just sunglasses you talked about, you also talked about his struggle of being a model and your life

Leviathan:

Your username DestructoSheep is well known in the realms of Obey them

You always rank 2nd in pop quizzes

However no matter what you try, you can never beat your enemy, L3v1

Today, you got a letter from obey them, acknowledging the top players and giving them limited edition items

Ofc you have to go (there are limited items after all)

So you arrived early at the meetup place, no one was there yet so you played some obey them

A purple haired male entered the room, he looked fidgety, nervous, and he was mumbling something about normies

Cue giving of merch

The purple haired male tripped on the tiles and he dropped his phone in front of you

You helped him up and picked up his phone only to see his player name is L3v1.

"You.... You are L3v1." you sai

"Y-Yeah?W-Why?" he said as he was going to grab his phone away from you

"Waaaah! I'm DestructoSheep nice to meet you, oh but you can call me MC" you said as you reached his hand for a handshake

"I-uhhh I'm sorry I'm not used to touching, thats very normie-ish" he said as he averted his eyes

"My name is Leviathan, levi for short"

"I've always thought that the top player is always prideful and such but here he is being shy" you said as you chuckled

"H-hey! I'm still the best one in obey them mind you! I got every event cards at lvl 150 and skill lvl 10 and-"

"Yeah yeah I know" you said

After both of you received the merch, you both talked nonstop about obey them, other games, and anime

It was more like Levi bragging the amount of games and anime he played and watched

It was almost dusk till both of you notice the time

"Ah i got to go early, need to cook dinner. Chat me sometime!!!" you said as you gave him your contact details

Expect no sleep cuz both of you kept chatting till dawn

Satan:

He saw a kitty in a box in an alleyway near his apartment

Everyday, he often stops by to give the kitty enough food for the day

Is often disgusted by the fact that most people dump their pets in trash because they don't have anything to feed it

Saw you going to the alleyway

He suspected the worst and he thought that you were gonna harm the kitty he was feeding

"Hey don't harm-" he stopped

He saw you feeding the kitty

"Ah I assume you thought that I was gonna harm it?" you asked

"Well I thought the worst, humans are naturally scum anyways, but even so I do apologize"

"Ah it's alright, it's not a big deal anyways" you replied

"You come here often? I mean to feed the kitten that is" he asked

"You can say that, but not as often as you do" you said

"How did you know?did you perhaps-"

"Ah I happened to saw you feeding the kitten, I was just shy to approach you" you said

"Well I come to believe that people who are close to cats are not necessarily bad"

"I have to say I have to agree" you replied

"Ah I have to go, let's chat here again next time" you added

The alleyway became your meeting place to chitchat about cats

Asmodeus:

The famous M.A.D. Company released a new and limited edition Devil Set makeup and you were dying to get a hold of one

You spent a day looking at different stores but it was either unavailable or sold out. However, you were lucky to find another store that has one last stock.

You didn't notice someone else was also going to get it and so both of you grabbed the last set

"Uh... I'm sorry I have been looking this for the whole day, may I have it?" you politely asked

"Awww sweetie, I have been doing the same thing! Can you be a dear and let go of it?" the male with champagne-colored hair replied

Cue 1 hour of both of you saying "let go" or "it's mine"

"I have an idea! Let's just buy the set and divide it" you said

"Ohh! Good thinking! I will take the lippies, Devil shadow palette and the foundation!"

"That's literally EVERYTHING IN THE SET"

Cue two more hours of bickering.

Both of you didn't notice someone took it while the two of you are bickering

You noticed that it was gone

"Um... Someone already bought it while you two were... fighting" the saleslady explained

Both of you left the store empty handed and sad and you decided to break the atmosphere

"Pffft I'm sorry for fighting because of a Makeup set, btw my name is MC" you said

"I'm also sorry dear, although I wanted it I still didn't get it. I even missed my appointment to the salon!"

"And my name is Asmodeus, perfect name for a perfect being!" Asmo added

"Alright Mr 'Perfect' " you rolled your eyes

Let's just say that both of you talked about makeups on your way home.

Beelzebub:

Beel is your classmate during Physical Education class at college

Is a famous football player in your campus and he is also known for his handsomeness

His practice hours were often morning to late lunch and late lunch til dusk

During late lunch you saw him in the cashier by the cafeteria, asking if they still have cheeseburger available

But to his dismay, the cashier said "I'm sorry you already bought the last cheeseburger, and that's the last quota for the day"

He seemed sad and still hungry

You still have a cheeseburger to eat, but when you saw the time you knew you weren't gonna make it on your next class

When no one was looking, you decided to approach Beel and gave him your cheeseburger

"Are you giving this to me?"

"Yeah, I was going to eat it but I don't have much time for my next class" you replied

"Thanks, I owe you one"

You saw how happy he was when he got the cheeseburger

You were shocked how fast he ate it

Did he like inhale it or something

After your class, you noticed that he texted you saying "Thanks for the cheeseburger, I'll repay you next time you get hungry"

Let's just say you both got closer after that

Belphie:

It's your first day of online class, and your first subject has a 4 hour lecture

You forgot to disconnect your meeting link and you didn't notice until you were about to do homework

As you were about to disconnect, you saw that you weren't alone and you're classmate is still connected

You didnt want to leave him so you tried your best for your classmate to notice you. You tried spamming and saying " hello"

After 1234 attempts he finally noticed you

"Ah I'm sorry I slept during the boring lecture, thanks for waking me up"

"Ah it's no problem" you replied

"My name is Belphegor as you can see, but you can call me Belphie"

"My name is MC" you replied

"Say... How are you still here after hours after the lecture?"

"I forgot to disconnect" you replied

"Uh idk if this is too much of a favor to ask, can you wake me up again next time? After lecture that is, I don't want to be late for other classes"

"Sure, I don't mind I guess" you replied

After that, both of you got to know each other and you forgot to do your homework and you became a personal alarm clock

[sharkselfies]

The Minds Behind The Terror Podcast Transcript - Episode 1

Since some folks requested it on Twitter, I’ve started transcribing The Minds Behind The Terror podcast episodes! Below the cut you’ll find episode 1, where showrunners Dave Kajganich and Soo Hugh talk to Dan Simmons, the author of the novel The Terror, about episodes 1-3 of the show. They discuss Simmons’s initial inspiration for writing the book, the decisions they made to adapt it into a television series, and the depictions of some of the characters such as the Tuunbaq, Hickey, and “Lady Silence.”

