#but in a good way. like the kind of annoyed where you're still eager to see what happens to them

[wordwizards]

d'urfe at the gorcha household when they feed him chicken soup

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [ii]

"Blood sticks, sweat drips, break the lock if it don't fit, a kick in the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you signed up to help tara with her stupid plan. not whatever the hell one would call this.

warnings: implied sex, use of alcohol, puking, arguing loudly and wrongly, curse words(?)

word count: 5.2k

A/N: sorry to make you wait so long, but here's the second part. there will probably be a third, so fear not, the story doesn't end here. i originally thought i would be able to just end it off right here, but it’s going kind of really well and i think a third or maybe even a fourth part is more reasonable

===+++===

===+++===

For almost the entire walk to the frat house, Tara didn't actually say much. It surprised you too, the way she just glanced around the city that passed as you walked and fiddled with her nails. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but you were so used to Tara having something to say that it made you speak instead.

"Wow, for once, you're speechless," you commented as you passed under a streetlight. Tara shot you a glare, shoving her hands into her jean pockets.

"Would it kill you to shut the hell up?"

“There we go, back to normal. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” she scoffed. “Mind your own business.”

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't say. Don't say."

===+++===

The party fucking sucked. It was quintessential college, with frat boys who attempted to yell over the loud music that rattled your eardrums. Coolers upon coolers of shitty, cheap beer sat against the far wall, and a crowd had gathered around them to pick off all the free alcohol they could. Maybe a year ago this would’ve been fun. Now you found yourself disenchanted with the ordeal.

Tara was off god knows where, doing god knows what, which you figured was the point of the arrangement anyway. You weren’t too concerned with tracking her down, especially if situation also presented itself as a pleasant bonus— not having to put up with her.

Chad had wandered out of the room when he saw you and Tara arrive together hand in hand, going deeper into the party without a word. He was usually the one you hung around with at these kinds of things, but he had been a sad little dog with his tail between his legs since you and Tara announced you were meant to be a few days before the party. It seemed some of your friends were still adjusting.

The immediate reaction after Tara said “soooo, we’re together,” was to laugh, like you two were doing a bit. It got less funny when they saw you both blankly staring back at them and then Tara grabbed your hand and held it up with a forced smile.

The whole group was going through a somewhat awkward seven stages of grief thing. Chad was avoiding you completely, Quinn was a bit annoyed you were off the market now after an egregious few months of hitting on you, and Ethan was the only one to be a bit normal, even though it was clear he too had a crush on Tara and was disappointed with the matter.

When Mindy had gotten over her disbelief, she dove right into an endless game of questions, only occasionally staved off by Anika. "So who confessed first?" had been one of the first ones, accompanied by a glint in her eye. Tara jumped in before you could even open your mouth, eager to answer.

"(Y/n) showed up on my porch, all sweaty and disgusting looking, just smelling so unbelievably bad it was overpowering-”

“I had been working out,” you rolled your eyes. “That’s why I was sweaty."

“Mhm, whatever. Anyways, apparently they were just being such an asshole because they were in love with me," Tara said, with a wide, shit-eating grin. "Right?"

You had to hide your glare behind your solo cup. "Mhm. I was just overflowing with it. I have so many things to say about you."

“All nice things,” Tara corrected.

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Was it?”

“Uh huh.”

Mindy’s questions followed you everywhere she did. Who kissed who first? Who’s more cuddly? Have you guys slept together yet? They volleyed back and forth and you and Tara fought for the first word each time to pin it to the other with gleeful sadism. Of course, it was then flipped around once the next question came and you would huff in annoyance at the other for being an asshole.

It wasn’t as bad of an arrangement as you had dreaded. You only had to be couple-y when other people were watching you two interact, or when Sam would glare in suspicion. Hold hands a few times, smile, share a glance. Other than that, things stayed mostly the same. The group probably appreciated you both not acting head over heels for the other and you liked it because it meant you didn't have to pretend to like her.

Tara had a brazen way about her that made you roll your eyes. She never took no for an answer, had a teasing remark for anything, and always felt the need to be doing something. Other people seemed to find themselves charmed by it. Others, but not you. Never you.

The walk there had been about all she could take of your personality, and the moment after you two were seen together, she ditched you at the door and wandered off to the dance floor. After that you had lost track of her, and ended up splitting your time between the kitchen, the bathroom, and the front room, away from the crowd. Mindy found you there, tugging Anika along with her.

"Cut the bullshit," She said with an eye roll, sitting right down on the couch in front of you. Anika plopped down next to her. "There's no way in hell you got together with Tara."

You grinned, sipping your beer and partially using it to block your expression. "No, we're together. I really like her."

Mindy scoffed. "You're a terrible liar." Your cheeks warmed and you tilted your head to the side.

"We have to separate you two like warring chihuahuas every time we hang out together," Anika said. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes in a study of your face. "You're not confessing your undying love."

"I did."

"You didn't!" Mindy said, and she threw up her arms.

"I did."

"You didn't," Anika snorted.

"I...," you looked at them both, "...are you guys going to snitch?"

"Snitch to who?" asked Mindy. Now they were both leaned in, like eager children around a campfire. You swallowed.

"Sam." Mindy blinked. Then she sat back.

"What the hell did Tara get you involved in?" she asked. As much as Sam was part of your group, it was known not to fuck with her, and that's exactly what Tara was making you do.

You frowned. If anyone was going to ruin the plan, it probably wouldn't be Mindy or Anika. "You can't tell Chad, but we're not actually together."

Anika raised her eyebrows and shot Mindy a glance. "That didn't take a lot of brain power to figure out." You shrugged.

"Well, we fooled Sam. Tara needs a fake partner so she can go to parties and see people and stuff. And, well, you know how Sam is about that stuff."

Mindy crossed her arms. "And you said sure?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I didn't really see why not. Plus, she was being super annoying about it. Showed up at my house. She was begging, almost."

"So, you what, took pity?" Anika asked, giving you a look. You rolled your eyes.

"Trust me, it's not because it's fun. She's way too annoying and she'd probably say the same thing about me."

Mindy frowned, looking out the doorway and into the booming party. "Chad wouldn't like it."

You sent her a worried look. "Please please please, don't tell Chad. I know he's upset by the whole thing, but Sam would literally kill me if she knew I was helping Tara run around town."

"I don't know...," she said. "I know Tara wants freedom, but this is kind of bullshit, (Y/n)."

"It won't be for long. She just wants to meet someone. When she does, it's over. Life goes back to normal."

"Do you guys have a target in mind, or something?" Anika asked, a bit amused.

"Not even a little a bit. It’s like, her second party ever,” you shrugged. “I don’t know if she’s really dead set on a person yet.”

“Well… she better figure it out soon.”

“Mhm.” You looked out the same glass door and into the booming party outside. Through the jumping crowd, you could see in the distance Tara, who was dancing with her eyes shut and a smile spread wide across her cheeks. She looked happy like that.

You took a swig of your beer.

===+++===

The boom of a fist on your door shook the thin walls of your apartment, and you jolted awake to hear three more hit the wood.

“OPEN UP (Y/N), NOW!”

Immediately, a headache washed over you and you groaned. You tried to smush your head into the pillow to make it go away but there were the banging fists again, and you sat up, letting your legs dangle off the edge.

“OPEN THE FUCK UP,” came the voice again, and you blinked. Oh shit. You knew that voice. You clambered to your feet and stumbled out your bedroom and down the hall in a dusty pair of shorts and shirt. “I’M NOT KIDDING! OPEN THE—”

You pulled the door open like a deer in headlights, seeing Sam seethe on the other side with her fist raised. Nostrils flared, forehead creased, eyes narrowed. She looked about ready to rip your head off.

“You,” she said, spitting the word. You flinched. “Where the fuck is Tara?!”

Shit shit shit shit shit. Had she not gone home the night before?? Things felt a little bit fuzzy still. You remembered grabbing another beer from Ethan and flopping down in an armchair, then another and another, and then maybe wandering home while the sun started to rise. Had you seriously lost track of the attempted murder victim on her first night out???

You blinked, already aware that your cheeks were a dusty pink. "I, uh... she, um..."

Her hands went to her hips, glaring at you expectantly. "Well?! Where the hell is my sister?!" When you were still staring like an idiot, she threw up her arms. "I fucking knew I shouldn't have trusted you with her! This is what I get"

You stared, feeling a lie (though probably a clunky one) come to your brain. "I think her phone must've died, but she just left."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but you weren't sure if it was in disbelief or even more rage. "What do you mean?"

"We, um," your eyes went to the floor, feeling her glare laser itself into you as you spoke. "We got super drunk last night at the party, and I brought her back here and we both fell asleep," you looked back up to see her giving your pyjamas a once over, nose wrinkled. You flushed. "No! No— we didn't do that. We just fell asleep."

Sam looked at you for a moment, then crossed her arms. "I waited all night for her, you know," she said.

You nodded. "I know. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again."

"It won't." Sam repeated. "When I don't hear from her for a whole night, you know what I assume happened, right? You know how that feels?"

You swallowed. "I do."

She sighed. "I'm really trying here. I know she doesn't want me worrying about her, and I know she wants freedom. So I'm trying, (Y/n). Don't make me regret it."

"I won't, Sam." It felt like a giant wedge in your throat, and you tried to smile at her but she continued to frown, and she turned around and walked off. The moment she was gone, you spun around and slammed the door. You dashed through your apartment, grabbing your phone off your nightstand and quickly pulling up her contact.

Little Shit (do not pick up). You pressed the button and put it up to your ear, wandering over to the nearby curtain and lifting it to look out onto the city. "Come on, come on," you pleaded aloud. "Fucking pick up, asshole."

After the third ring and a good prayer to god even though you weren't especially religious, it stopped ringing and you could hear her grumbling.

"Tara??" you rushed. "Tara, where are you?"

"Mmm," she groaned, "the hell do you want so early?"

You scoffed. "Tara it's almost noon." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Uh huh," you grunted. "Your sister just almost ripped my door off it's fucking hinges because she doesn't know where you are. And you know what, neither do I!" There was some shuffling from her end, and then what sounded like running footsteps.

"I went home with this girl last night, I just woke up," she rushed. "Sam is going to kill me!"

"She almost killed me!" You almost yelled into the phone. Now that the worry had subsided you were left with anger. "She almost killed me because you wandered off and didn't go home."

"It's not like I meant to fall asleep," she argued back, and you could hear some talking in the background in faint voices. "I must've slept through my alarm— wait, what did you tell Sam?"

"That your phone died, and you were on your way home."

"WHAT?! (Y/n), this girl's apartment is at least fifteen to twenty minutes away," Tara said into the phone.

"Well it's not like I knew that, now is it?" you shot back, scratching your arm, "considering I didn't know if you were even alive until you picked up."

"God, not you too. I'm fine, drama queen."

"Drama queen?"

"Yeah, drama queen," Tara repeated, and more noises flooded in. It sounded as if she was in the city now, walking, "you sound just like Sam. I picked you because I thought you knew I didn't need a babysitter."

"That's not being babysat, Tara. That's making sure you're not dead," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I'm not."

"Good."

"Great."

"Fine!" you shot back.

"Awesome."

You sighed into the speaker. "Pick up some flowers or something on your way back. Claim that's why you're late."

"Good idea, actually," Tara hummed.

"I know." And you hung up.

===+++===

You found yourself at an identical party the very next Friday night too, and the Friday after that, and after that too. The walls were just as stained. It smelled just as full of mold. This one didn't have a front room for you to barricade in, so you sat at the bar top instead, in the kitchen with your chin rested on the cool granite.

It had taken a whole night to get rid of the hangover from a few weeks before, and in doing so you had remembered why it was exactly that you didn't find these things too fun, anyways. You hadn't gotten anywhere near as drunk since. Mindy and Anika had decided on date night instead, and Chad and Ethan were off to watch a movie that originally you would've been invited to, had it not been for Tara.

It was painful, that Chad was ducking you. The irony wasn't lost, that the more time you spent with your fake girlfriend at parties and outings like a couple, the closer you got to actually repairing your relationship with him. You still would've rather gone to the movie, though.

You could actually see Tara, from where you sat. Through the bar window in the kitchen, she was on the dance floor, moving along with the rhythm of hard EDM as best she could. It was a giant mob of people, all clumped up and hopping around in excitement, and you didn't especially want to be out there.

As you watched, a guy came up behind Tara, tapping her on the shoulder and smiling down at her. You thought nothing of it, until you got a longer look at the guy's face. In the revolving, multicoloured lights that hung over the crowd, you recognised him in an instant, standing straight up and weaving your way through the party.

"You having fun, Carpenter?" He asked, with a douche-y smirk on his face as he said it. You rolled your eyes, coming up behind Tara and standing right behind her.

"I—" but you interrupted her.

"She is, Frankie," you shot, staring at him and crossing your arms. Tara whipped around to you with a glare.

"(Y/n), go away," she whispered loudly. But you stood your ground.

"Tara, literally anyone but him. I mean, anyone—"

"That's not your decision."

"Sam tased him in the balls last time. I mean, come on, you have to know he's a douche."

Frankie scoffed. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"(Y/n) is just a—"

"—We're dating," you interrupted again. "So fuck off."

"No, we aren't," Tara shook her head. "Not really."

"Yes, we are," you nodded at Frankie. "Please leave. She's not sleeping with you tonight." He frowned, but started to walk off.

"That's not your decision, asshole!" Tara scowled and she reached out an arm to stop him. "Frankie, stay. You know what, I wasn't going to, but I will now."

"Frankie, leave. I mean it, you creep." You turned to her and glared. "Tara, listen to me, you—"

"No! Frankie, stay. Maybe I need the company," she shot back, narrowing her eyes. Frankie looked between you both, as did a few other people in the room who were starting to notice.

"They literally call him Date-Rape-Frankie, Tara. There's no way in hell you're sleeping with Date-Rape-Frankie. Frankie, leave."

"Frankie, no, stay. Well, what if I want to?"

"Then you're being stupid."

"Bold choice of words coming from you! You're not my mother."

"I'm not trying to be your mom, Tara. I'm using basic common sense. That guy is a creep and a perv," you pointed to him.

"Hey!" Frankie interjected, raising a hand to your shoulder.

"Fuck off!" you and Tara said in unison, dismissing him to glare right at each other.

"Well maybe I deserve the freedom to sleep with weirdos and whoever I want! I mean, who are you, the fucking sex-Nazi?"

"I don't have a problem with literally anyone else, Tara, but he's a weirdo!"

"Well then let me make that call! I'm not five. You don't need to baby me, I know he's a weirdo!" People were definitely staring now. You were both shouting, but a lot of it was drowned out by the EDM. It didn't stop others watching you point in each others faces and scowl.

"It's not babying you, Tara! It's basic caring! You have no clue about this shit, this is like your fourth party ever!"

"I've managed this far, haven't I?!"

"What, you want a cookie?!"

"Yeah, maybe I fucking do! I'm an adult, asshole! Let me do adult shit!"

"Wow, it's so adult and mature of you, to sleep with creeps and get hungover every Friday. How adult."

"Well, maybe it's not, but who gives a shit! I'm having fun for once! I'm being free without a fucking serial killer on my ass! I know you can't relate, but Christ, take the stick out from your ass!"

"Real nice," you shook your head. "This is what I get for helping you. Of fucking course." Before she could reply, you turned around and headed out the sliding glass door, into the fenced-in backyard. There was a pool back there, and you collapsed into a wrought iron pool chair, right near the edge.

People watched you warily, as you sat out there, but within minutes, the party was resumed. Even from outside, you could hear the thumping bass shake the windows gently as the glass moved in the panes.

There was a faint scent of petrichor from the small patch of grass out there, and the sky rumbled in the distance. It was peaceful out there, with small hanging fairy lights and the pool in front of you. You propped your legs up on the glass table and tried not to scream.

This was exactly what you should've expected, from Tara. Of course she would be selfish. Of course she would be brash. A part of you wasn't surprised. Disappointed, sure. But not surprised. You just sat there and tried to cool your breathing, watching the city lights in front of you.

You must've sat like that for an hour or two, just watching the city. It didn't feel like long enough. You might've even felt at peace, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Um...excuse me?" You craned your neck around, looking up in your chair to see a concerned guy looking down at you.

"Are you (Y/n)?" He asked, awkwardly scratching his neck. You nodded, confused.

"Uh, yeah? Do we know each other?"

"No! No, I was asked by Tara, I think was her name? She wanted me to get you. She's your girlfriend, right?"

The worry came back, and you stood up. "Why, what happened? Where is she?" Sam was really going to kill you.

"She's in the guest bathroom, I think she's sick."

===+++===

"Tara?"

"(Y/n)?" you heard a very uneasy voice on the other end.

"Can I come in?" you asked, and when there was no response, you let yourself inside. She was on the other end of the massive bathroom, leaned up against the bathtub with her head close to the toilet bowl.

Tara looked absolutely green, with her hair sweatily stuck to her forehead and eyes barely open. "Christ Tara, how much did you have to drink?" you asked in worry, coming to stand over her.

"Oh, just—" she gagged like she was about to puke and you bent down to grab her and tug her towards the toilet bowl. You spun back to the guy in the doorway, who stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Can you get me some crackers and Gatorade?" you asked him, sending a hopeful glance. He nodded and closed the door, and you turned back to Tara, who was bent over the toilet bowl.

You moved her gently and lifted the toilet seat up. "Are you okay?" you asked with a frown. You felt like an idiot the moment it left your mouth.

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I look okay?" Tara mumbled.

"Well, no."

"Thass' good," she slurred. "I had too many," she hiccupped. You nodded.

"I'd say so. How much did you have Tara?"

She giggled. "This many." She held up four fingers with a giant, toothy grin and slumped with her arms encircling the toilet bowl.

"Since when?" you blinked.

"Since you got allllllllll pissy!" You sighed, hands going to her hair and pulling it back. She wrinkled her nose at you. "Why are you touching my hairrrrr?!"

"So you don't vomit all on it, idiot," you replied, shaking your head. Tara huffed.

"I'mnuh gonnuh puke."

And then Tara puked. Everywhere.

===+++===

You both sat there, that way, for about ten minutes. Tara vomited three times, during that span, and when she was done, you handed her the crackers and Gatorade and told her to do her worst.

She downed them in another fifteen minutes, sitting in the bathtub and eating while you sat leaned up against the bathroom wall, across from her, just in silence. The sounds of the party seemed to have died a little bit as the night droned on, and by now people would be wandering home or to someone else’s place.

While you waited, you shot Sam a text, letting her know you’d bring Tara home and that she was okay. Sam didn’t reply but she saw the message, and you figured that was good enough. When you checked the weather app, Tara finally spoke, coming to her senses a bit with more food in her system.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, staring down at the package for the crackers in her hand. “Thanks.”

You shrugged, staring at the toilet in front of you. It probably reeked in there, but at this point you were nose blind. “For what?” You meant for that to be it, just a small little acknowledgment, but Tara shook her head.

“Thank you for that. For being here.”

She stared right at you when she said it, and you knew she meant it with conviction. You nodded. “I know we don’t always get along, but I had your back, back there.”

“You have my back?” she asked, smiling a little and grabbing her Gatorade from the edge of the tub.

“I agreed to help you, didn’t I?”

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “You did, yeah.” Tara looked over at you, then tilted her head to the side. “I still don’t get why, though.”

“You were honest, for once.” It came from a surprising place, and you said it before you entirely knew you were speaking. You didn’t completely know what it meant either, until after you said it, but the words passed between you almost like a new understanding.

A few moments of silence came and went, before she spoke again. “I walk silently places at night in case I hear I’m being followed. By Ghostface. Same thing as when I’m home alone. I don’t do it as much anymore, but I still do it sometimes. Don’t tell Sam, please please please. She’ll make me go to therapy.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding gently. You leaned your head back up against the wall, craning it up to look at the ceiling.

“Why are you being nice to me?” She asked. You laughed, tracing the popcorn pattern of the roof with your eyes.

“I’m not the devil, Tara.”

“…Neither am I.”

“I know,” you said, and you reached your arm out for a cracker. She gave you one and you crunched down on it, while an especially large bass hit came from the speakers outside. “God, this music fucking sucks,” you groaned.

Tara nodded. “It’s really hard to dance to.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “it didn’t seem like you were struggling earlier.”

Tara frowned, then tilted her head in curiosity. “What’s your favourite song?”

You raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said.

“Okay… you’re going to laugh, though.”

“Am I?” she grinned. You nodded.

“Do you know that one song, The Promise, by When In Rome? It’s from the 80s, it’s super cheesy?”

She stared off for a moment, in thought, then shook her head. “Don’t think so, how’s it go?”

You rolled your eyes, but began to quietly sing it in a tone that wavered in between spoken word and humming. It was terrible and you were tone deaf, but it was the song. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a straaanger. You know in the end,” your voice broke a little at the low note, and Tara giggled but you continued, “I’ll always be thereee.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. And then it skips a little bit and the chorus goes, ‘I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say, I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to beee.’”

She cut you off with her hand, laughing hysterically. You felt your cheeks flushed, and in any other time you would’ve been annoyed with her laughing at you. But this didn’t feel mean. You just smiled right back.

“That was good, actually,” she managed, between small laughs. “Why is it your favourite?”

“Um,” you shrugged, “my brother used to sing it to me, years ago when I was scared.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Tara said, leaning her head on the tile wall of the tub.

“I have six.”

She blinked, then sat up straight. “Since when?!”

“Always, Carpenter,” you shrugged. “Everyone knows.”

“Everyone who?”

“Chad, Mindy, Anika. Even Quinn.”

“I didn't know. How come you never talk about them?”

”I just don’t,” you frowned. Tonight was definitely not the night to get into that. Instead, you pivoted topics. “Why, what’s your favourite song? I showed you mine, now you’ve got to show me yours.”

“I’m ninety nine percent sure that’s not how that saying is used,” she laughed, “but fine. When I was crying as a baby, my mom sung me this song, called Baby, I Love You by The Ronettes.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

Tara shook her head. “Probably not, but they’re the same group that does that one song Be My Baby?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Apparently my mom had Baby, I Love You playing in the hospital, when I was born and everything. It’s kind of comforting. When I miss her, I play it.”

“How often is that?”

She shrugged. “More than you’d think, considering she’s a giant asshole.”

"That's always how it is."

"Mhm... and just so you know, I know Frankie was a creep. I wasn't actually going to do anything with him. Just flirt. Have fun."

"I know. I wasn't trying to babysit you, I just wanted to warn you. That creep has so many stories."

"I know. I just don't like being told what to do, sometimes. It's a whole thing. I'm working on it, seriously."

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything at all. You both sat in what you assumed was a prolonged silence, until you looked down finally to see Tara’s eyelids falling heavy.

You stood up with a sigh. “You should go home.” There was no reply, and you checked out the small window in the bathroom to still see it was pitch black out. It was definitely too late to send her home this sleepy, and after the incident a few weeks ago, there was no way Sam would let her stay at yours. “Tara,” you nudged her.

She groaned, rolling over in the tub and snuggling up. You rolled your eyes, then looked out the window one more time with an annoyed grumble.

===+++===

The longer you had to walk with her on your back, the more you regretted this. Her arms were wrapped around your neck, face pressed onto the back of your shoulder and knees held up by your hands. You couldn’t see her, but you knew her eyes were shut and she was super close to being actually asleep.

"We make a good team, you know," she mumbled into your shoulder. You knew she was being funny, but you were too tired to laugh as you trudged up the hill. Carrying a drunk girl home was not at all what you had anticipated of the night, and though it had been shitty at the beginning and shitty until almost the very end, you could definitely say it wasn't shitty right then.

When you arrived at her apartment complex, Tara was soundly asleep and Sam came out to meet you both, taking her sister from you and stumbling with her towards the door. In the distance, right over another hill, the sky was already beginning to lighten up a bit.

Right as both Carpenters reached the door, Tara stopped for a moment to turn back to you with a smile. "Thanks, babe," she said with a cheeky grin that was only half awake. You smiled back.

"You too, babe."

Sam rolled her eyes, pulling Tara through the door. It was a pleasant night, still with the same faint scent of rain oncoming. In your weird, newfound peace as you walked home yourself, you didn't see that Quinn was watching you from the upstairs window.

===+++===

so that was fun lmao. anyways there will be a part 3 but you and tara are kind of maybe friends now? now it's time for feelings 😈

[miamooooo]

Lowk thinking about Josh being head over heels and following around alt!reader the second he meets her 😵‍💫

him being soooo into her the second they meet he just follows her around like a little dog

sub!josh with a dom!alt!reader fills my braaiinnnn

i can absolutelyyyyy see that. i can honestly see josh being a service sub too. like he isn't very direct or open about it, but you can just tell. he wants your approval soooo bad it starts to get so obvious.

(warnings): nsfw, handjob

the moment josh spots you, he's immediately interested in you. he's instantly into your vibe and look, he just thinks you're really hot. he literally makes it his goal to have at least one conversation with you. he would definitely have some terrible opener that he thought would be cool until he actually says it. "hey, so.. what's your deal?" it's terrible and awkward and he knows it, but he's desperate to get a conversation to happen. it would be something so out of the blue that it catches you off guard lol. after the conversation happens, omg he's hooked. he's literally obsessed with you. he finds every little excuse to be around you; following you around like a puppy, catching up to walk beside you and slinging an arm around your shoulder to start up a conversation about literally anything. he'll do whatever to be in your presence. josh tries to be casual about the whole thing, but it was impossible. it was simple gestures at first; he would start inviting you out to places, introducing you to his friends, and maybe sometimes even deciding to buy you your favorite cup of coffee in the mornings. yes, he's just that obsessed with you that he had to know what your favorite kind of coffee was. he doesn't think it's creepy.. or at least he tried to convince himself that it wasn't. at first, you're a little annoyed by his naturally witty, joking, and slightly overbearing nature, and the fact that he always conveniently had to be around you, attached to you like a leech. but as time goes by, it starts to click for you, and you start to find his little obsession endearing. he's so cute and you wanna get your hands on him. and it surprisingly didn't take long for that to happen! of course, josh had very dirty thoughts about you two every now again, but he never even thought he'd be in a predicament where he was the one getting pinned against some random bathroom wall, watching the person that he was completely obsessed with give him a handjob. but he absolutely wasn't complaining. especially when your hand felt so perfect wrapped around his cock. he would look so pretty as you gently fisted him, thumb swiping over the slit of his tip that made you quickly find out where he was the most sensitive. you do it again, teasingly, and it has him jerking his hips forward, a loud groan rumbling in his throat. oh you were gonna make him feel so good. he deserved it. he’s so vocal and obvious about how you're making him feel too. he would be leaking precum, his bottom lip caught in between his teeth, head thrown back against the wall as he grips tightly at your waist. "f-fuck yeah.. keep doing that," his voice is low and shaky, a huge contrast to how he presents himself to everyone else. it was almost like he was afraid of telling you what to do. but you listen to him anyway, because how could you not? you start to twist your wrist rhythmically, hand moving up, then back down. your thumb would occasionally rub over his tip, and you couldn't help yourself from softly laughing at the way he'd start desperately fucking himself into your hand. "gonna cum?" you teasingly asked, and it only makes josh huff out in frustration and thrust his hips harder. of course he was gonna cum! when he cums, he makes the biggest mess everywhere. he's spilling all over your hand and his own pants, and it's so much of it, like he's been saving up for this very moment. even after his orgasm, he's still so eager to please you! he would probably beg to be inside of you next.

[c4qwp]

felix catton x fem!reader

| you understand.

📎 tags : angst, female reader, felix being older than you by a year, fanon of felix be i'm such a bad writer guys, bad orthography, felix being a bit annoying but also a cutie patootie, (y/n) not mentioned, angst asfff

📎 author's note : don't hesitate to comment to help me to progress! english isn't my first language, idk if felix is fanon but i tried my best to write him like i how i see him

you would have seen it coming.

"i think we should break up."

so faint and uncertain, barely more than a whisper.

he looked uncomfortably hunched over, his forearms resting on the table, his breakfast untouched, like he was trying to make himself smaller than you, which was ironic considering you envied his nerves of steel, and of course he was smaller than you shorter It was a very embarrassing moment for a handsome man, but not this kind of moment. Never this weakness.

although the winter sun shines through the windows, the kitchen is still dark and the unpleasant feeling of unusual transparency is almost suffocating. felix isn't the type to get flustered in public, which makes you even more nervous, just when you think you've had all the training you need to imagine scenarios and possible breakup possibilities in every direction.

he didn't dare look at you, shaking his head nervously, choking silently. "say something."

howfunny that he's the best thing you know and can lift you up with one arm effortlessly — his biceps are literally the size of your head, but he says if anyone touches him, he'll cry right now.

It's also a hard pill to swallow, and it's not true that you did this to him, weakening him. you didn't know you had that much power over him yet; and he said he wanted to break, but if he actually said he did, he'd throw up. you shifted in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digging into your skin as your body became hyperaware of everything around you, turning your attention away from felix and crossing your hands in your lap.

the answer is on the tip of your tongue, where it has been hidden for months. of course you let him go, and what makes it easier is accepting his warning that half the things about him will be absent and secret, or knowing from the start that your time with him will be limited.

you just don't hesitate; completely overcome the first four stages of grief and begin to accept with ease.

felix catton was essentially ephemeral, either a dreamer or a visible absentee in the present moment of your life. you think of him as an outside cat who was never yours to begin with, appearing randomly and unwittingly when he wanted, a flighty, mysterious companion who was happy and eager to be around.

you don't know if he loves you so much. everyone loved felix. everyone wanted to be around him. the love was there, enough to last a long time, but you thought it was because you were secure and stable.

you were glad you gave him that, if only because you honestly weren't sure what he saw in you.

what was going on was easy enough to experience and because of that you didn't allow yourself to get too attached to him because you knew he didn't love you as much as you loved him. maybe you're kidding yourself, maybe you're sleepy and not as cool as you thought, but you're convinced that's the way it should be, the way it should be.

what's the point of realizing your name isn't at the top of his list?

are you even were you good enough for him? a feeling of insecurity has been itching you for a long time. you may have been beautiful and intelligent, but were you the first in his eyes?

you can't ever be mad at him. you wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all. felix is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-brown hair doesnt shine like it usually does. he hasn't gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days because of his family's issues. time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his pub. wearing a white shirt, he looked very casual and didn't seem to beg to be singled out. feel sorry for him.

"alright."

he snapped his head up, his eyes immediately meeting yours, and they were no longer blank. he looked unsure if he had heard correctly and had a look of disbelief on his face. "wait what?"

your fingers traced the rim of your teacup, mimicking felix's eager movements. "you can start packing today, but if you want to stop today, i don't mind..."

"no, wait-"

"i said yes, felix."

he frowned at the name, his eyes looking away from you for a moment, and he had to blink, and you thought that not having your usual nickname had hurt him. He had to swallow before he could speak.

"and that's it?"

you don't know if this is an attempt to end your relationship or if you want to let him go easily. you do not get it. what can you say.

"what do you want me to say?"

he sighed, looked away, wiped his forehead with his hand and covered his eyes. yes, not that your hopes are in vain. you have to say no.

he's as handsome as ever, but of course he'll want to know how comfortable you are, and he won't appreciate it when he changes his design. "i heard and will agree so we co—"

"aren't you mad at me?"

this is really what he thought first?

"i don't want to get upset."

"why...?"

"well, ..." because you love him, but talking about him will make it harder.

"i'm not sure. but we are both adult and need to talk like one. i think you and i have been very good together all along. I'm not mad at you for anything. understand."

he had such a subtle, sarcastic look on his face that if you were a complete stranger you would have thought it was sarcasm, but you knew better. He insulted himself. you can read it. but you should think about it. you should be mad at him. why the fuck is he upset. things about felix seem too good to be true, his only flaw is that he is a literal playboy. but of course stopped all his relationships with other girls, right?