The Minds Behind The Terror Podcast - Episode 1 

[The Terror opening theme music plays]

Dave Kajganich: Hello! Welcome to Minds Behind The Terror podcast. I’m Dave Kajganich, I am a creator and one of the showrunners of the AMC show The Terror, and I’m here in the studio with executive producer and co-showrunner Soo Hugh.

Soo Hugh: Hello!

DK: And we welcome today the author of the sublime novel The Terror, on which our show is based, author Dan Simmons, calling in from Colorado. Welcome, Dan! Hi! 

Dan Simmons: Hi Dave, thank you. 

DK: So let’s start with the very beginning. This was a mystery from actual naval history that you decided to transform into a novel that was crossed with Gothic horror. Can you tell us a little bit about where you got the idea from this, how you went about preparing to write it, anything that can give us insight into how you blended all of these remarkable genres into this incredible book.

DS: I’ve known since I was a kid that I wanted to tell a story about either the North or South Pole. And the reason is in 1957, 58, when I was very young, actually I was just a fetus, they had the international geophysical year, and that really caught my imagination. Now the international geophysical year saw cooperation between American and Soviet scientists, it was the height of the Cold War, that’s the first time they submit(?) a permanent base at the South Pole, and I fell in love with Arctic stories. I had one book left on a book contract with a publisher I really liked, and we hadn’t decided what that book was, and I wanted to write a scary story about the Arctic, in this case the Northern Arctic, and that happened because I was doing a lot of research on Antarctica and just couldn’t figure out what the macabre, Gothic, scary part would be. I wanted to put it in, but I didn’t think they’d go for, you know, an eight foot tall vampire penguin. 

[laughter]

DK: You might be surprised! 

DS: There was a footnote on a book I was reading about the Franklin Expedition, which I had never heard of, and I decided that’s what I was gonna write about, and it had a tremendous amount of the unknown that I could fill in, that’s what novelists love. And so I told my editors excitedly that this was what I was gonna do, I would call it The Terror after the HMS Terror that went with the Erebus, got stuck in the ice, all the crew disappeared in history… And they said no. 

[laughter]

DS: ...it was the first time the publishers did that. I said, “Why not? I think it’s gonna be a pretty good novel.” And they said, “Look, nobody’s interested in a bunch of people that’ve been dead for 150 years.” 

SH: That sounds like some of our meetings.

[laughter]

DS: So I did what maybe you do, in such a meeting, I just thanked them, and I liked them all, and I had a good dinner(?) and I said goodbye, and bought back my last book on the contract and went out and wrote it on spec. 

SH: Well why don’t we take a step back, Dave, and why don’t you tell us about how you found Dan’s book and that experience?

DK: Sure! Dan, you might remember some of these steps from your side of it, which is that originally this was auctioned by Universal as a feature, and I sort of tried to get the rights and was a bit too late, and tracked them down to the producers at Universal who were running the project and got myself hired as the screenwriter for a feature adaptation. By the time I was ready to start actually committing an outline to the paper, Universal had let the rights go because there was a competing project. It was interesting to sort of rack up reasons why people wanted to make it but didn’t feel that they could pull the trigger, and we were so grateful when AMC finally called us back and said, “Look, we’ve figured out a model where we can do this as a limited series,” it really felt like ten episodes was a great length for this, because we could blend genres in a way that, you know, we could unpack sort of slowly, more slowly than a lot of shows would’ve done, and drive the plot as much as we could, like the novel, with character choices and decisions as opposed to just horror kind of entering the frame and taking over for one set piece after another. So it was a long journey, getting this to AMC, but at the end of the day I think we found the right home for it.

DS: I can no longer imagine a two hour version, feature film version of this story, and I can’t imagine a second season of this story, I think it was just right.

SH: It does feel like we did a ten hour cinematic novel. 

[audio from the show]

Crozier: Only four of us at this table are Arctic veterans. There’ll be no melodramas here--just live men, or dead men. 

SH: Dan, Dave and I talk about how addictive the research gets for this when you start going down the rabbit hole, how did you approach the research?

DS: I think most novelists run into that, but since I write a lot of quasi-historical novels, at least set in history, I get totally addicted to going down the rabbit hole. Readers say, “Well, Simmons’ book is too long, and the descriptions of things are too exhausting,” but I watch your characters go on deck and there are all the things and views and everything that I tried so hard to describe and then people tell me, y’know, “talky, verbose,” and in print I have to do it that way, but you just pan the camera a little bit. 

DK: You have words, we have images! For every thousand of yours, we get one!

DS: Yeah.

SH: But I remember this passage in your book where it talks about all the different ices, and you vest it with so much psychological import. We talk about that passage a lot in the writers room, it was one of our highlights, of this is how you do great descriptive writing.

DK: And you made so many parallels between things like the environments of the ships and characters, you built a kind of code book for the show without realizing you were doing it, which is making visual metaphors out of a lot of these things that would normally just be exposition or historical detail.

SH: Well especially between Crozier and the ship, I mean when you hear about Crozier’s relationship with Terror, and you have so many amazing passages about, you know, the groan of the ship and how it, y’know, and you cut to a scene with Crozier and how you feel that the bones of Crozier is embedded in the ship, and we really took a lot from that. 

DS: Well I noticed that on one of the episodes where Lord Franklin [sic] is trying to get back in touch with Crozier, you know, trying to be friends with him again, I think it’s a brilliant episode you guys wrote.

[show audio]

Franklin: You’ve succeeded in avoiding Erebus most of the winter.

Crozier: I’m a captain. I’m--I’m peevish off my own ship. I leave it and I hear disaster knocking at its door, before I’m ten steps away.

DS: And that was beautifully written, that. You got so much of Crozier right there.

DK: It was a pleasure to write these characters on the backs of your writing of these characters, because you really--I mean, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to do, as you know, from having written, you know, a whole long string of historical books, is to make these people’s psychologies feel as modern as they must have felt in their day, while still being able to articulate some of the blind spots of being from the eras they were from. 

I’m curious from sort of a history nerd point of view, if people watch the series and like the series, and read the book and like the book, and want to know more about this expedition, what’s the first book about the Franklin Expedition you would point people to? What was most helpful or most interesting in your research? 