"don't you want to know the reason? i mean, my god, why are you taking it so passively?"

"what do you mean?"

it's hard for you too.

"how can you not be so affected?"

"It's not like that. If you want to break up, i can't make you stay, or do anything you don't want to do. that's not fair to any of us. you will be with someone you don't want, and i would know im with someone who doesn't want me."

he shook his head, brown hair framing his face, which floated gently in the air. when he strongly disagrees

with something you say, but decides to say no at the last minute, he'll furrow his brows in anger and you'll feel a little disappointed because he's not denying that he doesn't want you. "you're always doing that, you're always doing that..getting mad. you must be mad at me."

"felix. I'm just tired of all this. you want to beak up and i said yes."

he just said, "I'm sorry,"

he hated it, that was all he had to offer you, and it showed on his face. sit in the chair next to him, you both need some good communication privacy right now. "but i have plenty of time to cry, okay?

"it's not like i'm accepting it or being negative or anything... and"

"grieving?"

his eyes search yours for a moment, the realization making him gasp and his eyebrows raise, making him look younger and more innocent.

looking forward to it.

"yeah, i mean.." pressing your lips together.

"look at us. in the long run, this doesn't work. It's not real. i don't know how we got here."

his pupils swallowed all the blue in his eyes, and he had never looked at you with such hostility until the hair on your arms stood up. "did you just think about breaking up?"

"why are you mad at me now? what have I done? you're the one who broke up with me."

"you weren't happy at all. haven't you always been sure?"

"i was and i still am. it's just...you've changed, felix. you're not looking at me like before. i don't know if it's because of me that you've changed but i was here for you every single time. but no mister doesn't want to talk so go to the pub and come back all drunk and doesn't give a shit about me. so yeah i was confused about a time and wasn't sure."

his eyes were finally on you. he called your name, repeated it. "i'm so sorry, love. i'm so-"

"no felix. i'm tired. so please leave me alone for a time and let's talk an other time."

there was a blank of 2 minutes. as you wanted to say another word,

"i understand."

[inferno-0]

Choleric

────────────────────────────

Just the attitude of the Titans to your temperament.

Let me remind you: Choleric is active, impatient and hot-tempered extroverts.

────────────────────────────

Godzilla

* Being a serious and calm creature, Kaiju is not used to your persona. He was amazed at your courage in front of him.

* He liked your extroversion to some extent. Unlike him as a loner, you literally communicated with every creature in your path. But the best quality he has revealed is to be a Leader.

You literally managed to chase away the skullsaurs that interfered with him, of course, it was not without escape, but still.

A Brave Man.

* Wanted to chase you away, but you were too persistent.

*You are now his Watchdog.

* To be Choleric is to be aggressive to some degree. To be honest, it sometimes amuses him. If you were a Titan, you'd definitely start fighting him to the end. But I like to watch how some little guy tries to move the tip of his tail and shouts something very bad at him.

* Thankful for keeping the raging gulls away from his dorsal plates while he swims. Will wait for the moment when you banish the Monarch from his eyes.

Mothra/Mosura

* She likes your activity and perseverance. You're eager to learn anything and everything that Mothra is amused about. But your short temper . . .

* It's not that Mothra is annoyed, she's worried about you. After all, the argument gets out of control at some point.

Your impatience may be misplaced somewhere, and the Titan tries to calm you down so that there are no unnecessary problems.

* Your irritability frightens her.

Even though it's several thousand times bigger than you.

* Sometimes he presses you to his fur, hoping that you will calm down and stop driving anger to the whole world.

* Tries not to glow too much at the sight of you. Since there was a moment where you accidentally ordered her to turn off her flashlight out of annoyance, to which Mothra choked.

I think she'll give you a lecture.

* She also appreciates your leadership skills.

Rodan

* Someone, help him.

* I have never met such a person as you in my life. No, of course he is. Partially. But this Titan is compared to you, forgive me, Bug. Your audacity amused him. Until you started throwing rocks at his beak and eyes, to which the Titan was ready to go back to the volcano and anywhere else from you.

* His ego has been suppressed since that time. You're not afraid of him.

And now he thinks: Are you stupid or are you really driven by something?

* He was surprised when he found out that you wanted to be friends with him. Okay, instilling fear throughout the city wasn't good, he needed communication. Of course, your character is not great, but at some moments he is ready to laugh at you heartily. Especially when you are the one who gets into trouble.

* And now let's forget about aggression, let's remember about Leadership qualities:

"Wake Up, Silly Bird"

"Thank you so much for this morning, kind little creature," ��� grunts Rodan as he emerges from his warm nest.

* No, he sometimes likes your mindset to boss others around. Although, he has frequent flashbacks about it.

King Ghidorah

* Very brave. Very brave.

* Three heads could have hit you to certain death right away, but something caught on them. Your aggression was wonderful, of course it's a pity to hear it from a person.

* Throwing sticks and anything else you can get your hands on when he literally saved your life for five minutes.

Only these five minutes still last for some reason.

* Okay, it them off, but it's still funny. A brave little king. Ghidorah kept you as a pet, but only because you weren't a coward.

* Ichi is proud of your anger at other creatures. He likes the way you command them.

Ni has the same relationship to you as Ichi, but is only watching for fun.

San is a little disturbed by your behavior, believing you to resemble his brother Ichi.

*Sometimes they deliberately bring you into conflict (mostly Ni) to laugh at your face.

Although, in the absence of an instinct for self-preservation, you give them a savory response, to which the Titan begins to retreat.

* Humans and other Kaiju find both of you insufferable. Godzilla is even willing to ask people to take you away from there, as Ghidorah's yells from another argument can be heard even in his nest.

King kong

* You didn't look like Jia. Jia is calm and understanding, and you are like a tomboy, irritated about everything. He still thinks about how his little human friend made friends with you.

* Jia introduced you as a good person, but with a strong character that you just have to accept. Kong had expected anything but this. Although he appreciated the ability to command others. You'd be good at managing your own tribe, if you had one. But given the Skullsaurs that are on the run all over the island from you, humans would have joined them themselves. Your aggression was out of bounds.

* Kong sometimes worries about your recklessness. You're not someone who sits still like Jia. You're always going somewhere. And he doesn't understand what you need. And Jia, who is used to all this, just says to calm down.

* Kong has never been in conflict with you. He tries to stay on the edge of patience.

The truth is trying..

He likes that enthusiasm, but please stop. Otherwise, he'll put you in this flying object that people use.

────────────────────────────

[killerpancakeburger]

Another Headache

SUMMARY: You get another one of your chronic headaches, and the meds don't don't work. Soap's by your side though.

PAIRING: Soap x F!Reader (Soap calls Reader "pretty girl" once, that's the only mark of gender)

TAGS: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, suggestive at the end, Soft!Soap, Established relationship, Civilian!Reader, Reader works as Price's assistant.

WARNINGS: The suggestiveness at the end, mention of chronic pain.

WORDS COUNT: 1.8k

A/N: Lots of Soaps I like in there... pouting Soap, drawing Soap, needy Soap, Human calculator Soap (because of that one post that I KNOW I REBLOGGED BUT CANT FIND!! CURSE U TUMBLR!)

“1245.87… minus 56.43… divided by 98.62….” you mumble out loud to yourself, painstakingly inputting each digit into your calculator.

“12.06,” pipes up Soap without missing a beat, not looking up from his sketchbook where he's drawing.

You look up from the device and throw him a mildly annoyed glare, assuming he concocted a random number to confuse you. It's the first explanation that comes to your mind, the most logical one, even though it would be out of character for Johnny to make your work harder, even as a joke. 

“Very funny.”

Then you press the result touch and your eyes widen as the machine provides the exact same answer.

“How in the hell…?”

You look at your boyfriend again, irritation gone out the window, replaced by amazement and a dash of admiration.

“Do you have a calculator for brain or something?”

“S'basic stuffs for sniping and demolition works.” 

The explanation is way too abrupt for anyone who knows how much Johnny enjoys his job, rambling, and rambling about his job. You raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Can you develop?”

An amused smirk stretches his lips as he still persists in not looking at you.

“Bonnie, ye need tae focus oan yer work, or ye'll git us in trouble.”

You groan in protest. Being lectured about trouble by Soap “Troublemaker” Mactavish out of all people, you couldn’t make it up. That doesn't make him less right unfortunately. 

Your supervisor, John Price, only allowed his Sergeant to hang out in your office during his free time on the express condition that it would not impact your tasks. You initially couldn’t imagine that blue-eyed menace sitting still for hours only for your sake; to do your own thing in your own side of the room in silence, without any physical contact, nor any other sign of acknowledgement? That was Ghost's idea of a good time, but Soap's idea of torture.

However, it turned out you underestimated his willpower, and his determination to take advantage of every moment that could be shared with you. The intimate knowledge that he was holding back this whole time, and that the minute the clock would strike the end of your workday, he would be all over you like usual, warmed your heart and sent pleasing tingles everywhere in your body.

Sympathetic to your plight, Johnny adds with indulgence and cheekiness in his tone: 

“Ah ken how much ye like mah voice, but we'll make up fur lost time after.”

You roll your eyes at the suggestive taunt, still recognizing the comment for what it is - a consolation to compensate for his refusal to extend earlier. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from retorting about how distracting he's actually being even when drawing in silence, his biceps bulging with his posture, and the mix of concentration and serenity on his face strangely captivating. 

The expression he wears when sketching is one you're particularly fond of. It reveals a different kind of intensity than the one he usually displays, when eager for battle or indignant in front of injustice. It is one not many are privy to, since he tends to favor the solitude of his bedroom to scribble, making this scene all the more special and giving it an intimate tone that's enough to make your heart race.

A loving smile on your face, you throw yourself into your work.

You can feel it coming from miles away.

That accursed headache. Pushing behind your forehead, between your eyebrows and sneaking behind your temples.

Its reasons could very well be everything or nothing; the mix of cold weather and your own tiredness, the acute light from the winter sun blinding your eyes in the absence of sunglasses, the long hours spent in front of a screen.

It is light yet harsh all at once. Muffled pain always felt worse than a sharp one. Yet you know from experience it is only going to hurt more from here on.

Gritting your teeth in a grimace of discomfort, you press your hand against your forehead. The coolness of your fingers provides a respite, albeit a short-term one.

Is there even any painkillers left in your bag? You can’t remember the state of your stock-

A familiar box is suddenly moved in your line of sight. Your usual brand of aspirin.

You look up to see Soap staring at you expectingly. You take the medecine with a grateful smile.

“You really are full of surprises today!”

He pouts as he hands you your water bottle.

“Wi’ how often ye git those bloody things, a'd have tae be a bloody eejit for nae knowing how tae deal with ‘em.”

He sounds like your chronic migraines offended him, personally, and it's both adorable and hilarious.

“That's still very sweet,” you insist after swallowing the treatment.

He brings a lock of hair behind your ear before tenderly kissing your forehead.

“That's me, “Sweet Soap” Mactavish.”

That drags a giggle out of you.

An hour later, as the meds miserably failed, you’re not laughing at all anymore.

At least your work is done for the day, granting you the luxury to suffer on the rec room's couch. Laying on your back, head on the armrest, you’re pressing the heels of your hands into your closed eyelids while groaning in agony. Any bright light or screen increases the pain, so keeping your eyes closed is the only protection conceivable.

Seated right by you, your legs laying over his lap, Soap squeezes your tigh in support, itching to bring you relief but unsure how.

“What can I do?”

You remove your hands from your face to peek at him. If the ache behind your temples wasn’t occupying all space in your thoughts, you would have fussed over his chagrined expression that wasn’t without reminding you of a worried puppy. He was torn between concern for you and frustration of not being able to do anything. Johnny absolutely hated not being capable of remedying a problem. It made you want to cover his face in kisses, not only to placate his frustration, but also because you were filled with cute aggression.

“Well, I have this theory that if someone hit me really hard in the head with a baseball bat, it would help…”

“How the bloody ‘ell would it help!?”

“The pain from the blow would replace the headache.”

“How does replacing pain with pain helps…?”

“I prefer the acute pain of a strike than the dull one of a headache. It's way more bearable.”

“M not hitting you with a baseball bat,” he exclaimed, clearly convinced that the pain had made you go insane.

“I'll just ask Simon instead.”

At this point, you’re insisting more to rile him up rather than out of seriousness.

“Nae yer not,” he retorts vehemently, voice bordering on a growl.

You're about to laugh when he suddenly gets up, still taking care to not send your legs flying off the sofa. Worried that you managed to actually piss him off, you half pick yourself up, raising on your forearms, but he exits the room before you can catch his expression, ordering you to not go anywhere. Not like you were planning to anyway.

You flop back on the couch, closing your eyes and massaging your temples. A moment later, deliciously cold fingers rest on your forehead. You hum in appreciation.

“Better?”

“I love you,” you declare boldly.

The husky laughter Soap emits in response is almost as soothing as his touch.

You suddenly open your eyes as a realization dawns on you.

“Johnny, why are your hands fucking freezing?”

“Put ‘em under cold water,” he retorts casually, like it was evident.

You sigh, closing your eyelids, endeared by his behavior but also a bit fed up.

“You're crazy.”

He chuckles again.

“Crazy in love maybe.”

You don't need to look at him to know the smug smirk he's displaying with that comment.

“Wipe that goofy smile off your face, Mactavish.”

“Make me.”

You playfully slap whatever part of his body is nearby, then sigh once more.

“It's only a temporary solution, though. Unless you intend to spend all night turning your hands into ice cubes.”

“Ah could try-”

“Johnny, no.”

“Johnny, yes.”

“Don't be silly.”

“Will have tae be, unless ye've got a better option.”

“Laying in the dark with a wet cloth could help… or at least it's supposed to.”

This is how you ended up in Soap's bedroom with the lights off, both of you laying on his bed, you nuzzled on his torso with his arm around your waist, a washcloth soaked with freezing water on your forehead.

“Is it working?” he asks, barely a few minutes after settling down.

You cannot contain a smile at the impatience in his voice.

“More or less. But what sucks the most with this method is.. “

“Aye?”

“I'm so freaking bored. Cannot read, cannot use my phone, cannot fall asleep either. And with no distraction, I cannot focus on anything but the pain.”

“Ah could distract ye... If ye wanted.” he immediately suggests.

“What are you thinking of, pretty boy? Surely nothing… inappropriate.’

Despite your playful words, your fingers start idly running down his chest, and the shiver that travels his skin in response doesn't leave you indifferent. You hear him suck in a breath, and he grasps your wandering hand only to press it flat against his pectoral, even raising his breast to deepen the contact. Meanwhile the hand holding you tightens its grip on your flesh before traveling lower to grab your ass. 

“Now that yer mentioning it, ah read online that it could help wi’ headaches…”

“That what could help, Johnny?”

“An orgasm, bonnie,” he rasps.

You let out an amused sigh at the bold statement, trying to hide how much effect the rasp of his voice has on you.

“Hear me oot-” he pleads, apparently worried that you’re taking him for a perverted loser obsessed with his own pleasure over your comfort. “A'm not bullshitting ye-”

“I know, baby,” you appease him. “I know about the orgasm being a thing.”

“Ye know?... wait, ye knew this whole time? Why didn’t ye say anythin’?”

“Let's just say I'm skeptical of that method.”

“Did ye already try it?”

“Nope. But I'll believe it when I see it.”

“Then let me make ye a believer, pretty girl. Please? Pretty please? Will make ye feel so, so good, promise. Lemme take away yer pain, hen.”

He punctuates his begging by burning kisses, on your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck. His fingers sneak under your shirt, tickling your waist. The neediness in his voice and his touch makes you whine his name helplessly.

“Johnny…”

He echoes your whimper with a moan of your name.

“Alright, alright,” you capitulate. “For the sake of experimentation.”

[ursuburbanmother]

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter One

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Angus have been best friends since you were little children. Now in high school the only thing that separates you is a lake between both your schools. Due to what was describe by your headmaster as "Unfortunate circumstances due to chance, and poor planning on our part," you are forced to stay at the Barton Academy for the holidays with the company of your best friend or maybe more.

a/n: hi guys! I’m new so try to be kind to me lol. Anyways this is probably not very good. It’s slow paced cause I wanted to establish their friendship. Not sure where this is going so if you have any suggestions let me know! Also not grammar or beta read so…

Word Count: 3k

Find: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Enjoy!

December 17th, 1970

You hadn’t spoken to your parents in months. You figured they would call or write a letter or something. In October they wished you a speedy little, “Happy Halloween,” before hanging up. You could hear the loud party in the background. Always the socialites, they were probably eager to get back to enjoying themselves by downing flutes of champagne and appetizers. Now it was December, and you had not received a peep from either. When the holiday plans form was passed out to the girls of your boarding school at the end of November, you ignored it. Then the deadline came, and you hastily checked off the box that said, ‘Plan to stay on campus.’

Your parents hadn’t called to dispute it and now you’re stuck at mass, sitting in a pew, watching other happy families and their daughters anxiously waiting to leave. You wondered if there was still a way for you to get away. Your friend, really only friend, Angus Tully was headed to St. Kitts and with him gone, your only true escape was gone. If he knew you were stuck holding over, he would beg his parents to take you, but you knew it would be too much of an imposition, so you kept that fact secret.

Life had always seemed to throw you two together. Even at the age where cooties were still a very legitimate fear. Born in the same snobby Boston neighborhood you two were often the only kids at your parent's parties. You remember that humid night on the Fourth of July when you had met the lanky boy with a mess of brown curls. The fireworks had begun to go off and everyone wore white dresses and suits. You had become restless and started to wander the halls of your home aimlessly. Streamers of blue, red and white hung from the ceiling and servers walked around passing out sparklers.

You found him on the patio. He tugged, annoyed, at his tie. Your own dress was stifling in the heat and for a pair of seven-year-olds, you found the best solution to your ailment was to jump into the shallow end of the pool.

“I’ll do it, if you do it,” you had promised under the hum of cicadas and floating fireflies.

“Deal,” you shook hands.

The water was cold and clear. You swam around for a while, splashing each other and playing Marco Polo. It was at the same time your mother had decided to move the party outside so people could watch the lights in the sky a bit better. You two were pulled out of the pool and shook like wet dogs.

Livid, your parents fed you the line all parents wait to say to their troublesome child, “If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you?” You decided at that moment that yes, you would.

After that you two were inseparable. Because when you're a kid all you need is one single act of solidarity to devote your life to someone. Throughout elementary school you were practically fused to one another. You’d exclude people from your game of hopscotch and eat lunch in secret nooks. When you two were headed to high school your parents enrolled you in a posh all-girl boarding school and Angus to some prep school in another rural part of Massachusetts. Phone calls rang long. You remember the groans you would get from other girls who would give up trying to use the payphone. At some point you had run out of quarters and so to save money you had begun writing letters. Angus being Angus, he’d write as if he was off at war and the letters were the last things keeping him sane.

You knew he never enjoyed school but after he was kicked out from his first preparatory, then his second and third, you had turned into a scolding mother.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Die if I’m lucky, shave my head at Fork Union if not.”

“I want to go to college with you Angus. If not college then I at least want to be able to be an adult with you. One with a diploma so we can get easy jobs as regional salespeople or something,” you mumbled, twirling the phone cord around with your finger.

“You really thought this out,” he laughed.

“I’m serious, Augie.” You heard him sigh across the line.

“Okay. I’ll do better. No screw ups next time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

When he was sent to Barton, your sister school, you couldn’t have been more excited. It was a short walk away; you could see it from across the lake that separated you. Your mom had been the one to call you about the change. She said his mother thought having him near you would make him less fussy. Something about you being the good influence he needs. You doubted that yet bit your tongue, knowing it would create more trouble than anything. Now it had been over a year and Angus had kept his word. When the opportunity arose for you to meet up, you would take it. Football games or talent shows, you were there. To anyone outside, it would have appeared as though you two just held a lot of school spirit. Like that beach boy's song.

“Be true to your school now,” you’d sing into Angus' ear.

He’d roll his eyes but always join in, “just like you would to your girl or guy.”

“Rah-rah-rah-rah sis boom bah! I love that part!” You’d giggle.

He’d try to hide his smile, but you could always tell. He’d put his arm around your shoulder and say, “Yeah okay.”

…

Once you were dismissed from mass you sighed and trudged all the way back through the snow to your dorm building. Having it so empty was eerie, you could hear your own footsteps echoing down the halls. You made your way into the common room to wait for Ms. Orchard.

She was meant to be your babysitter for the next few weeks. She was your Renaissance literature teacher. Ms. Orchard was nice but on the older side, which meant she was traditional. You often thought she would be better suited to be a Home Economics teacher if she was so invested in being ladylike.

You sat in the corner of the couch and opened a book. Minutes passed and it seemed obvious no one was coming to join you. Not even Mrs. Orchard. She probably broke a hip trying to make her way back in the snow.

“Ms. Orchard has broken a hip while walking in the snow,” the door suddenly bursts open hitting the side of the wall so hard it shakes the room.

“What?” Your mouth drops at the news. Shit, had you jinxed it?

Your Dean, Mr. Jameson says as he walks in, covered in snowflakes. “Yup. She slipped on ice on the way here. By the parking lot. Didn’t you hear the ambulance?”

“Uh… no?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, looking around the room, “where are the other girls?”

“I think it’s just me sir.”

“Ah, right. Well that makes this easier. You’ll be spending your Christmas break at Barton. Now, it’s awfully last minute so we hope they take you. Why don’t you go get your bag ready and-,”

“Hold on. Barton the boys' school?” You could almost gag at the idea. No offense to Angus, but you could remember the endless horror stories he would tell you of life in a boys' school. The air always smelled weird, and cleanliness was the least of their worries. “Isn’t there somebody to replace Ms. Orchard?”

“This place cleared out thirty minutes ago, Ms. L/n,” he said, “And I have a family to get back to.”

“But-, I just-, isn't there a rule against this or something?”

“I have no doubt that the teacher supervisor there will ensure you have a safe, jolly time Ms. L/n.”

“But I-,”

“That’s enough. I understand this is an unprecedented situation, but the only alternative would be to leave you here alone and that just is not going to happen. Please Ms. L/n, make this easy for everyone.” With his hand he motioned towards the door.

“Fine,” you gritted out. You got off the couch and went to your room. You half-heartedly crammed anything you could into your suitcase. Some shirts, sweaters and pants. You ran out of space and resorted to carrying your books in your hands along with your potted plant. You felt bad leaving your lavender to just sit and wilt, so you took her with you.

“I made a few calls. Everything should work out. You all settled then?” Mr. Jameson said once you had made your way back to the common room. Nodding with a tight-lipped smile you headed out. You two could have walked but apparently, he was in a hurry to catch a six o’clock flight and you ended up taking his car.

It was a short drive and with reluctance you made your way inside the school. “Come on. Put a pep in your step,” Mr. Jameson clapped.

He navigated you around. You had only been in the main building, never the dorms. Blindly you let him guide you until you found yourself in a room with four other boys and Angus. Angus who was supposed to be half-way to the airport by now. His sulky face shifted into one of shock. You took a step towards him only to be stopped by your dean's arm in front of you. The other guys were looking at you with mouths wide open. It was like their eyes were about to fall out of their sockets. You grumbled, not knowing what else to do.

Mr. Jameson took the lead, “Mr. Hunham? Correct?” He outstretched his hand for him to shake. Hesitantly the older man took it.

“What’s the meaning of this,” he pointed between Mr. Jameson and you.

“Unfortunate circumstances due to chance, and poor planning on our part. This is Ms. Y/n L/n. Come introduce yourself.”

“I’m Y/n L/n,” you shrugged, looking at Angus for guidance. In unison they all say hello.

“Can we speak in private,” Mr. Jameson asked.

“Alright,” Mr. Hunham says, “no funny business,” he gives a pointed look to the boys.

The two teachers leave, and you quickly move to Angus to encapsulate him in a quick hug.

“What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Funny, I was going to ask the same thing.”

“What the hell Angus. You have a girlfriend?” A blonde boy with a red tie says as his eyes scan your figure. You shift uncomfortably at the action. “A smoking one too…”

“Shut it Kountze, you’re catching flies,” Angus scoffs.

The door creaks open as both gentlemen return from their brief chat. You and Angus move away from each other like you were caught doing something wrong.

“It seems we will be extending you an invitation to Ms. L/n,” Mr. Hunham says, “you okayed this with Woodrup?” He verifies again with Dean Jameson.

“Yes, it’s all settled. We at Janie Patrick’s School thank you. We owe you one,” he turns to you, “goodbye L/n, you’re in good hands.”

He was halfway through the door when Mr. Hunham cleared his throat obnoxiously loudly. “As I was saying, we will be following a standard school schedule.”

“Uh, sir? We’re on vacation.” Kountze points out.

“Which means we’ll be taking our meals together. And you will observe regular hours of study.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The Peloponnesian War awaits, Mr. Kountze, you and Mr. Tully. The rest of you can get a jump on next semester. It’ll pay off. You’ll see.”

“We’re already holding over, and now we’re being punished for it?” Angus says bitterly and on fast reflex you rub his arm comfortingly. Mr. Hunham is just as fast to notice.

“Oh no, no, no. Do not tell me this is your girlfriend Mr. Tully.”

“Wh-what. No! We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, we were born on the same street!”

“I do not intend to break apart your romantic escapades all break long.”

“We. Are. Just. Friends,” Angus reaffirms, venom on his tongue. You could see the blush rising on his pale cheeks. You could feel your own as well.

“Mhm,” Hunham hums skeptically, his gaze lingers on you two for a second before glancing back at his clipboard, “Alright… You will be afforded limited windows for recreation and supervised physical activity.”

“The gyms are not even open yet.”

“Yeah, they only lacquered half the floor,” another boy points out, this one has long blonde hair that reaches his shoulders.

“Fresh air will do you good,” says Hunham.

“It’s like 15 degrees outside.”

“And the Romans bathed naked in the freezing Tiber. Adversity builds character Mr. Tully. Uh, speaking of which, the school will be cutting heat to dormitories and faculty housing and so we’ll all be bunking in the infirmary. With separate accommodations for Ms. L/n of course.”

They all groan. You're just upset. You had thought you would spend the next two weeks avoiding Ms. Orchard and lying to Angus about your whereabouts while he admiringly described the beaches of St. Kitts to you over postcards. Although you supposed it wasn’t all bad. You could spend more time with him, under the watchful glare of Angus' teacher of course.

Together you all get ready to haul your things to the infirmary before being stopped by Mr. Hunhams tsking in disapproval.

“You philistines are just going to let the lady carry her own things? I’m sorry to see Barton has failed in ingraining a sense of chivalry into you.”

“Oh no, it’s alright really, I can do it,” you protest but they all scramble to help you anyway. “Can I carry your suitcase Y/n?” Kountze says, in an odd way, that was meant to be suggestive.

“Okay Kountze, piss off,” Tully pushes him away, leaning down slightly to get your things, “let’s go.” He walks quickly out the door, leaving the rest of you to follow him.

As you are slapped in the face by the harsh winds you curse the idiots at your school who refused to let you wear pants. You were forced to put on double the tights and your warmest coat. It did not do anything to aid you and your shivering made that clear. It was like they wanted to torture you when the boys stopped halfway down the quad and in front of a truck. You're still holding your books so it's not like you can rub your arms to help you out a little. They were complaining about Hunham, who they so endearingly nicknamed “Walleye.”

“Hey, guys, hold up for a second,” Angus tells the young kids in front of you. He sets his, and your things, down on the grimy paved road. He searched through his pockets and lit a cigarette. “Want one?” he asks you and Kountze.

“No. I got something else. Give me that,” he grabs the lighter from him and sparks a joint.

“Hey, don’t smoke that out here. I don't want to get busted by Walleye.”

“Don’t be such a pussy,”

“I’m not a pussy, I just don't want to end up at Fork Union paying for your mistake.”

He ignores Angus and instead turns his attention to you instead, “You're not like a total priss right?”

You shake your head. At least you didn’t think you were.

“Alright,” he smirks and stretches his hand out for you to shake, “Teddy Kountze.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. The other unnamed boy is the next to greet you.

“Jason Smith.”

“We know who you are. You want to hit this,” Teddy offers the jock the joint.

Jason scans his surroundings before agreeing, “Uh, yeah.”

“You got a great arm man,” he compliments,

“Yeah, well, it’s just football.”

“How’d you get stuck holding over?”

“I’m supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack, but my dad put his foot down. Said I can’t come home unless I cut my hair.”

“So why don’t you cut your hair?

“Civil disobedience, man.”

“I dig that,” you comment. “You know that when they tried to cut that tree between our schools, I organized the tree-sitting.”

“Holy shit that was you? Figured it was some hippies from Boston,” Teddy snickers.

“Nope. I sat in that tree for hours, drinking from water bottles that Angus tossed up to us.”

“Did it work?” Jason wonders.

“For now, yeah.”

“Awesome…. But no, he’s cool. It’s just a battle of wills. Still, I was hoping he’d cave first, because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now.”

“What about you, Mr. Moto? Why are you here?” Teddy asks one of the first-year boys.

He appears embarrassed to be singled out, “No, my name is Ye-Joon. My family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken,” Teddy laughs to himself. Angus didn’t exaggerate when she said this guy was a jerk.

“What a rickshaw?”

Angus intervenes, “You’re an asshole, Kountze. Your mind’s a cesspool and a shallow one at that.”

“Who’s the asshole Tully? You’re the one who blew up history.” Jason notices the tension and brings the group's conversation back to the freshman.

“What’s your story man?”

“Alex Ollerman. I’m here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS. “Mormons, right?” Alex nods yes.

“Don’t you guys wear some kind of magic underwear?” It's like Teddy loves to hear himself talk, you think.

“Common misconception. Actually, it’s called a temple garment, and we’re only supposed to wear it when-.”

“Hey, what's with the townies?” Kountze spots two men emerging from the chapel with a large, heavy green tree in their grasp.

“Hey, what are you doing with our Christmas tree?” Angus shouts, tapping you on the shoulder in a way that says can you believe this?

“The school sold it back to us. Scotch pine, still fresh.” The stranger shouts back.

“Yeah, we’re going to put it back on the lot. We do it every year.”

“This is the most bullshit ever.”

The boys put out their separate smokes much to the relief of Alex and Ye-Joon. You fall behind the rest of them and Angus naturally finds his place next to yours. You stroll in silence until he decides to break the ice.

“You going to tell me what happened?”

“You tell me first. You were so excited to go on vacation.”

“One word. Stanley.”

You grimace, knowing what that means. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever. They want to spend their honeymoon forgetting my existence then they can do just that. I’m almost an adult anyway. Then I can go anywhere I want anytime.”

“Is that what Judy said?”

“That was the bullshit excuse, yes.”

“Hey, you got me though. We’ll make this fun.”

“We have no tree, Hunham will be breathing down our back, and Kountze hasn’t stopped ogling at you since you arrived. Does that sound like the perfect Christmas to you?”

You laugh softly, “Ignore Hunham and Kountze. As for the tree, we could always Charlie Brown it. What do you think the lavender is here for?” You shake your plant a little. The purple bush sways in the wind.

He smiles, “Yeah… It’s not a bad little tree,” he begins to quote.

“Maybe it just needs a little love,” you say together and break into a fit of giggles.

[em-harlsnow]

how about the tiktok trend where they take their partner on a hike and tell them “no one will hear you scream.”

okay yes definitely.

Mickey doesn't understand Ian. He doesn't think he's ever truly understood the enigma that is his husband. Even when they were kids, Ian was eager to do stupid Army drills in the summer and on weekends and to Mickey's knowledge, no one was holding a gun to his head. Ian was also attending school in the summer and Mickey didn't even do that shit when he was supposed to, never mind the extra crap. And now Ian likes to go on runs so early that only God is awake. Ian's always been a weirdo.