DS: I apologize, I can’t think of the name of it, but it’s a collection of stories about both the South and North Pole, and so it’s a short section on the Franklin Expedition, but it didn’t make mistakes, and most of the other books that I read, uh, keyed, and videos for that matter, like PBS did a story about the Franklin Expedition, but they keyed off a 1987 attempt by several doctors to figure out what happened to the crew, and they exhumed three crewmen’s bodies from the first island where they stayed the first winter, and those crewmen had only been on the ship a couple of months, but they decided because of a high lead content that the lead had poisoned them and then made them stupid, and made them paranoid and everything, but they didn’t compare that test of lead with any background people in London at the time, and later they did, so I didn’t believe the lead thing.

DK: Well that’s the fascinating thing about a mystery with this many parts and pieces, kind of in flux, is, you know, you can create all kinds of competing narratives about it, and what’s fascinating about writing a fictional version is you can’t have that kind of ambiguity, you have to make a decision. I think people will enjoy very much ways that the show and the book have a similar point of view, and also ways that they diverge in their points of view, because there are so many ways to tell this story--

SH: Well you know how much we invest responsibility in the audience as well, right?

DK: Sure.

SH: In terms of your book and our show as well, we’re not against interpretation, that there’s a responsibility on the audience’s part to put together--we’re not gonna hand feed them. There’ll be some people who put more of an onus on Franklin, and others who would say, “You know, if I was in that position, I probably would’ve made the same decision,” “Oh no, this definitely killed the men,” “No, this killed them!” and that dialogue is exciting, you know, when you read fans talk about your show and your books and really smart, insightful ways. 

[show audio]

Franklin: Would it help if I said that I made a mistake? 

Crozier: You misunderstand me, Sir John, I--I only meant to describe why I brood, not that I judge.

DS: I don’t worry about who or what my reading audience is. People ask me about that and I don’t imagine a certain reader. But I’ve always tried to write for somebody who’s more intelligent than I am. My perfect reader would be just smart as hell, speak eight languages, you know, have fantastic world experiences, and I want to write something that will please that person, and I think your show does the same thing.

DK: Well we were--that was our motto! We wanted to be sort of the dumbest members of our collaboration and there’s a sort of horrifying moment when you realize that’s come true. 

[laughter]

[show background music]

DK: Tell us a little bit about why you made the decisions to tell the story in the order you told it, and whether you sort of felt like there was anything from the way you had told it that we were--or a missed opportunity. We’d love to know sort of what your experience of that was. 

DS: I don’t think there were any missed opportunities in terms of not adapting my way of telling it, and I can’t remember all the reasons for why I broke it down that way, some of them were just very localized to, you know, when I was writing that particular bit. But I do know that it gains a lot by being told chronologically the way you’re doing it, so for me that seems now the logical way to tell it again.

DK: Have you ever read the novel in chronological order? When we hired writers for the writers room, we gave them a list of what the chapters were like in chronological order, and I think we asked half the room to read it in your order and half the room to read it in chronological order so we could have a discussion, a meaningful discussion about whether there were things about telling it without being in chronological order that we wanted to embrace or not. It was a fantastic experience and I wonder if you’ve ever read your chapters in chronological order? ‘Cause it’s also a fantastic book!

[laughter]

DS: I haven’t read it that way, they were that way in my mind before I started getting fancy and breaking them up and moving them around in time and space, but I would love to have seen that experiment.

DK: The reason we can get away with it in the show is because there is a loved book out there that people trust, and you know, it is a classic in this genre, so I mean this is a perfect example of, you know, the amount of gratitude we owe the book, because we got away with a lot of things that maybe we wouldn’t have been able to get away with because you came before us. 

SH: And speaking of those rabid fans, Dan, it’s been really interesting reading audience reactions to the show from people who’ve loved the books and who just naturally will compare the two, and we’ve been heartened by just how supportive our fans have become--are of the show. There is this controversy, some people like our choice to give Lady Silence a voice and some people feel it was sacrilege to your book, where do you fall on that? DS: At first I was surprised. In fact when you were hunting for an actress for Lady Silence and I read about that, it said somebody who’s fluent in this Inuit language and this Inuit language, and I said, “What the hell?”

[show audio]

[Silna speaking Inuktitut to her dying father] 

DS: Having seen her with the tongue and heard her, and knowing the different reason they call her Lady Silence, it all works for me and I was also surprised when Captain Crozier could speak fairly fluent, you know, dialect, ‘cause I had him just not understanding a thing.

[show audio]

[Crozier speaking Inuktitut to Silna in the same scene as above]

DS: I love it when readers get rabid about not changing something from a book, and I have to talk to them sometimes, not ‘cause I have a lot of things adapted, this is the first one, but I love movies. They say “Aren’t you worried it will hurt your book?” and first I explain Richard Comden(?)’s idea that you can’t hurt a book anyway, except by not reading it, I mean the books are fine, no matter how bad some adaptation becomes. Books abide, and so I wasn’t concerned. With the changes that I see, I get sorta tickled, whereas some readers get upset, and they just have that set. So I think that the vast majority of viewers haven’t--well, I know the vast majority haven’t read the book, haven’t heard of the book, probably, they’re gonna keep watching because of the depth of the characters, and that’s based on the first two episodes, and I agree with them completely.

[show audio]

[Silna speaking Inuktitut]

Crozier: She said that if we don’t leave now, we’re going to “huk-kah-hoi.”

Blanky: Disappear. 

SH: We get asked a lot of questions about the supernatural element of the show and the way a monster does or does not figure in the narrative, and seeing our episodes, did it feel surprising or did it feel faithful to the way you imagined it as well to your book? 

DS: It was surprising to me at how well it was done, because it’s hard, I know, to show restraint in a series like this, and certainly in a movie, but it’s hard to show restraint at showing and explaining the monster. 

[show audio]

[ominous music, Tuunbaq roaring, men screaming]

DS: The way you did it in the first few episodes to me were just lovely, just, you know, a hint of a glance at something and then you see the results of this creature, so that’s what I tried to do in the novel, one of the reasons I moved around through space and time, part of what I wanted to do was not cheapen the story and not cheapen the reality of these poor men dying by just throwing in a monster, and so I tried to do it in a way that would not disrespect the true tale, and I believe you’re doing it the same way I tried. 

DK: The way you incorporated the supernatural into the book, I mean, I was a fan of it when I first read it. It was jaw dropping the way that it fits so well on a level of plot, on a level of character, and on a level of theme. So when we got the green light to adapt it I was so confident that we were going to be able to do something with it that would be able to be nuanced because the bones of it are so organically terrific.