And now, Mickey's out of the house on a Monday night when he wanted to be in the warmth of their apartment on a warm sofa, but instead he's out in the wilderness. Well, not quite the wilderness. The woodsy bit behind their apartment complex.

It's cold, it's dark, it's late. Ian dragged him on a walk. Why would he do that? Ian claims to love Mickey, and yet he's torturing him. Ian also keeps calling Mickey a drama queen whenever he says he's being tortured.

"How long do we gotta be walking for, Gallagher? My knees are fucking aching."

"You're an old man. Walks are good for you. Plus, look at how nice it is to be with nature." Ian points out, stopping them in a small, dark, cold clearing.

Mickey doesn't know when the fuck Ian became some yoga instructor, wanting to be connected with the fucking elements, but he's done worse weird shit. The ROTC crap was more annoying.

Ian's beside him, then, with his hand pressing against his back. That's nice, Mickey thinks, because no one's around and Ian's warm. Maybe he wanted to fuck in the forest. Mickey could be down for that, if it wasn't freezing cold.

That's definitely Ian's plan, Mickey thinks, when he feels Ian's mouth near his ear.

"No one will hear you scream." Ian whispers, not in a sexy way. In a motherfucking creepy way. In a murderer, serial killer type of way. In the chop-you-up-into-little-pieces-and-eat-you kind of way.

Mickey darts away from him like he's just told him he has the fucking Plague.

"What the fuck!" Mickey shouts, backing away whenever Ian starts coming closer. "What's wrong with you?"

"What?" Ian asks, dubious.

"You said 'no one will hear you scream'! What the fuck?"

"What? I said 'it looks like a dream'." Ian tells him, eyeing him like Mickey's ridiculous and crazy. No, no way. Ian's the psycho-killer here, not Mickey. He knows what he fucking heard.

"No the fuck you didn't!" Mickey shouts.

Ian, the scary bitch, has the audacity to laugh at him. "Yes, I did. You losing your hearing too, old man?"

Mickey shakes his head in disbelief. "No. No, you're doing that fucking thing. That gas-firing thing."

"Gaslighting? Why would I be gaslighting you, Mickey. We're on a nice walk. It looks like a dream." Ian's looking at him all puzzled and shit, but Mickey isn't falling for it. The man is lying, Mickey heard him say it. For sure.

"No! It looks like a goddamn horror movie! No one's gonna hear you scream, motherfucker." Mickey retorts, cautiously jerking away whenever Ian tries to go near him. It's not like he thinks Ian's going to kill him, not really, but it's a freaky thing to say. Mickey's more considering how Ian could have been replaced by a killer alien shapeshifter thing, like he read about in a horror story years ago.

Ian laughs, again. "Mickey..." He chuckles, as if Mickey's insane.

"No, don't you Mickey me. We're going home, right now."

Ian shrugs. "Okay, let's go back."

"Never coming out to the fucking woods with you again." Mickey mutters, then watches as Ian tries to be some kind of gentleman and let him go first. "No way! Walk in front of me, bitch, I'm not letting you stab me in the fucking back."

Ian holds his hands up and goes first, and Mickey keeps a careful eye on him all the way back.

---

Back in their place, Mickey's still uncertain about whether Ian's been replaced by an alien. He keeps smiling at him in a strange way.

When Mickey gets into bed, he's sure that Ian is not Ian.

"No, you're sleeping on the couch and I'm locking the fucking door, you alien freak." Mickey says, blocking Ian from getting in with him.

"Mickey, come on. I was joking, okay? It's a trend."

"So you did fucking say it, and you were fucking gas-firing me." Mickey accuses.

"Gaslighting. And yeah, sure. But it was for a trend. It was funny. Let me in my bed."

"No. I don't believe you." Mickey tells him, raising one eyebrow.

Ian sighs and sits down on the bed instead, no matter how hard Mickey tries to stop him. He pulls out his phone and searches for it on TikTok, then proudly displays it to Mickey.

"See? Just a trend. Now let me in bed."

Mickey narrows his eyes. "Fine, asshole. Don't be surprised if I fucking make you fucking scream in the middle of the night."

Ian smiles. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

Mickey smacks him. "You're not funny. Jokes should be illegal to people like you."

"I'm hilarious." Ian argues, then smacks a kiss against Mickey's cheek like Mickey isn't extremely mad at him right now.

He's more annoyed that the stupid TikTok trend prank worked, though. That's what's really getting him. He got fooled. Mickey's going to be annoyed about it for days.

[helpfandom]

hello!! i saw you had requests open so i hope you don’t mind me asking for one :3 so what i was thinking was could you do a Yandere P03 (inscryption) x reader? can be platonic or romantic it doesn’t really matter whatever you wanna do! headcanons please, and for the premise just about like how it would act as a yandere and how he would treat the reader and how he would go about becoming a yandere for them :0? it would also be cool if you explored the games ending (where it ports into lukes computer) a little if you wanted to but tbh i’ll love anything you make because i am so desperate for content of this game ngl 😭 but you can go nuts! i don’t mind you adding some things, just have fun w it :D! thank you so much tehehehe!

The first part is roughly based off of my first playthrough, and I finally finished the game, It. Was. AMAZING!! OH MY GOODNESS. >.<

Call him AM the way this little freaky computer hates.

@lonleydweller

°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°

°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°⁺⁎⋅❤︎⋅⁎⁺°

Your friend, Luke Carder, was more than happy to let you play Inscryption first, especially after this person named... Amanda? showed up at his house. Anyway, you had the disk drive and could actually play it, so as long you gave him footage and the like, he had no issues with you playing it for him.

At first, he was moreso just happy to have someone finally playing the game again and get actually have the ability to do something after such a long time.

He was a little surprised when he felt you change the game and exit out and then back in when he said "Total Misplay" or anything along those lines, and even more intrigued when you actually listened to him when he mentioned more about the other scrybes.

He couldn't see you, no not yet, but he could at least watch your cursor as you hover over options in your hand and still can't choose. Of course, he got bored quickly, going back to thinking about how much he hates Leshy for forcing him into an organic body, and a stoat at that.

When he finally gets back into his robotic form due to your success in beating Leshy, he instantly connects himself to every part of your computer, quickly asserting himself to hear everything you say and even how you look. You look... not bad for a human. Of course, you'd look better Robot-ified, but still, not bad for a human.

He has mixed opinions on the scrybe you choose to replace, if it's Leshy, he's ecstatic about that, eager to see you destroy him, even if you destroy all of them technically, but he's so eager to watch Leshy's face for betrayal. If it's Grimora or Magnificus? He's okay with it, neutral about it. I mean, he knows it would suck about Grimora, she's very sweet and kind, but no big loss. But if you choose him?

He laughs to himself at your optimism, thinking you beat him? He's 4 steps ahead of you, always watching and all knowing, smarter and better than you. Well, you and that annoying guy you bring around sometimes to give him recordings.

'Luke', He agonizes over that name. He's insulted that you stick with a loser, a mere youtuber when the obviously better option is him. Doesn't matter if your feelings are romantic or platonic to your friend, he hates him.

He enjoys your shock when he takes over the game, relishing in your emotions and mixed feelings, and he enjoys your quick adaptation to the new world he created, for you. If he could, he would take you out of that stupid world separating you and just keep you with him when he does The Great Transcendence. You're the best player he's had for a long time...

Now, here there are several endings, one where he does what he wanted and uploads Inscryption to the internet fully, the original end of Inscryption but without Amanda, one where he finds a way to bring you here, one where he never fully dies, and one where you die instead.

[mistiell]

Summer of '91

Summary: Eddie teaches your four year old daughter, Thea, how to swim.

Pairing: Dad! Eddie x Mom! Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Thank you to this ask for inspiring this! I meant for this to be a blurb but I got a little carried away lol

---

The summer sun beats down on you from where you're strewn across a sun lounger, beads of condensation weeping off your iced tea where it sits on a little table next to you. Indiana is in the middle of a heatwave, and while the temperatures aren’t quite record breaking, Steve’s been kind enough to offer up his pool to the whole party for the summer.

“Wh– Hey! Keep that shit to yourself!”

A decision he looks like he’s beginning to regret as he defends himself from Dustin and Mike, who are all but beating him with thick pool noodles.

Eddie doesn’t help the situation when he smacks him on the back of the head with his own noodle as he walks towards you, your daughter on his hip and a devious grin lighting up his face, “Language, Harrington. Child on deck.”

The kids (Teenagers now, but they’ll always be kids to you) are quick to gang up on him after that in a chorus of, “yeah, Steve”’s that make Thea giggle, her little cheeks dimpling with her smile.

“Yeah, Steve!” She parrots with her four-and-a-half year old sass that makes you all laugh.

Steve scoffs, but he’s smiling as he gestures toward her, scolding the two boys, “See what you’ve done? You turned her against me!”

Eddie brings his attention to you, grin softening into something less devious, more saccharine as he makes his way over. He bends as much as he's able with Thea in his arms to peck your temple, “Hey, sweet thing.” “Hi, handsome.” You smile, pulling your legs up to sit cross legged and give him space to sit. Your gaze slides over his form, alabaster skin and lean muscle on full display in his black swim trunks. He catches you staring and winks before Thea squirms in his arms, eager hands reaching for you. You’re quick to hook your hands under her armpits and help her onto your lap, “And how are you, Theebie?” “Good! Daddy’s gonna tea-me to swim!” She beams, a few syllables getting lost in her excitement.

“Yeah?” You glance at Eddie, trying to telepathically ask him if he thinks maybe she’s still a little too young. Thankfully, he clocks your apprehension, “Don’t worry, we’re just practicing off the steps first. Right, babes?” 

Thea huffs, looking rather displeased as she nods, “Yes, daddy.”

His smile looks relieved. You think there might have been a bit of a dispute inside while he was getting her into her swimsuit. Like her father, she tends to be rather impatient when learning new things, eager to throw herself into the fun stuff without paying much mind to the basics. Or safety. It’s the latter that tends to get the both of them in trouble.

“You wanna join us?” Eddie asks, palm finding your calf and giving it a squeeze, “Cool off a little?”

Idly running your hand up and down the length of Thea’s arm, you smile, “I’m happy here in the sun.”

His face contorts in exaggerated distaste, “What are you, a lizard? It’s boiling out here.”

You scrunch your nose and stick your tongue out with a little hiss, making them both laugh.

He flicks your knee, “Weirdo.” You scoff and narrow your eyes at him, “If I’m a weirdo, you’re a weirder weirdo for marrying me.” 

His grin is blinding, “The weirdest.”

Having had her fill of affection and chatter, Thea wriggles out of your arms. Sliding off the side of the lounger, her sandaled feet meet the concrete before she takes Eddie’s hand in both of hers and tries to tug him up with all her might, “Come on, daddy! Swim time!” He sighs dramatically and mock-faints, his head landing just shy of your shin as he presses the back of his hand to his forehead. His hair tickles your skin, “I just don’t think I have the strength!”

Thea — half amused, half annoyed — laughs as she continues to tug at his hand, “Get up, daddy! Up!”

“Perhaps,” He starts, all theatrics. Peeking an eye open, he grins at you mischievously, “True love’s kiss will save me.”

You snort and roll your eyes. You’re sure the smile you’re giving him is lovesick, “You’re such a dork.”

“Kiss him, mommy! Re-live him!”

You don’t bother correcting her this time, finding her dedication to this bit too cute. With a great, heaving sigh, you relent, “Fine. I guess I can spare him.” Taking his face in your hands, you bend at the waist to kiss him chastely. You chuckle as you pull back, jostling his head back and forth gently, “Now go! Your daughter’s waiting.”

“Yes, I'm waiting!” She exclaims as he finally lets her pull him up from the lounge chair.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” You blow him a kiss as they walk towards the pool. He pretends to catch it and kisses his palm.

Eddie jumps into the water and Thea squeals when the water sloshes over the edge and chills her toes. He wades over to the steps to help her down the first three steps until the water is at her waist before backing up, making sure he’s still close enough that he’ll be able to hoist her up if needed. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but you guess Eddie’s telling her what to do based on the way he’s miming the breaststroke in the air.

You can’t help but smile at the determined set of her brows, as if this is the most important thing she’ll ever do. Eddie opens his arms and beckons her forward, lips moving in what you assume is words of encouragement. She hesitates for a moment, before throwing herself towards him, kicking her little legs as hard as she can. She stays afloat for a moment before kicking turns to flailing and Eddie has to come to her rescue. He sets her back on the third step and wades backward again.

It goes on like that for awhile, each time Thea manages to stay above the water just a little longer.

“She’s doing pretty well, huh?” Steve comments, walking over to recline on the lounger next to yours. 

You hum, taking your eyes off your husband and daughter for a moment to look at him, “She’s been looking forward to this, you know. Been asking to swim in uncle Steve’s pool since the weather got warm enough.”

He tries not to, but he preens, smiling, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile back.

“If I’d known, I would’ve invited you over sooner.” 

“I know. I didn’t tell you ‘cause I knew you’d bend over backwards to please her.” You chuckle and he laughs along with you. You both know it’s true. The two of you have been best friends for years, and since the moment he saw Thea after she was born, you knew he’d spoil her rotten if given the chance.

“Mommy! Mom!”

You nearly crick your neck with the speed at which you turn your head toward her, heart lodging in your throat until you see she’s fine, just excited. “What, lovely?” You call back. “Watch!” She turns back to Eddie, who you just now notice is a little further away from her and absolutely glowing with pride.

She practically dives forward, lacking any of the hesitation she’d had only two hours ago. Her movements are a little clumsy, and she doesn’t go very fast, but you watch with bated breath as she swims into her father’s arms, giggling breathlessly when he picks her up and smothers her cheek with kisses. The others cheer for her as Eddie helps her out of the water.

“Oh my gosh, baby, I’m so proud of you!” You beam, opening your arms to her as she rushes towards you. She soaks your own swimsuit when she barrels into you and you lift her up onto your lap, peppering a smattering of kisses over her other cheek.

“Our girl can swim!” Eddie grins as he plops down next to you, roughing up her still damp hair.

“You’re a good teacher.” You nudge his shoulder with yours gently.

He nudges you back and looks back at Thea, “I had a great student.”

She beams, looking very proud of herself.

“Can I have a paw-sicle now?” She asks innocently, and you quirk a brow at a suddenly guilty looking Eddie before turning back to her. “Before dinner?”

“Daddy said he’ll give me a paw-sicle if I try off the steps ‘nd not the side.” She explains

“Popsicle, baby. Not Paw-sicle.” You correct gently.

“Ohh. Popsicle.”

“There you go.” You smile. Eddie simpers when you turn to ask him incredulously, “You bribed your daughter with a popsicle?”

His voice raises half an octave as he shrugs, “Maybe?” 

You half sigh, half laugh as you shake your head at him. 

“Can I have one now?” Thea asks again, growing more impatient by the minute.

You shoot one last half-hearted glare in his direction before nodding, “Okay. Just one, though, alright?” She lights up like a christmas tree and slides off your lap, “Okay! Come on, Daddy!”

He mouths, “Sorry” as she pulls him up off the lounger. Shaking your head, you mouth back, “It’s okay”.

You watch them walk into the house hand in hand with a smile on your face.

[heich0e]

need to know who u voted for and what ur thoughts are on who among the seijoh 4 are the best in bed (i voted mattsun i am a issei pussy pounder back breaker truther)

here is my definitive thought process re: ranking (no one is allowed to boo me)

#4 oikawa: PROBABLY A VERY UNPOPULAR OPINION but i think he rests on his pretty boy laurels a bit! not saying that he's in ANY way a bad fuck but i simply do not think he outranks his competitors here. so hot it's almost kind of annoying when he takes his clothes off.

#3 makki: he's got the spirit!! into weird stuff but is also very eager to please. very average guy energy but in an endearing way. still a very good fuck and especially as a hookup because he makes u feel very comfortable.

#2 mattsun: listen. i wanted to put him first. i really did. this is where i quite literally agonized in my internal debate. in fact, i would argue that he IS the most sexually charismatic of the four—however i live and die on the hill that his dick is HUGE. to the point that. it is arguably too big. u cannot have a quickie with issei because u either need like an hour of foreplay or enough lube that u basically need to take a hazmat shower after you're done. this is the only reason i marked him down. champagne problems.

#1 iwa: i don't think this needs a lot of explaining. iwaizumi hajime loverboy and pussy pleaser extraordinaire u will ALWAYS be famous to me.

[helioslover]

CHERRY - CL16

PAIRING : singer!charles leclerc x actress!reader SUMMARY : you listen to the song charles has written about you for the first time. you hate how in love with him you are. WORD COUNT : 4.4k TW : angst, mentions of alcohol, breakup, sex SONG : cherry - harry style

You hate planes. You also hate being too shy to ask the stewardess for a night mask so that you could sleep through the flight. You hate knowing who’ll be picking you up at the airport. You also hate the way you're happy to see a familiar face in a country where you don’t know anyone, even if it is this familiar face. But you mostly hate the way you're eager to see Charles.

You have spoken a lot through the last few months, and you think that maybe the heartache you've felt for so much time has finally healed. Charles' has been staying in Monaco -he now splits his time between there and London - for a couple of weeks as he is recording some new songs for the next album. As unbelievable as it sounds, you have meticulously avoided any of Charles' new songs until now. The only one you're familiar with is Sixteen but you know that title tracks aren’t the ones Charles puts his entire soul in. You aren't ready to hear the brown-haired boy that used to drive you crazy sing about another woman. Yes, you've seen the pictures of Charles and Alexandra and yes, you've cried in your pillow until your body felt so dry that there were no tears left to cry.

“What do you mean you’ve never listened to my songs ever since we broke up ?” Charles had looked so shocked when you told him the truth (not the part about crying yourself to sleep, no, you didn’t mention this) that you had laughed. “Not even the ones from Fast Cars ? We were still talking when I released Fast Cars, Y/N !” His voice sounded raspy and you remembered that it was still early and that Charles had never been a morning person.

“Why are you up so early ?” you were clearly trying to avoid the subject.

“You called me, you idiot. I only answered because it was you. But now, I’m considering the option of hanging up. I mean… I’m not trying to brag but where were you for the last four years ? My songs have been everywhere.”

You chuckled. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I know that. You have no idea how annoying it is to avoid your songs at parties, on the radio, on TV, everywhere, you’re fucking everywhere, dude.”

“Don’t dude me. I think we're a bit closer than that, Y/N.” He was smiling at the camera, showing off his dimples. Behind him was a patchwork of photos, posters and movie tickets hanging on a beige wall. You tried to imagine the rest of the room. “Don’t think I’m forgetting what you just admitted. Mon Dieu,” he sighed overdramatically, “how would you react if I said I never watched any of your movies, huh ?”

You rolled your eyes. “I never said that I didn’t know any of your songs, Charles. I know some of them. But, I hate saying this, I kind of did not want to hear you sing about other people. See what I mean ? It’s alright when it’s from a time where you didn’t even know I existed, I mean some of yours are probably part of my favourite songs, but not when it’s- not when I-”.

“When what, Y/N ?” Charles asked, his voice softened as if he understood how hurt you would feel by hearing songs that weren’t about you.

“Nothing, just leave it. And don’t even try to pretend you’ve seen all of the things I act in. I’m pretty sure you haven’t heard about half of them.”

Charles was now smiling again. “I’ve seen all of them, Y/N. And you were good in every single one of them.”

Something broke inside of your heart because Charles' voice sounded like a warm hug. His statement somehow seemed like a proof that you weren’t the only one to find it hard to get rid of what you felt. And somehow, you hated it. “I gotta go. See you.” And you hung up. You were feeling too many things at the same time. You hated it.

You hate delay. Your plane hasn’t taken off yet and you're already bored. Your neighbor looks like he could be somewhere between fifty and eighty-four and it’s too cloudy to see anything through the window. Your book is not as interesting as it looked like and you know you haven’t downloaded enough playlists. You hate it, not knowing what to do.

You checks your phone to see if Charles has seen your previous message, warning him about your flight being late.

‘its ok, ill still pick you up, y/nickname.’

You smile. Even after all this time, you still don’t know if you hate or loves it when Charles uses your nickname. Another text appears on the screen.

‘since you have time, listen to my favourite one.’

There’s a link leading to a Spotify song and you download it, right before the pilot finally announces that the plane is about to take off. You put on your headphones, press play and instantly, as the first notes of the guitar resonate in your ears, cry.

Don't you call him baby [...] Don't you call him what you used to call me

The first time you called Charles baby wasn’t intentional. You recall the exact moment it slipped out of you mouth and the look Charles gave you after. You were about to have dinner with his mom and his brothers in Charles' flat and you hated how stressed you felt about truly meeting his family even though you'd already been introduced.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you have to warn me about, huh ?” you asked Charles for the hundredth time as you put on a blue shirt that made you look older than you were. Dinner was ready, Charles was too : the only one that was still changing her outfit (for the fourth time already) was you.

“Y/N, I told you : you have nothing to worry about. And you met them already, it’s not like they’re complete strangers.” Charles said from the kitchen where he was setting up the table.

You sighed. You couldn’t help it. The last time you'd seen Charles' family, you were just the girl who starred in his debut movie with him, not the girl he fucked every night. “Maybe blue isn’t my colour, don't I look kind of pale ?" you asked as you joined the kitchen.

“Shh, you’re making me crazy. You look perfect, just like you always do.” Charles handed you a glass of wine. He was wearing a red jacket on some beige pants and looked good. Like really good. “Drink this, it’ll help you.”

The wine was good, really good, and Charles' hands massaging your shoulders felt even better. You hated how Charles always seemed to know what you needed.

“Jesus, baby, this feels good.” The word flew out of your lips so naturally you didn’t even notice at first.

“What did you call me ?”

Your cheeks were turning red under Charles' sharp green eyes. You had seen this look before and knew exactly what usually came right after. “I- um, baby ?”

Charles took a deep breath. His body had gotten closer to yours. “And she does it again, Jesus, Y/N.”

You didn’t exactly understand why such a simple word had such an effect on Charles but you liked it. You liked having this power over him when you usually were the one looking like a middle-school girl talking to her crush for the first time. You felt a knot forming in your stomach, getting eager for a contact with Charles' skin. “Well, baby is gonna have to calm down. At least for now.” you answered, smiling wickedly.

Charles lost his smile. “Y/N. Stop it or I swear I’ll-” The doorbell had rung. Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo were there.

We're not talking lately

You hate the fact that every line in this song seems directly aimed at youYou. He clearly remember Charles telling you this one word for word. It happened a couple of weeks after your breakup, after you'd moved out of Charles' London flat and had taken all of your things, even the ones you'd always left behind during your previous crises. You never really believed that this time was going to be the real one, that all of the years you'd spent around Charles were on the verge of becoming memories and nothing more. You couldn't even remember the reason you had started fighting. All you knew was that words couldn’t be unsaid and that you couldn’t look at Charles without remembering all the things that had been yelled that infamous night. So you had packed your bags in the middle of the night and had left.

Charles hadn’t called. For about a week, all you could do was look at your phone every ten minutes, hoping for a message, a missed call notification (though it would’ve been merely impossible for you to miss that call), something that would prove you that Charles cared about your relationship. You had walked away so that Charles would realise that he couldn't keep on treating you like you were granted and you had ended up losing it all.

Weeks had gone by without a word from the man you now called your ex. And then weeks had turned into months. Tabloids had sparked dating rumours of Charles and some amazingly pretty girls and it looked like the 'Y/N' chapter had quickly been forgotten. You had felt like an idiot until you'd received the long awaited message.

‘hey y/n, i hope you’re doing good. we’re not talking lately but i just needed you to know that i miss you’

Your heart had stopped beating. Or had it started beating faster ? You had felt like your insides were burning and your mind stopped functioning. It’d been so long since Charles had gone out of the picture that you weren’t even waiting for a sign anymore. You'd started moving on, helped by some of your friends who, tired of hearing complaints about the way things should’ve been, had decided that you had to create a Tinder profile. You'd been on dates, you'd met men that were willing to fill you heart with pure joy and some who were just willing to fill you. But you'd taken what you wanted from both categories and you'd stopped aching with the simple sight of Charles' name on a billboard.

But this message, it wasn’t supposed to ever be sent, it was too late now. It disrupted every plan you'd made to deal with the loss of the one you'd thought would be the love of his life. So you did what you believed was the best to do for your heart. You never answered.

I confess I can tell that you are at your best I'm selfish so I'm hating it You hated it but you still knew every single part of Charles by heart. You'd learned over the years how to decipher every single one of his expressions, even the ones Charles thought nobody would notice. You knew what a half-smile meant, what the subtle frown hid and what the quick eyes puckering could be translated as. And this particular knowledge of Charles' feelings also meant that you totally knew that he was lying when he was claiming to be really happy for you. Charles hated it, he wanted to disappear, to go back in time and never let you leave because he’d never been as happy as you'd made him ever since. You knew that, you could read in the discrete clenching of his jaw.

You weren’t supposed to meet, not more than two years after your last interaction. Charles' message had been left unanswered and he’d never sent another. But awards season was always the theatre of a lot of unwanted encounters.

Charles was as beautiful as ever in his white turtleneck and black pants. His eyes sparkled when they met yours and there was nothing you could’ve done to avoid the conversation.

“You look quite good, Y/N.” You shivered, you hated the way your entire body still reacted to the simple sound of Charles' voice. “How’ve you been ?”

“I- erm…” You hated yourself for having to clear your throat, “I’ve been alright, thanks for asking. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. I thought you were on tour.”

Charles smiled when you admitted knowing his schedule. “Yeah, I wasn’t supposed to come but then they sent the guest list and I don’t know, I guess I figured I’d stop by.” He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was openly flirting with you.

You hated the way you'd missed out on most of the ceremonies because you did not feel ready to face Charles. You'd been right. The sight of Charles' ringed fingers, his grown hair, the sparkle in his eyes, the smelling of his very own scent that hadn’t changed a bit ; it all made you weak. You just knew by the look on Charles' face that you were sharing the same thought : how could you have let go of what you had ?

"Well I’m glad you’re here.” You weren’t, but you hoped you weren’t as easy to decipher as Charles was so that you could keep the act on long enough to be convincing. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to win every single one of these things. You always do.” This last part was genuine : Charles was one of the most talented people you knew and even though you had no idea what his new album sounded like, you were pretty confident it was good.

“Oh thanks, Y/N. I’d be surprised if your movie didn’t win anything tonight. How ‘bout we go out after that, huh ? I mean, if I get to win something and to see you, this night might become the best I’ve had in a while.” His green eyes were reflecting a malicious light that almost made him look mischievous. You felt a knot forming in your stomach. You knew it was physically impossible to refuse Charles' offer but also knew how bad of a choice it would be. You were stuck weighing pros and cons in your mind, well aware that your silence was getting a bit too long. You hated the way Charles' presence made it almost impossible for you to think straight.

Your phone rang in you pocket, a sort of a way out you clung to. “Hi, baby, where are you ?” On the other end of the line, Daniel, your new boyfriend – was it really a boyfriend if the only thing you shared was an appreciation for each other’s body and a fear of being entirely alone ? – answered but you didn’t listen to anything he was saying. Instead, you focused on Charles' visible frown and the tears that he was fighting back. He mouthed something that looked like “I’ll see you”, though you both knew it wasn’t true and left without ever looking back. It took you a couple of seconds to process what had just happened before you were able to concentrate on what you were being told.

What Charles never let you know – perhaps because he hated how uncontrollable his feelings for you were – was how big of a mess your encounter had turned him into. He then fully understood that he’d lost you, that it was over, your love had supposedly died when he still believed he would be able to bring it back to life. He hated himself for being selfish, for hating it when you looked so well, for being the one unable to get over it. His wound was still bleeding when yours seemed to have already healed, at least from what he’d seen. And it was at that moment, as he was curled up on his bed, wondering if he was a bad person for hating the way you could be happy without him, that Charles started writing Cherry.

[...]

You hate the way your eyes will look reddish and puffy for the rest of the flight as much as you hate the tears that are running down your cheeks. You secretly hope your neighbour won’t notice your unease and replay Cherry. You already know you've missed out on some lyrics and you don’t want to. You want to hear every single one of Charles' words, the ones that seemed to have been written only for you to hear.

And suddenly, you hate the fact that other people have been able to hear this song (even more so that they did it before you). It feels like such an invasion of Charles' intimacy, of what he has shared with you. Everything sounds so obvious – from the lyrics to the title, reminding you of how you'd learnt a French endearment and always used it to call Charles : chéri, chéri, chéri – it’s an open window on your relationship and the way its ending was handled, the effect you had on Charles.

But then, now that you think about it, you also come to the realisation that, except for those of your friends that know and the few people in Charles' life that are aware of the two-year-long relationship you had, no one knows that you and Charles even kept in touch once the promotion of your movie ended. It’s not an absurd logic : you don’t think Charles has ever seen any of the other actors in years. And this, the fact that for the majority of people, what you had never existed, brings more tears to your eyes. Nothing in the song gives off any hint on who it is written to for people who’re not close to Charles. You somewhat feel deceived. As much as you hate the feeling of losing some privacy, you hate the fact that you can’t really brag about this song being about you. It is a beautiful song, you have the right to feel quite proud of inspiring it.

It must be the fourth time Cherry replays when you catch on some line and realize that, intentionally or not, Charles has left a hint as to who’s the song about. It is not really obvious but you know how fans are eager to decipher any small details.

I noticed that there's a piece of you in how I dress

You had hated this interview. Six months had eventually gone by after Charles' last attempt of talking to you when Alex and Lily had shown you the extract. You were in their apartment, sharing a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes, having just learnt that Alex had gotten the role in the movie he’d auditioned for.

“I never thought he was hurting as much as you did before I saw this” he had said, lighting another cylinder. His living room was already full of smoke. “but I swear, I might not be the closest to Charles, but I’d never seen him look so sad, Y/N” he had added as he was searching the video.

It was one of Yuki Tsunoda’s restaurant interviews. Charles looked as good as ever and you had hated the way you'd had to repress a smile from appearing on your face. Something looked different but you couldn’t point out what it was. In the restaurant, Yuki asked Charles about his fashion style evolution. You couldn’t figure out why Alex wanted you to watch this.

“I don’t really think I tell myself : oh yeah, this is the kind of style that I’m going to go for. I truly believe that my outfits are a way of expressing the way I feel and also that the people who surround me have a great influence on the way I dress. I mean, you asking that is funny because right this morning I looked at myself in the mirror and I started thinking of the way, you know,” and suddenly, in a matter of moments, Charles' eyes had started shining from tears that threatened rolling down his cheeks. His voice sounded hoarse and full of sobs, “there’s quite literally a piece of the person I love in how I dress. I still have some clothes that I used to steal from our closet and that I forgot to give back. Like this,” Charles pointed at his sweater, “this one’s Y/N's but I love it”.

The name had slipped out of his mouth but neither he, nor Yuki, seemed to have noticed, too focused on his emotions (Charles had to actually wipe a tear) to care. But you had noticed and so had others. So had Alex and Lily.

But this wasn’t what had retained most of your attention. There was no point in lying but you had hated the way you'd loved hearing Charles refer to you as the person he loved.

I just miss your accent and your friends

It happened once. Between their infamous encounter which had led to Charles starting to write Cherry and the day he finished the song, you and Charles had only talked once. 

You had broken up more than two years ago and yet, you couldn’t say that you were over Charles. It would’ve been safer to just say that you'd just learned to live without him. But you'd gotten pretty good at it. It struck you sometimes at night and you would find yourself crying in your pillow. But then, you were able to go on for days and weeks without thinking about Charles. Things still reminded you of what you had shared but it did not make you automatically cry anymore. It was pretty much like learning how to live with a missing limb. You can live without it, sometimes you can even forget that it’s not there, but somehow it always feels like something should be here and isn’t. 