SH: It helped us know what we didn’t want to do. That formed so much of our conversation, of “this is what we do not want, this is what we do not want,” and slowly you whittled down to getting down to the essence of what this thing had to be.

[show audio]

[Tuunbaq growling]

DK: Another character from the book that really stands out for fans that they are wondering what in the world we’re doing with is Manson. [laughter] And I was curious what you made of the fact that he is pretty invisible in the first three episodes of the show, and that some of his plot beats have been given to a character called Gibson, who I don’t remember is--I don’t think he’s featured very much in the novel. And I wondered if that caught you off guard or if you sort of intuitively had a sense of what we were doing in making that change? 

DS: Any discussion of Manson to me leads to Hickey converting him to his future, his tribe, the tribe he wants to have, group of worshippers, that I think Hickey wants to have, but he does it by sex below decks. Hickey’s not gay at all, he’s a manipulator, to me, and he was manipulating Manson who was big and dumb, in my book, he’s manipulating him by this sexual encounter. But I was curious whether you were worried about showing that?

DK: Well, we weren’t worried about showing characters having same-sex affairs or relationships. We wanted to make room in Hickey’s character for actual affection, or if not affection then companionship, or some kind of connection.

[show audio]

Hickey: Lieutenant Irving! I was hoping we’d meet. 

Crewman: Mind the grease there, sir. 

Hickey: I wanted to... thank you… for your help. For your discretion, I mean. 

Irving: Call it anything but help, Mr. Hickey. Please. I exercised clemency for a man abused by a devious seducer.

DK: We wanted to make sure that Hickey had access to command in some way that a steward, an officer’s steward, would be able to provide him, that an able seaman wouldn’t be able to provide him, and that was really valuable to us in terms of charting out all of these character stories, was how does he know what he knows about how command is dissatisfied or where the fractures are if he can’t see them from where he’s sleeps in his cot in the forecastle. 

SH: I mean we know that there were relations between the same sex on ships, it just was part of this world. Not to belie that there was serious consequences for it, but you know, we have 129 characters, and we wanted them to feel fully fledged and rich, and, you know, passions do naturally develop and have no characters engaged in sexual relations would have felt just as odd and perhaps even more controversial, and when Irving discovers Gibson and Hickey, his shock is from such a subjective point of view of his moral center. It’s not the camera’s perspective, right? Our camera’s very neutral in that scene. It’s Irving, that character at that point in the show, that is infusing a sense of horror, that’s his horror moment.

DS: I’d like to add that it’s not the gay connection that would cause criticism, but I was flayed alive because the most openly quote “gay” unquote character, that is, Hickey, you know, maybe hunting for affection but definitely hunting for power, he’s the only one they said in reviews, and he’s a killer and a bad person, so I’m homophobic, but I was flayed alive for that. The word homophobic appeared in about 80 reviews. Nobody mentioned the purser, who uh--

DK: Right, Bridgens and Peglar.

DS: Yeah. I thought he was a fascinating character. I loved getting glimpses of him in the series because he’s super smart, he’s super wise, he’s probably wiser than any of the commanders, ahd he’s obviously in love with--who is it that he’s in love with in the show?

DK: Peglar. 

DS: Yes, that makes sense. And, uh, so Peglar says, you know, “Is this another Herodotus?” and, “No, I’m giving you Swift now,” he’s educating the man he cares for. 

[show audio]

Hickey: I understand you cleared up our “association” for Lieutenant Irving? Gibson: You spoke to him.

Hickey: Mhm.

Gibson: Directly?

(beat)

Christ, Cornelius, I’d reassured him.

Hickey: Cornelius Hickey is a “devious seducer.” That was your--that was your reassurance? You’ve got some face, you know that? 

DK: We wouldn’t have dramatized Hickey’s story if we weren’t also going to pull in Peglar and Bridgens’ story, because we knew that people, you know, are predisposed to sort of make that kind of quick assumption, and we just wanted to make sure that the show didn’t have that blind spot and reflected the book, which also doesn’t have that blind spot. 

SH: We had those same questions with Lady Silence, and I’m sure you did as well. When we meet her, she’s a frightened young woman who’s about to lose her father, and that’s a universal character moment that anyone can relate to, and the otherness is sort of--is secondary, but then once--in the end scene of 1.02, when she’s sitting there grieving her father and then you have that language barrier with everyone else, we worked with Nive on this because we wanted to make sure the language itself was as accurate as possible, so when you say disappear making sure that the disappear in our language means the same thing as disappear in her language. I think whenever you have characters that feel othered in most media and you’re bringing them into your show, Dave and I also just wanted to make sure we weren’t swaying on the pendulum on the other side and being almost too careful about touching them, and with Nive I think when you have an actor of that talent, she was strong, she was representing a voice that she felt very confident in, and that was very reassuring for us.

DS: And it works well, and when her father’s dying, she throws herself on his chest and says “I’m not ready, it’s too soon, I’m not ready,” and I love that in the show because if she’s gonna become a Shaman he’s dying you know it’s not reached that point of education yet where she feels secure and later on you know beyond what we’re discussing today she becomes to me in the show I see her as more and more majestic.

SH: I do love the word majestic ‘cause I think it describes pretty much all of our characters. I agree, I do think there is something very sublime about who they have become at the end because when you go through that much trials and tribulations, it’s this beautiful human spirit to endure. 

DS: I think that’s one of the central themes of the story that you’ve brought out so clearly. In most post-apocalypse, you know, terrible situation movies and shows, everybody turns nasty as hell, they start shooting each other, it’s just like WWIII when they should be helping each other survive, and I found even though there was controversy, even though there was opposition in this story, people opposing against each other, still that they rose to the occasion. And that is so rare I think in much media these days or even books where the characters are themselves and they do the best they can, and when things get bad they rise to the occasion.

DK: The first conversation you and I had about the book, you know, I was basically pitching you sort of what I thought thematically the book was about, and I talked a lot about, that in a disaster like this, a kind of moral emergency, that we would get a chance to unpack what is sort of best and worst in these characters’ souls.

DS: I confuse readers often when I was on book tour for this book, and it was a long time ago, I’ve written a few million words since then, but I confused people by saying that if you want a theme for the survival story of The Terror, it’s love. It’s love between the men. And just unstinting love. And this came out in a piece of dialogue, in the first two episodes.

[audio from the show]

Franklin: I’ll not have you speak of him uncharitably, James. He is my second. If something were to happen to me, you would be his second. You should cherish that man. 

Fitzjames: Sometimes I think you love your men more than even God loves them, Sir John. 