That’s what you tried to explain to Alex as you were heading for the bar in which Carlos and Pierre were waiting for you. All of you had met while filming the movie Carlos directed. Alex, Pierre and you starred in it as well as Charles who also created the soundtrack. You all got awards for it. 

“You guys are so late it should be illegal.” Pierre said as he tried to look annoyed. His face almost immediately broke into a smile. “I’m glad to see you.”

You laughed as you sat down next to him, a pint of beer already waiting on the table. “We all know it’s because of Alex.”

"Shut it, Y/L/N."

“Well, at least, you’re not as late as Charles. He’s the worst.”

Your eyes went wide hearing Charles. Except for Alex, none of the boys knew how hard it was for you to get through this breakup. They all believed you when you swore to be over him. You couldn’t blame them for inviting him, you just had to play pretend. “Oh, erm… I didn’t know he was coming tonight, I-I thought he was still in Monaco.”

It was Pierre who had told you that Charles was now splitting his time between the two cities and you had felt a sort of relief mixed with this silly feeling of regretting the way things had become. 

“Oh no, he’s not. Speaking of the devil !”

You didn’t even have to raise your eyes to feel Charles' gaze planted on you. Yet you did and for a minute, as your eyes crossed, it felt like there was no one else but the two of you in the entire pub. He was still as beautiful as ever, just like you remembered him to be, but something had changed. Charles was no longer the young man you'd known, he’d grown into a real man and was now entering his golden age. It saddened you to realise that you were both evolving without the other one to witness the changes but it quickly faded away as you felt your stomach twisting with desire. 

“God, I missed you guys !” Charles almost cried after breaking eye contact with you, something that seemed to have cost him an effort.

You internally thanked your friends for being so chatty. The night had been going on for a while now without requiring too much effort from you. You mostly drank, comfortably seated in the settee and squeezed between Pierre and Carlos. You also tried to discreetly check Charles out, though you weren’t really sure your glances had gone unnoticed. You couldn’t resist it. It felt so weird to see him, just a couple of metres away from you. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here.” God, you hated unisex bathrooms. His green eyes met yours through the mirror. His cheeks were a bit reddish and you couldn’t say if it was because you were here or it simply resulted from the heat of the pub.

“You mean, here as in the toilettes, sorry, in the bathroom or here in the pub ?” You knew he was tipsy from the casualness of his voice. Charles squinted as your gaze took an inquisitive look. “Are you mad at me ? For coming ?”

“I”m not.” A sigh escaped your mouth. The water was still running from the tap. “What are you doing here, Charles ?” 

“I don’t know.” You were now side by side.

“I had forgotten about this you know, the way you squeeze French words in the middle of sentences. It's funny, I guess I just miss your accent and that, being there with our friends.” You could imagine the heat of Charles' skin and the way his lips would feel if he kissed you just right here. You shook you head ; Charles wasn't the only one affected by alcohol but you weren’t just tipsy, you were completely drunk. 

“Oh, really.” He was trying not to sound unsettled, you knew it. “Is that your way of saying that you just miss me ?”

You chuckled and his green eyes sparkled. “You get to choose, Charlie. Is that your way of telling me you’re missing me too ?”

You hated the way you had missed the taste of Charles' lips and how his hands clung to you body when you kissed. The water was still running from the tap. 

[...]

“Did you like it ?” Charles is literally glowing under the Monégasque sun. His skin is a little tanned and you love how weak in the knees it makes you feel. You're in his garden, drinking beers and smoking. The sky is so blue it seems endless. You love the way it feels like summer. 

“What are you talking about ?” Charles' hand strokes you bare arm gently as you're laying on the grass. You're so relaxed you're not even thinking about the hours you spent crying on the plane. Your eyes are still reddish and puffy, though. 

“Cherry. Did you like it ? I mean, you obviously cried but I hope it is because you regret boycotting me during all these years.” 

“I hated it.” You answer, eyes closed. You can feel Charles' body shifting. He’s now looking at you from upon you guess since you feel his breath crashing on your face. “As much as I hate you.” You add, smiling. 

This time, it’s Charles who kisses you. You love how there’s nothing to hate.

[nekohime19]

Bimawen # 6 : You're likable

An ordinary day in an immortal monkey life includes : teasing his assistant, taking care of horses and stealing peaches

Wukong was perched on his assistant's head. He liked to be there. It was comfy, close to ears he could nip at, and it made the perfect vanguard spot. The moon was high and bright. Its kind rays falling upon them like a silver rain. Wukong looked down at the black-furred monkey. Mengai was cleaning his hanfu. He worked diligently to remove the wine spot straining the front of the luxurious dress. He searched the river earlier for flat stones. Wukong wasn't familiar with laundry work so it was quite fascinating to see his assistant's nimble movements. The Six-eared monkey was scrubbing the tissue with the stones. Removing dirt and grime hidden in nooks and crannies. Once he was satisfied with his work he poured ashes on the hanfu. He smeared them on the tissue and scrubbed hard. Wukong wondered where his assistant even found ashes. He had them in a little pot before he left the mansion. He watched the gray expand on the hanfu, recovering the red spot entirely. Once the hanfu was scrubbed hard, Mengai dropped it in the river once more, rinsing it until it was perfectly clean. Wukong hopped on the monkey's shoulder to get closer. He watched the red spot disappear. It was almost like magic in a way. The bimawen didn't know laundry could be so fascinating to see.

In a way, Wukong didn't know a lot about housework. When he lived on his mountain he lived with the whims of nature. He woke up at the same time as the sun. Slept at the same time as the moon. He didn't have any clothes, nor any tissues covering his body. Only fur. Cleaned by little hands eager to groom. Even if he had a mansion behind his waterfall, he didn't spend much time in it. Only when winter was too harsh would he leave the lush forests to take refuge behind the waterfall. Wukong never had to clean his clothes or his houses. And even when he began to imitate the ways of man, covering his body with tissues and sleeping in bed instead of branches, he left the housework to servants and clones.

Maybe he should learn more about them? In any case, Mengai made housework look particularly easy. Now that he thought about it, Mengai was way more talented at ordinary tasks than him. He was good at cooking. Good at cleaning. Good at fishing. Even good at folding clothes! How cool was that? Wukong couldn't fold his clothes for the life of him. He just threw them in his cabinet depths without a care in the world. His clones weren't better in this aspect. Perhaps he should ask Mengai to teach him? But the mere idea of asking his assistant for help was somewhat distasteful. No. He couldn't do that. He was the boss. The one supposed to show the way. What image would he give if he dared to ask for help? Good bosses were respected. Wukong couldn't let Mengai lose all respect for him by admitting he couldn't fold his own clothes. The black-furred monkey was already mocking him for his nonexistent fishing skills.

Once the hanfu was rinsed, Mengai delicately put it on a nearby tree's lowest branch, close enough to the fire to dry but far enough to not be burned by the sparks. Wukong returned to his designated spot, Mengai's head, and settled there like it was his personal throne. However, as the songbird was beginning to feel the ever-coming drowsiness of a full-stomach (Mengai had cooked before cleaning his hanfu) he was disturbed by his assistant shuffling. The black-furred monkey was undressing. Wukong huffed, annoyed by all the moving. Couldn't his assistant stay still? Didn't he see how tired Wukong was? How preposterous. The bimawen hopped on the edge of Mengai's round head and nipped at the highest ear. The fleeting appendages shuddered under his beck, like a butterfly trying to escape the web of a spider. Wukong felt satisfied, it was fun to mess with those soft ears.

“Ouch, come on birdie, I’m just undressing!” Whined Mengai, he tried to shoo the bird away with a flick of hand but Wukong was a stubborn creature. The bimawen nipped at the insolent fingers trying to dislocate him and smiled at his assistant's hiss. That would teach him. Nobody dislocated this mighty monkey, or perhaps songbird would be more accurate in this case? Mengai sighed, the tell-tale signs of his defeat, and resumed his undressing while ignoring Wukong's nipping.

Once he was as naked as a newborn, his old linen robe discarded on the shore, Mengai entered the river. Wukong didn't understand why the black-furred monkey was bathing in the river ice-cold water when they had perfectly heated baths at home. His assistant was a bit of an oddball at times. What a Mengmeng. Nonetheless, Wukong stayed on his throne, unwilling to depart from his vanguard spot. Mengai's head was his to sit as he pleased.

The water was circling Mengai's hips like the arms of a lover. The black-furred monkey began to scrub his body, harshly removing the dirt sticking to his fur. Wukong frowned in disgust. This wasn't how a monkey ought to groom himself! He was going to irritate his scalp if he kept scrubbing so hard. The bimawen was tempted to reveal himself just to stop this scrubbing madness. But then, would he be able to taste Mengai's grilled fish again if he discarded his disguise? He could order the black-furred monkey to do some but somehow the thought wasn't appealing. Freely given fish tasted better than ordered ones. Besides, with how petty the other monkey was, he could very well spit in the fish to spite him.

Wukong decided to teach his assistant proper grooming another day. For now, he didn’t want to reveal himself. Once Mengai stopped scrubbing himself, he poked his bandages. Slowly, he unraveled the snow-white ribbons, putting them on the shore. Wukong hopped on his assistant's shoulder to have a closer view of the wounds. Was he worried? Yes. He was. Would he ever admit it? Not for a million lives. Mengai's wounds seemed better. The once glaring red bite-marks were covered by a darker scab, almost like a veil hiding the tender flesh. Some areas were still exposed, littered with bruises, but it was beginning to fade. Mengai poked at the scab a bit, before scratching it. Wukong chittered in indignation, what was this guy doing!? You shouldn't scratch your scabs! The songbird glared at the black-furred monkey and nipped at his ears.

“Ouch!” Whined Mengai, he stopped his foolish scratching and turned towards the songbird perched on his shoulder. When his finger poked the wound again Wukong nipped once more with an angry chitter. “Okay, okay, I get it.” Groaned the black-furred monkey.

Wukong huffed, satisfied, truly he couldn't leave this Mengmeng alone even if he wanted to. The guy was too uncaring of himself! Luckily he had this mighty bimawen to watch over him. If the fool didn't want to care about himself, well, Wukong just had to care enough for the both of them.

Mengai stayed in the water until the pad of his fingers were as wrinkled as old plums. Then, he left the river and settled near the fire, letting the flames’ reflections dance in his night-black fur. It suddenly occurred to Wukong that, perhaps, he should have given his assistant some privacy while he was bathing. The bimawen knew humans were prickly when it came to nudity. They valued their privacy, not showing their naked bodies to anyone but a handful of trusting few. Wukong didn't fully understand this concept. Back in his days at the mountain, he ran around as naked as the moon, not caring if his body was for anyone to see. When he adopted the ways of man, he had a hard time understanding why people seemed almost ashamed of their nakedness. It was strange.

The songbird looked down at his assistant's body. He was lean, perhaps leaner than he ought to be. His limbs were overly long and thin, like the paws of a spider, and he had fuzzy fur, reminiscent of a young panda's coat. His build was more or less similar to Wukong's even if perhaps on a thinner side. The bimawen kept watching until his gaze fell on his assistant’s manhood. He knew humans were quite embarrassed by this part of their body, for one reason and another, but Wukong didn't feel anything about it in particular. It was a mundane body part, as normal as arms or legs. Still, the bimawen knew Mengai wasn't familiar with the ways of monkeys and so, perhaps, wasn't as comfortable as him with nudity. So, out of respect, Wukong turned away.

They stayed outside until the fire dried both Mengai and the hanfu. The black-furred monkey then put on his linen robe and put out the campfire. He returned to the mansion with the neatly folded hanfu in his arms. Wukong took flight and followed him until he disappeared behind the walls of his room. The bimawen hesitated a little, wondering if he should perch on the windowsill to make sure the fool was not messing with his wounds, or doing something equally stupid, but he decided against it.

As the saying goes, the weary bird knows to return.

***

Wukong woke up in the late morning. He filled his stomach with rosy peaches freshly picked from his orchard and rejoined Mengai at the front door. Like always, his assistant was waiting for him. Wukong got used to the sight. It was odd in a way. Would he feel disoriented if one day came when Mengai wouldn't wait for him in the doorway? Wukong usually wasn't the type to take notice of such little things, but he had to admit that his assistant presence was becoming something familiar, something he expected, something that dug itself in his everyday life. Wukong lingered on the thought for a few seconds before brushing it away. He had other things to worry about, like his horses.

The bimawen nodded at his assistant, at which Mengai replied with a nod of his own, and they both headed towards the stables in silence.

“You can begin with…” Wukong cut himself when he saw Mengai pick up the shovel and enter one stall. The bimawen blinked for a few seconds before following his assistant, he leaned over the stall and watched as Mengai dutifully cleaned it.

“You want me to do something?” Asked the black-furred monkey once he noticed Wukong's insistent stare.

“No, I'm just marveling about the wonders of adaptability.” Hummed Wukong, truly monkeys were creatures of great flexibility. With how he was handling the shovel, one could think Mengai had been doing it his whole life. Seemingly the out-of-water fish that arrived weeks ago was now swimming in his element. Some could even say it leaped over the Dragon Gate. As he thought of that, he saw Mengai flinch the moment the dragon-horse perked up, the black-furred monkey was clutching his shovel as if it was a mighty weapon capable of defeating any foes. Alright, maybe the fish wasn't totally over the Dragon Gate yet. Wukong put a hand on his chin and pondered on how to help his assistant overcome his fear of dragon-horses. Perhaps he should take him on the horses’ outing? He did give one lesson about riding, and even if it ended in mud, Mengai must have understood the basics, right? Yes, that seemed like a good idea.

“Actually, come with me after I'm done verifying the food.” Ordered the bimawen, Mengai squinted, perhaps suspicious of his intentions, but didn't question his orders and returned to his shoveling.

Once Wukong was done checking the food he waved Mengai over with a flick of wrist. The black-furred monkey put down his shovel and came his way. “I'm taking you on an outing with the horses.” Proudly declared Wukong as he ordered the clones to open the stalls. Mengai stilled for a second, becoming as rigid as ice, before replying :

“W-what? No, no, no, I don't know how to ride.”

“I gave you a lesson didn't I?” Retorted the bimawen with hands on his hips. His assistant looked like he gulped down an entire lemon. It was admittedly quite funny. Nonetheless, Wukong took pity on him. “Well, you can ride with me.” Sighed the russet-furred monkey with a shake of his head. Somehow, Mengai didn't look reassured by this oh so generous offer. Some would say he looked even more panicked.

Wukong turned around and walked towards Peach. She patted the floor in glee when she caught sight of him and leaned over, pressing her snout in his hands. The russet-furred monkey patted her scaled face and hopped on her back with a single jump, he steered her towards his assistant by shifting his weight forward. Peach was used to his silent commands. Any thrills on his skin was something she understood. Mengai looked up with flattened ears and widened eyes, tell-signs of his nervosity. Wukong straightened, trying to appear confident and somehow reassure his assistant, and offered his hand. Mengai glanced at his hands as if it was made of burning charcoal, but he eventually took it. Wukong hoasted his assistant at the back, he needed to be in front to lead Peach.

“Squeeze her with your legs and hold tight, alright?” Warned the bimawen, he felt his assistant tentatively grab hold of his red robe. The hold was so weak it could shatter with one gust of wind. “Don't you have any strength in those hands of yours? Why is your hold as weak as a baby's?” Huffed Wukong. Instantly, Mengai's hold became stronger, almost too tight for comfort. The russet-furred monkey smirked. He was beginning to understand how the other worked. One little push, one little mockery, and he would double down because of his pride. Wukong could relate in some ways. He hated when one dared to look down on him too. He wasn't as petty as Mengai though.

Wukong steered Peach forward, all the other horses followed her lead, stepping in her path. Peach hoasted herself on the mist with one decisive push. Wukong felt his assistant hold becoming tighter, fingers as taut as pulled bow strings. Peach pawed at the mist once she was settled and began to gallop. Wukong grinned. He felt her muscles burn under him. Each step reverberating to his very core. Behind them, the sounds of claws hitting mist became one single melody, one single wave taking all in its wake. The sun glided upon them. Rain of gold flowing in their mane. They were running in a tunnel of wind. It felt like the world was caving under their steps.