Franklin: For all your sakes, let’s hope you’re wrong. 

DS: That to me was right the theme I was working with, and with Crozier who shows it a different way, with Fitzjames who’s struggling to show leadership, and between the men despite their hierarchy and the British hierarchy, the rank and lieutenants and so forth, eventually they come down to loving the men they try to save. And I found that lovely. 

[The Terror opening theme music plays]

DK: Thank you so much for listening to The Minds Behind The Terror, join us in our next edition when we talk about episodes 4-6 with the additional guest Adam Nagaitis phoning in from London. We will see you soon!

[preview snippet from the next episode plays]

DS: I’ll confess something else to Adam, the first time I watched it, I thought your character was a good guy because he jumped down in that grave to put the lid back on.

[laughter]

[ri-ahhh]

hi can you write about spending a valentine’s day with gray pls?

valentine’s day smut w/ gray? + more haha sorry couldn’t put them all in

A/N: I’m sorry this is a day late. It was supposed to be 90% smut but somehow it took on a mind of its own and turned into this monster.

warnings: smut, extremely cheesy, way too long

***

It should be a given understanding that Valentine’s Day is the dumbest, most antiquated, overrated holiday that’s ever existed. That had always been your take on it, even as a little kid — the worry of spelling your classmates’ names correctly on cards imprinted with cheesy Scooby Doo and Spongebob puns; the expectation to dress up nice in the hopes you would get asked to be someone’s Valentine in the hallways of middle school; the potential embarrassment of being the only person in class who didn’t get bought one of those stupid roses from a ‘secret admirer’ in high school.

There’s simply too much pressure surrounding the idea of professing your love or even your mere fondness for anyone and everyone in your life. The fear of rejection if you do, and the judgement if you don’t. It had always made you anxious, whether you had someone to share the day with or not.

But this Valentine’s Day, as a young twenty-something, you were actually (secretly) looking forward to it. Conner was your first adult relationship, with the title of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ and labels and commitment. He’s cute and smart and charming and yours. So, sue you if you were quietly anticipating wearing that SavageXFenty set beneath a brand new dress while you went to dinner after being greeted at the door with roses and a box of chocolates.

And yet here you are, on February 14th, hood of your sweater drawn over your head as you rummage through your freezer with a clear target in your mind. Your eyes are blurry and swollen, but you find the pint of birthday cake Nada Moo with ease, and you slam the freezer door closed a little harder than you really mean to as soon as it’s in your grasp.

You’ve just popped the lid off when your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter where you’ve plopped down to eat your depression snack in a more acceptable place than your bed or the couch.

You see Grayson’s name accompanied by a goofy, up-close picture of him smiling filling the screen, and hesitate. He’s one of your best friends, and clearly done nothing wrong, but you’re not sure you’re capable of handling anyone of the male species right now after...everything.

At the end of the day, though, it’s Grayson. He knows heartbreak almost better than anyone, and you’ve coached him through it on more than one occasion. Maybe he can spew back some of your own advice if it comes to that.

You swipe the bar at the bottom of the screen, and your ceiling suddenly replaces the image of his silly, handsome face. “Sup?”

“Yo. Am I interrupting anything? Sorry, just remembered what day it is.”

You swallow. “Uh no, you’re not.”

“What’s wrong?”

You bite your lip hard, digging your spoon into the softened ice cream. Was it that obvious just from your voice that you had been upset? Or does he just know you that well?

“Nothing.”

“You sound like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie. Let me see your face.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you concede. “No. I’ve been crying.”

He’s quiet, and you can’t bring yourself to look at his own face in the corner of the screen. You shove the chunk of ice cream past your lips, and after a moment he says with a softer tone, “Crying on Valentine’s Day is never a good sign.”

You’re glad that you’ve gotten so much of your tears out already, because you feel the inevitable prickle behind your eyes that would have been full-blown waterworks a few hours ago. You scoop another bite. “Conner cheated on me — has been, cheating on me. I found out last night.”

Grayson sighs your name, and something about the genuine sympathy in his voice makes you even more emotional. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. What a piece of shit.”

You shrug even though he can’t see, and sniffle past the lump in your throat. “It’s whatever. I’m still in shock more than anything. Hurts like hell, though, still. I let him have it when I saw the texts and he hasn’t tried to call me once. No texts. Nothing.”

He’s silent, but it’s that raging silence you know oh so well from him. It doesn’t happen often, but anyone who knows Grayson Dolan knows that when his volume comes down, he means business. A loud and obnoxious Grayson is a happy one, but a brooding and quiet one means serious business.

“Do you want me to go beat his ass? I’ll do it.”

A smile cracks your scowl before you know it, and you shake your head. “No thanks, Gray. As much as I’d love to see that happen, I like your face the way it is. And not on a mugshot.”

He chuckles a little, and you feel your chest lift some just hearing the familiar depth of it. “Well, do you at least want me to come over later? I totally get if you need to be alone, but I know from experience sometimes what helps the most is having good friends around.”

You’re a little surprised. “You don’t have a date?”

“Nope.”

“No one from the roster hitting you up?”

“I don’t have a roster,” he argues playfully, but you both know that’s a lie, if not at least a stretch of the truth. “And even if I did, you’re more important. Always.”

You sigh and take another bite. His words make your neck tingle and your toes wiggle, but you ignore it; your brain is full of confusion as it is. “That makes one man in my life who thinks so, I guess.”

You finally prop your phone up against the fruit basket sitting in the middle of your bar so he can see you. Grayson takes in your image, which admittedly must look kind of pathetic, and you watch his jaw clench and release in a way that you can’t deny is utterly sexy.

“Is an hour okay? Tell Vanessa to come, too.”

“Benito took her to Tulum for the weekend,” you say, referring to your best friend and her boyfriend. “She did threaten to get on a plane and come home early for me, though.”

Grayson grins crookedly, but his jaw is still tight. “Well, tell her you’re in good hands. See you in an hour?”

You give it one last quick consideration; you already feel this much better just talking to him on the phone. Nothing bad could come from him being in your apartment, and you trust him. “Yeah, that’s fine. But just so you know, I’m already at the stage of eating ice cream at 10:30 AM.”

“Did you forget you’re talking to the emotional ice cream eating champion? No judgement here.”

You finally let out a giggle, your spirits officially lifted. “I’ll see you soon.”

**

True to his word, Grayson arrives at your door about an hour later, his arms laden with milkshakes from Monty’s, a gift bag decorated all over with sparkly hearts, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

You’re stunned. The only thing you’d managed to do in the time it took him to get here was take a quick shower in attempts to rid your face of some of the puffiness, throw on some shorts this time with a fresh hoodie, and toss the used tissues scattered around your place into the garbage.

Before you can say anything, he holds out the flowers. “They were out of roses. But I know you like pink.”

You reach out for them slowly, eyes wide, your fingers brushing his when you grasp the plastic wrapping. His cheeks are a similar color to the petals, and it makes both your heart and your lips smile.

“Peonies are my favorite,” you say truthfully. “And yes, especially pink ones. Thank you, Gray.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, sounding relieved.

As he crosses the threshold of your door, he leans down to kiss your cheek, and you can’t help but hum quietly and pull him in for a hug. “That gift better not be for me, either,” you mumble into his chest.

Grayson pulls back, his eyes sparkling, but keeps you close with an arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders. “Oh, this? No, this is for my other best friend I’m trying to cheer up on Valentine’s Day.”

You slap his arm playfully, and lead him into your kitchen, pulling out a vase from the cabinet beneath your sink for the flowers.

The bag has a few gifts in it: a new Comfy (“I remembered you ruined yours when that ketchup bottle exploded all over you the other day”); a huge bag of watermelon sour patch kids (“I know they’re your favorite. Also ice cream gives you brain freeze after the first pint or so, trust me”); and a heart shaped box of your favorite chocolates (“you can eat them or burn them, I wasn’t sure which you’d appreciate more but either is fine with me.”)

You appreciated all of it, more than he would ever understand. All you can do is fling yourself at him weakly, completely overwhelmed. “Fuck you, you’re gonna make me cry all over again.”

Grayson envelops you in those huge, muscular arms, cooing behind that laugh you love so much. “Is that a really backwards way of saying thank you?”

You grunt in affirmation, and with you still wrapped up in his arms, he starts waddling the two of you back the short distance into your living room.

“Here,” he says, coaxing you down into the blanket nest you had created on the couch. “You chill and find a movie. I’ll make popcorn.”

You do, and he does, and the next few hours are spent lounging about in your apartment. Having him here with you is doing wonders from keeping your mind from going down the paths you’d been spiraling towards ever since you saw the messages between Conner and no less than four other girls on Snapchat. You don’t believe in snooping, but finding the first one had been an accident when he received the snap while you had his phone, and your finger happened to press the icon at just the right moment. 

In your eyes, though, the image of one pair of tits that weren’t your own was enough justification to see what else you could find. 

“I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of relieved,” you told Grayson a while later, Shrek playing on the TV quietly. He’s sitting next to you, far enough apart for there to be couch space between the two of you, but close enough to share the oversized blanket thrown over your laps. “Obviously what he did is so fucking shitty and I’m not justifying it in any way, but I can be honest with myself now and realize I wasn’t in that relationship for the right reasons. There wasn’t anything there emotionally at the end of the day.”

“You still have every right to feel hurt by what he did, though. It’s a huge violation of trust,” Grayson assures, reaching out and squeezing your hand gently.  

You squeeze back and grimace at him. “Yeah.” You let out a little mirthless laugh and shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “It’s so embarrassing, too. And finding out the day before Valentine’s, no less. Like, I just wanted to look cute, have a nice dinner, have some nice sex, and just... I don’t know. Have an actual Valentine’s day for once. No pressure or anxiety or anything.”

Grayson stares at you in that way he does — so intense and almost intimidating if there wasn’t a genuine warmth behind it. You’re suddenly aware of his thumb brushing the back of your hand slowly. He squeezes your fingers again. 

“So, let’s do it, then. You and me.”

You arch a brow at him, smiling at the rosiness in his cheeks when he realizes what he might have implied. “The dinner part, I mean. And the dressing up. Even though I think you look plenty cute right now.”

You roll your eyes, but for the countless time that day, your heart flutters happily. Looking back, you can’t remember the last time Conner had complimented your appearance, let alone after hours of crying and lazing around in sweats, sugar crystals stuck to the corner of your lip. 

“That would be great, except there’s no way we’re getting into any restaurant at this point,” you remind him. “Probably no delivery, either.”

“I’ll cook for you,” he counters, throwing the blanket off his legs and standing up with a groan. He stops to stretch, and the way his arms go over his head makes his shirt ride up at the bottom, exposing a chunk of hard muscles and golden skin. 

You swallow, eyes trailing up the rest of his torso appreciatively. “I don’t have much.”

He’s already rummaging through your pantry, though, and pulls out a half-full box of pasta, a jar of marinara sauce, and a leftover chunk of sourdough bread. “You got salad stuff?”

You nod, and he opens the fridge to find some lettuce, peppers, and other salad fixings before setting them with the pasta ingredients on the counter. “Go get dressed, look as cute or not cute as you want. I’ll take care of this.”

He’s absolutely unreal. “Gray-”

Grayson holds up his hand. “Ah, no, I’m doing this. You deserve it. Also, I’m hungry. It’s a win-win.”

Your stomach growls as well, and that’s all the convincing you need. While he gets busy in the kitchen, you tidy up the living area some before heading to your room. You feel a little silly, making your third outfit change of the day, but you also like the giddiness in the pit of your belly at the thought of Grayson doing all of this for you. You might as well take advantage of having someone like him in your life. Show him some Valentine’s appreciation of your own.

You forgo the slinky red number you had planned to wear to the restaurant with Conner, and opt instead for a rather unsuspecting blouse-jeans combo, which happen to both respectively frame your tits and ass perfectly.

The lacy, bright pink set in the back of your closet might have made it beneath your clothes, though. The prettiness of it made you feel that much better, even if no one else was going to see it.

Maybe.

Padding back into your kitchen after running a flat iron through your hair and throwing on some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss, you find Grayson draining the pasta into a colander in the sink. 

Grayson does a double-take when he sees you standing there admiring the flex of his bicep as he holds the pot. “Hey! You look amazing.”

“If you say so,” you joke, bumping his hip with yours as. You pass him to pull plates and bowls out of the cabinet.

“I do,” he insists quietly.

Arm outstretched mid-reach, you look over at him, locking eyes with his hazel ones. He looks a little surprised by the words that left his mouth, like he meant for them to stay inside his head. There must be some kind of challenge in your gaze, daring him to elaborate.

He busies himself with the pasta again hastily, his voice low. “Conner is a fucking idiot. To do that to you. To let you go. You don’t deserve that. Especially not today.”

Plates in hand, you rest them gently on the counter with your lower lip caught between your teeth, and peer over at this handsome man you’re so proud and lucky to call your best friend. He’s everything you thought Conner was — cute and smart and charming — but so much more — beautiful and good and kind.

And he’s been right here in front of you the whole time.

You reach out and touch his elbow softly. The hairs on his forearm are crisp but soft, and you follow them down to that gleaming watch on his wrist.

“You know,” you start quietly, fingers tracing the links of the band before flipping his hand over to trace the lines of his palm, “you keep talking about what I deserve today. But you deserve all that and more. You deserve someone’s love that matches your own.”

He watches your delicate fingers on his large, calloused palm, then trails his eyes up to yours when he feels their attention on his face. A piece of hair flops into his eyes, and you reach up without thinking or any hesitation to push it away again with a little smile playing on your glossy lips.

You look down and lay your palm flat against his, admiring the difference in size between your hands for a moment before interlocking your fingers with his.

“I love you.”

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise; he beat you to the words.

“In case that wasn’t obvious,” Grayson continues, turning towards you. “And I hope that’s not too much for you to handle, with everything you’ve had hap-”

“I love you too, Gray,” you interrupt, stepping that much closer to him so you’re nearly chest-to-chest with him.

“Yeah?” He sounds almost boyish in his astonishment, and it makes you want to hold him tight and never let go.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “A lot. I’m sorry it took me getting dumped to realize it.”

He shakes his head, his hand resting on your cheek gently. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod once before he’s swiftly ducking down to claim your lips with his. They’re soft and pliable, and you feel their effects from the nerves in your scalp all the way down to your bare toes.

“Grayson,” you breathe, lashes fluttering open as he pulls back just enough to look at you concernedly.

You smile, bigger and brighter than you have all day, and cup his stubbled cheeks with your hands, scratching your nails gently against his jaw. “I just wanted to say your name.”

Grayson grins now, too. He kisses you more insistently now that he’s got the taste of you on his tongue, which he flicks against the underside of your top lip as he breaks the kiss. “Say it again.”

“Make me,” you challenege, voice breathy and excited, eyes closed as you savor his sweet breath against your lips. “In my room.” You feel him tense up a bit, and you open your eyes to meet his questioning gaze, biting back a smile at the inevitable hope also shining there. “I’m sure.”

With that, Grayson hauls you up into his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist with a squeal as he buries his face into your neck. He starts making the way to your bedroom, cooked food left long forgotten in the kitchen behind you.

“Are you wearing my signature scent?” he asks, inhaling your skin deeply.

“Mmhm,” you hum, threading your fingers through the back of his thick hair. It’s so long again, and you give the dark strands a sharp tug that makes him grunt. “Part one of my gift to you. Since you got so many for me today.”

“Part one, huh?” he says, crossing the threshold of your room. “What’s part two?”

“What I’m wearing underneath this,” you whisper in his ear, giggling loudly when he lies you down on the bed with more of a toss than he might have intended. “If you want it, that is.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind at the mere suggestion that he wouldn’t, and you take that as enough encouragement to tug at the bow tying your forest green silk wrap blouse together.

The folds part open and expose your chest, clad in that pink lace demi-cup bra with the cage detailing over the tops of your breasts. Grayson moans and dips down to nuzzle your cleavage, breathing in the scent of your warm skin. His hands trail up your sides, from your hips to your rib cage, until they settle in the dips of your waist. His touch ignites you, makes your back arch and your hips grind up against his thigh between your legs, just from the sensation of his hands on these new parts of your body.

“Grayson,” you sigh, and he smirks up at you with his chin on your tits when he realizes that’s all it took for you to say his name again.

You grab his cheeks and kiss that smugness away, shifting your legs so they’re wrapped around his waist once again, pushing down on the small of his back to get your centers to meet.

Both of you gasp into each other’s mouths when his erection rubs against your pussy, even through all the layers of clothing still on your bodies. You reach down blindly, still attacking his mouth with yours, and feel around for his belt.

His pants come off, followed by yours, and he sits you up enough to push your blouse off your shoulders rather gently considering the intensity of everything. Once the garment is tossed over his shoulder, you’re down to nothing but that pretty lingerie and he in his boxer briefs.

There’s a moment of pause and clarity for the two of you, staring into one another’s eyes as the reality hits of what you’re about to do. What it means to both of you. Grayson stares down at you, and places a hand over your rapidly thumping heart.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly, dragging his hand up your chest, over your throat, until he’s cupping you’re cheek and stroking your lip with his thumb.

You smile in return, then part your lips with your eyes locked on his, encouraging him silently to slip that digit in your mouth.

Grayson’s eyes darken, and he offers you his pointer finger instead, swallowing hard when you suck and swirl your soft, wet tongue around it.

Suddenly, he’s rolling the two of you over, switching positions so he’s on his back and you straddle him. You smile happily, taking your turn to duck down and attach your lips to the pulse point his neck, grinding down on his cock with a slow, steady rhythm.

“You’re so amazing, Gray,” you tell him, nipping at the lobe of his ear before kissing the underside of his chin. “Can’t believe you’re all mine now.”

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he growls back, cursing when you trail your kisses down the center of his body, giving each one of those moon’s their own special attention before continuing down.

When you get to the waistband of his underwear, you trail your tongue on the edge of the elastic and watch his abs contract with each shaky breath he takes. One little move of your hands, and you’ll finally get to see what he’s really packing.

But before you can even hook your fingers there to pull down, he’s tugging on your hair. “Fuck, fuck, c’mere. Please.”

You pout, but follow his lead, licking back up his muscular torso until he’s able to drag you to him for a deep, wet kiss.

“Sit on my face,” he demands, shuffling down on the pillow to make more room for you.

That takes you off guard. “But—”

“Do it. Please. I fucking have to taste you.”

Your body must be working ahead of your brain, because before you know it, you’re straddling Grayson’s face, his tongue is sweeping through the wetness in your slit, and his dark eyes are peering up at you from between your thighs.

“Oh... oh!” you cry out when his tongue starts flicking against your clit. He goes back to swiping up all your arousal, then suctions his lips around your clit. He’s using one hand to hold the lace of your thong aside, and the other dips first one finger, then two inside of you. “Oh, fuck, that’s so good...”

Grayson moans, the vibrations erupting around your clit and sending you right to the edge already. You reach back and palm his cock, rock hard in his underwear still, and squeeze as he makes you cum all over his mouth.

He gets his fill of your cum as he groans and keeps up the motion of his fingers, the pressure of his lips, the softness of his tongue as your pussy pulses with each contraction of your orgasm. You wait for him to start letting up, but something about the way he’s working you just makes those waves stay steady rather than die down again. Maybe that’s his intention, because when you drop your head down to look at him with your mouth wet and agape, there’s a sparkling mischief in his eyes has he eats you out like his last meal.

Your hips grind against his face of their own accord, and you delve one hand in his hair while the other supports you on the headboard. You gasp out a quivering, breathless laugh as it all becomes just too much, and you try to lift off his mouth.

Grayson isn’t having it, though. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down, reveling in the moans and whimpers and squeals as he makes you cum again.

“Oh my god — enough, enough, I can’t...” you whine, shoving on his forehead until he releases you and drops his head to the pillow. You could already see it by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, but he’s smirking wide, chest heaving as you slink your way down his body.

You collapse next to him in a daze, and he rolls on top of you smoothly, peppering little kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your nose. When you’re back in your right mind, you nudge blindly at his face so his lips find yours. He tastes like your pussy, and you sigh happily as you lift your heavy arms to wrap around his neck while his scoop beneath you, holding you close.

You continue to indulge in each other for a while, in the kisses you hadn’t been allowed to share until now. There’s something exciting about his familiarity and yet also this strange newness that has you absolutely desperate for him in every way.

“This is crazy,” you say when you pull back for air, studying his face hovering right above yours. You push back that stubborn chunk of hair that keeps falling into his eyes with a soft smile. “How did we end up here?”

Grayson turns his head to press his lips to your palm. “I don’t know. Is it too much? Should we stop?”

You shake your head vehemently, and he grins. “No, please. I think I just have to grasp that you’re really... mine now.”

He chuckles. “How do you think I felt watching you with that loser for five months?”

The mention of Conner makes you feel nothing — nothing other than gratitude for Grayson, that is. You slide your hands down his back, over his ribs, across his abs until your hand cups his dick.

His hips thrust into your touch, and you grin up at him demurely as you finally delve your hand past his waistband until you’ve got his length completely in your grasp.

He’s hot and hard and thick, and you start stroking him just to gauge the reaction in his face. He doesn’t disappoint, his jaw gaping open slightly, his breaths picking up, a flush rising to the apples of his cheeks.

Without warning, he reaches down and grasps your wrist. You pout, but he asks hastily. “Are we gonna have sex?”

You smirk. “Hell yeah.”

Grayson grins and shakes his head. “Alright, then you gotta stop.”

“Already?” you tease, letting him sit back and hook his fingers in the tiny string of your thong at your hips.

He gives you a look as he pulls the scrap of lace down your legs, then stands to push down his own underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you wish he’d let you blow him some before you hit the main event, but he says, “I’ve wanted you for too long to take any chances about screwing up the first time.”

You melt a little, reaching for him as he climbs back on the bed. “There should be some condoms in the drawer there. Just to be safe after... you know.”

He nods and dips down to kiss you before leaning over to riffle through the top drawer of your nightstand. He comes back with a purple square, which you take from him.

“Gotta practice an activity safely,” you wink, tearing open the condom and rolling it down his shaft quickly.

“Shut up.” Grayson rolls his eyes, but smiles softly as he settles between your legs just right. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper, gasping as he starts to sink inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as your walls suck him in and grip him tight.

He goes slow for a couple of minutes, allowing both of you time to adjust to each other. He stretches you out so much better than anyone you’ve ever been with, and you can’t help but clench around him when you see those tattoos and smell his cologne and hear his voice — all things that remind you that this is Grayson fucking you.

He growls the first time you do it, then sits up hastily, pulling his face out of your neck when you do it again. He tucks his knees beneath him, sits on his heels, and hauls your hips into his lap as the speed of his thrusts picks up incrementally. Until he’s fucking you for real, and your tits bounce in your bra with every upstroke.

You shove an arm beneath your pillow, enunciating the curves of your body, and watch his expressions as he fights to hold back. His hair is disheveled, lip caught tight between his teeth and muffling his deep, satisfied sounds that mingle with your open higher-pitched ones. He catches your eye and his hands on your hips grip you so tight for a moment that you’re sure little bruises will be there in the morning — not that you mind.

“Fuck,” he whispers harshly before slowing his hips and shifting down to give you a deep, sloppy kiss. “Turn over.”

You moan into his mouth, then follow his order, rolling onto your front as soon as he pulls out. You expect him to haul your hips up into the air, but he moves your hair off your neck and trails sweet kisses from shoulder to shoulder, his hand sweeping down the subtle curve of your back until he’s gripping your ass.

Grayson’s hand moves down your thigh and pushes it up and out once he’s cupping the back of your knee. The angle encourages you to twist your upper half until you have sight of him once again in all his angled, sweaty, muscular glory.

“Fuck me, baby,” you beg him, already anticipating the fullness inside you again. Needing it.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks needlessly, pushing into your pussy once again. You moan loudly, either in confirmation or from pure pleasure, it doesn’t matter. The angle is tighter, the tip of his dick hitting a spot so perfectly accurate inside of you that you can’t concentrate on anything other than how good he’s making you feel. “Yeah. So fucking sexy. So beautiful...”

“Gray.. oh fuck yes, right there,” you whimper, catching onto his arm as he leans over you and gives you those hard, steady strokes.

“Open your eyes, baby, lemme see them when you cum,” he growls out.

You open them as much as you can, your vision blurry, but you can still make out those handsome features soaking in the pleasure on your face. Watching and waiting for you to get yours so he can get his.

As soon as you’re clenching like a vice around him, Grayson is letting go into the condom. You can vaguely feel the throb of him as he cums in spurts, the sound of his masculine, drawn-out groans making you shiver and tense up even more on his dick. If it’s possible for anyone to sound as sexy as they look, Grayson achieves that in spades.

He collapses on the bed next to you, and you have just enough strength to roll over until he’s got you gathered in his arms. You nuzzle into his chest and try to process everything. You had been hoping for nice sex today, and instead you got the best sex of your life.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence while you both catch your breath, after he pulls and ties off the condom, you smile into his cooling skin with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you for making this the best Valentine’s Day of my life. Especially after it was starting to look like the worst.”

“You made this the best day of my life, period,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Gray.”