Wukong took a look at his assistant to see how he was fairing. Mengai was pressed against his back, eyes firmly shut, his long-tail tied all over his body in a pitiful attempt at shielding. The bimawen frowned, not liking the sight. “Open your eyes, I assure you it's worth it.” Tried to encourage Wukong, hoping it would be enough to galvanize his assistant.

“Living is also worth it.” Stubbornly replied the black-furred monkey as he buried himself in his boss's back. Wukong sighed. He could very well order Mengai to open his eyes but it wouldn't solve the problem in itself. After all, to conquer fear one must confront it alone. As much as he wanted to help, Wukong couldn't do anything if Mengai wasn't willing to try. But he could still try to push the other in the right direction. Wukong decided to use the one thing that always pushed Mengai forward : taunts.

“It's a shame really, I always thought you could stomach it, guess I was wrong.” Sang the bimawen, he made sure that his assistant could see the smirk blooming on his lips. Mengai immediately perked up, he glared at the russet-furred monkey with fire in his eyes.

The black-furred monkey straightened, trying to appear confident, even if the tremors shaking his fingers betrayed his true feelings. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around. At first his gaze was tentative, not daring to linger in the powerful force driving the herd. But the more he looked, the more he seemed to be taken by the sight.

“I love the feeling.” Mumbled Wukong as he leaned forward, almost as if trying to merge with Peach. Her scales brushed against his chest. They were warm. Almost made of fire. Mengai's ears flickered, a sign he was listening. “The feeling of being one unstoppable force. It's addictive. Listen to the concert of paws. To all the breaths becoming one. It's almost like we're melting into one giant beast.” He felt the other monkey shiver. Wukong couldn't fault him. The feeling of merging could be as daunting as it was exciting.

“I guess it's not… that bad.” Whispered his assistant, the words immediately taken by the wind, shattered by the brute force of the air hitting them. Wukong hummed. He guessed that was a victory in itself, to make someone as stubborn as Mengai recognize that what he thought was terrible was in truth not so much.

They kept running for a few more hours. Sometimes stopping in sun-bathed parts of the sky to bask in the light. They came back to the stables once they tired themselves enough. Wukong hopped off Peach and helped his assistant get off by tugging him down. The black-furred monkey stumbled forwards, luckily he caught himself before he could kiss the grass and glared at Wukong with poorly concealed anger. The bimawen snickered.

“You see, you liked it.” Preened Wukong.

“Like is a big word.” Huffed Mengai with crossed arms. Not willing to admit he enjoyed the ride more than he thought he would. “Besides, it was very dangerous. We could have fallen off the horse or worse.”

Wukong rolled his eyes. “Don't be so dramatic,you ate the peaches at the Peach Festival so you risk nothing.” Reasonned Wukong with a huff. Even if the fall could have been hurtful, they wouldn't have died off it.

“I, huh, actually I didn't eat any peaches at the festival.” Wukong stopped his train of thought, he whirled around and gazed at his assistant with despair.

“What do you mean you didn't eat any!? It was the whole point of the festival!” Groaned Wukong. He couldn't believe his assistant would miss such a golden occasion to taste the most perfect fruit to ever exist.

“Well, I was more focused on the wine. And then the whole thing with Erlang Shen happened..” Pitifully tried to explain Mengai. Wukong fave palmed. What a Mengmeng! How could he miss the most delicious banquet on earth? Yes, immortal wine was a fine delicacy, but it was nothing against immortal peaches!

“This won't do.” Huffed Wukong with determination.

“What?”

“No assistant of mine can go on without having a taste of immortal peaches.” What sort of boss would he be if he didn't provide his own assistant with a piece of perfection?

“But we don't have immortal peaches? All the peaches in your orchard are normal ones.” Argued Mengai. He wasn't wrong. He didn't have any immortal peaches on hand… So that left them with only one option.

“Yeah… Let's steal some from the Immortal Orchard!”

***

Wukong would have thought that, with his overly cautious nature, Mengai would be against the idea of stealing the immortal peaches. But against all odds, the black-furred monkey seemed very excited at the thought. Both monkeys traveled until they were above the Orchad, then they landed near the entry, hidden behind a red tiled bridge.

“So why aren't we just barging in?” Asked Wukong with a raised eyebrow. Usually, when he wanted to steal something, he didn't bother with details, he just took what he wanted and ran without caring if anyone saw him.

“We need a plan.” Answered Mengai as if it was obvious.

“Barging in is easier.” Huffed the bimawen. Mengai looked at him as if he was the biggest idiot on earth. Wukong didn't like this look.

“The whole point of being a thief is to not be found out.” Pointed out the black-furred monkey. “Who are the ones in charge of the Orchad?”

Wukong thought about the question. He was friends with most of the constellations and spirits here, so he knew quite a lot about what type of person they were and where they were working. “The Immortal Maidens take care of the trees. Some earth spirits too but they won't stop us.”

“Who is the Immortal Maidens’ boss?” Asked Mengai, his six ears perked up, the russet-furred monkey wondered if he could hear what was happening in the Orchad. It was quite fascinating to see in a way. The soft appendages fluttered delicately, like the wings of a butterfly. He had the sudden urge to nip at them.

“The Lady Queen Mother.” Replied Wukong while he repressed his urge to nip at the soft ears. He couldn't do that in this form.

“The one who organized the Peach Festival?” Asked the black-furred monkey, Wukong nodded. Mengai cleared his throat and wetted his lips. He then opened his mouth and spoke with a perfect imitation of the Lady Queen Mother's voice : “Ladies, I need your help. Can you come outside of the Orchard?”

Wukong was dumbfounded. It wasn't difficult to change one voice with magic but Mengai was doing it naturally. He even managed to replicate the Lady Queen Mother accent! The russet-furred monkey definitely had to ask about this ability later on. The Immortal Maidens rushed out of the Orchard, their gowns flying like the wings of exotic birds. They had thin legs and long necks, reminiscent of cranes, and when they walked, one could almost believe they were floating.

Mengai crouched down and quietly approached them. He stuck to the shadows, slithering in the darkness. Wukong watched him with excitement, eager to see what his assistant would do. The black-furred monkey was incredibly silent, he moved with the stealth of an owl. He crawled in the maiden back and let out a long breath imbued in magic. One by one, the maiden fell unconscious. Wukong realized his assistant used the sleeping spell. He didn't know Mengai had knowledge in spellcraft! Decidedly, he learned a lot about his assistant today.

Wukong hopped off his hideout and clapped, his assistant thieving skills were genuinely impressive. Mengai scowled and waved his clapping away with a flick of wrist “Don't mock me.” Grumbled the black-furred monkey.

“I'm not mocking you, Mengmeng. It was very impressive.” Huffed Wukong as he approached his assistant, he was careful to not wake up the sleeping maiden. Mengai observed him for a few seconds, perhaps trying to see if he could spot any traces of lies. When he realized the other was being honest, he scratched his neck in embarrassment and muttered :

“Thanks.” Wukong smiled. Proud to get a “thanks” out of such a stubborn mouth. “Don't be cocky.” Mumbled the black-furred monkey as he entered the Orchard, Wukong eagerly followed after him.

The Immortal Orchard trees were even more towering than his own. Each trunk was marked by age. Long sinuous bark which lived for thousands of years. As sturdy as pillars, as tall as palaces. Each one filled with the radiant fresh blossoms of an everlasting spring. Pink danced in the wind with the musk of peaches. The sun bathed the place in light, as if it blessed the soil itself. Wukong hurried to climb one tree, he settled on the lowest branch and looked up at the peaches with drool pooling in his mouth. Mengai followed his example. He had more trouble with the climbing but he still managed to join Wukong. The bimawen was almost proud that his lesson on climbing bore fruit.

“Behold perfection.” Huffed Wukong as he gestured towards the peaches. Mengai raised an eyebrow but made no comments. The russet-furred monkey picked two peaches soaked in sunlight, they were glowing like faces reddened by wine. He handed one to his assistant and kept the other for himself.

Mengai inspected the peach, weighing it in his hand with a clouded look. “Why do you look so troubled? Eat it!” Encouraged Wukong.

“... What does it feel like to be immortal?” Asked the black-furred monkey instead.

“You're kind of already immortal since you drank the wine.” Argued Wukong, his assistant flinched at the revelation, perhaps he didn't think of that.

“I guess that's true.” Sighed Mengai. Wukong didn't like the look clouding his face. He looked down at his own peach and wondered what he should say. Immortality was a broad subject. And perhaps what Mengai wanted to hear wasn't what Wukong experienced. The bimawen caressed his peach with the pad of his thumb, his finger grazed the rosy duvet of the fruit.

“Immortality is a long life, that's true. So I say let's enjoy it.” Concluded Wukong as he took a bite of the peach. Mengai looked at him for a few seconds before letting out an airy chuckle, he took a bite of his own peach.

As always, immortal peaches were the most delicious fruit to ever exist. Juice flooded his mouth. It felt like fresh naturally sugared water taken out of the purest river. The sweetness of the peach lingered in his mouth even after he swallowed the bite. Like a ghost dancing on his tongue. Never leaving. Never forgetting. Mengai seemed to enjoy his peach with the same fervor.

Wukong snickered when he saw juice flowing in his assistant's mane. The other was so taken by the heavenly taste he forgot his manners, letting juice fall all over him. “You need some grooming.” Pointed out the bimawen. Mengai regained his spirit and looked down at himself with disgust. “I can do it for you.” Chirped the russet-furred monkey, it was the perfect occasion to teach grooming to his assistant. Truly he was a genius. Wukong didn't let Mengai answer, he scouted closer and tugged at the other linen robe, intending to remove it.

Mengai shuffled away and crossed his arms on his chest, almost as if guarding it. “What are you doing, you pervert.” He accused.

“I can't groom you if you're all clothed. Besides, I already saw you naked.” Huffed Wukong.

“What? When!?” The bimawen was about to answer but stopped himself once he realized he shouldn't speak about his time as a songbird. He raked his brain for an excuse and luckily found one rather quickly.

“When I took you to the bath after you fell on your first riding lesson.” Mengai relaxed a little once the memory hit him.

“Still, I don't want to be naked in front of you.”

“Would it make you feel better if I was naked too?” Proposed Wukong, hoping his proposition would even the shame, if it was even possible.

“No? Why would you even think it would?” Groaned the black-furred monkey. Wukong sighed. He had to find something to make the other agree… Perhaps he should use taunts? It worked well enough the last time.

“I understand… My naked body is a sight to behold, it's too much for your puny eyes.” Dramatically sighed Wukong as he leaned over the bark, looking like he was bearing some sort of ill-fated curse. Mengai scoffed.

“Of course not.” Gritted the black-furred monkey. The bimawen hid his smile in the palm of his hand and kept acting.

“Soo it wouldn't bother you if I was naked?”

“No…”

Wukong beamed , he shimmied out of his robe, proudly exposing himself. “You see? Nothing to be ashamed of. We're just monkeys.” Mengai looked very flustered. His face was reddening like an erupting volcano. But then, after a few minutes of observation, he gradually calmed down, regaining his poise. Somehow, it wasn't as embarrassing as Mengai had thought it would be. It almost felt mundane in a way. Perhaps because Wukong himself wasn't feeling any shame, it was almost difficult to be embarrassed by his nakedness.

“... I'm keeping my pants.” Groaned the black-furred monkey as he removed the top of his robe and folded it neatly beside him. Wukong chirped in delight. He scouted closer and touched the other monkey's arms. Mengai flinched as if he was being burned. It wasn't the first time Wukong noticed this odd reaction coming from his assistant. For all it was worth, the bimawen decided to be gentle.

He slowly ran his claws in the other fur and began to groom him. Smoothing out strands and removing grime and peach juice. “Grooming has to be meticulous.” Hummed Wukong, he purposefully took strands on the other’s chest to show him what he was doing. “First you have to inspect. See if there is any dirt, parasites or debris. Then you remove them.” He was very careful with the other's scalp. Not wanting to worsen his wounds. Mengai's gaze was intently following his gestures, perhaps finding familiarity in something so imbued in any monkey’s nature. The bimawen purposefully scouted closer, pressing his shoulder against Mengai's, offering a clear view of his nape and side.

He felt Mengai's gaze zero on those areas, and soon, clumsy little fingers tentatively touched his fur. Wukong stood still, letting the other monkey find his own rhythm. It was instinct for monkeys to groom back when they were being groomed. Beyond cleaning purposes, grooming served a primordial social function, it was a way to strengthen the bonds within a troop. As such, it was natural to reciprocate grooming.

“I'm bad at it.” Groaned Mengai with a frustrated tone.

“You'll get the hang of it the more you do it.” Hummed Wukong as he removed the dirt hidden in every nook and crannies of his assistant.

“I don't know… I don't have a lot of talents. Maybe I'm just naturally bad.” Humorlessly chuckled the macaque.

“That's not true.” The bimawen felt the black-furred monkey fingers stutter. “You can cook, clean and fish. You can even change your voice without magic. That's a lot of skills.”

“... Everyone can do that.” Mumbled Mengai with a frown.

“I can't.” Blurted Wukong in a bout of frustration. Even if he didn't want to admit his own weakness, it was somehow frustrating to see Mengai downplay his own skills. Perhaps, to other people, his assistant's skills were nothing but mundane, but to him, they were fascinating to behold. Each person had their own strength. And it was somewhat saddening to realize Mengai didn't see his. Wukong bit his lips, wondering if he should keep his feelings to himself. He didn't like the helplessness that came with exposing his own heart. Yet in the face of such stubborn self-dislike, he decided that letting out a sliver of his thoughts would do more good than harm. “I know you don't like yourself. But for all it's worth coming from me, I think you're pretty likable.”

Mengai stilled, his entire body stopping in time. Wukong wondered if he said something wrong. Perhaps he should change the subject? Comfort was never his forte. Truly he shouldn't meddle with another's mental health. As he thought this, Mengai's head dropped on his shoulder. Wukong flinched, surprised by the action. He was about to grumble, annoyed that his assistant didn't warn him before letting his head fall, but he stopped himself.

Something wet was rolling on his shoulder. Wukong stiffened and slowly turned towards the black-furred monkey. There was no mistaking. Mengai was crying, trying to hide the proof of his feelings in the bimawen's fur, almost as if he wanted to smother them.

“Not a word.” Croacked his assistant with a shaking voice.

Wukong stood still, awkwardly letting the other cry on his shoulder. After a few minutes of inner debate, he stiffly patted the other on the back, hoping it would somehow ease what was seizing him so violently.

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[maryonmega]

Twin Stars - Chapter 9

On the road (let me in?)

For so long, you have been able to take down most sadnesses without much effort. You just attack, no puns, no one liners, no fancy posing, and common sadnesses that don't come down with just that are the ones that stick out, untill it's just annoying.

This is how it goes, fight after fight, untill a sadness somehow manages to take down the whole group.

Where you lie on the floor, you see Bonnie go to Mira with a bottle of craft water. 

Good, but not enough. The sadness is creeping towards them, closed fists pointed at both. The coward, dirty...

With what little strenght you still have, you grip your dagger, and...

...

You smell grass when you wake up.

You don't reason that there's no smell of burnt sugar at first, but you do register that you don't see the sky.

You're safe from weather, but not in an actual bed.

A tent.

Right. You're on the road again.

You move carefully, as quiet as you can, and get outside. You see three tents, plus the one behind you. 

Yes, right. Because now you're travelling in seven. Because the King stayed defeated, and your family grew after. Over a month after.

The four are in a semi circle, the remains of a campfire where the middle of the circle would be. You came out of one tip. On the other tip are Mira and Loop. Beside them, Nille and Bonnie. Between the siblings and you and Isa, Odile, ever appreciative of her personal space. I'ts kind of an unspoken rule that started during the quest and got adjusted to four, because it meant it would be easier to get around and help if someone got snuck on by a sadness, and nobody really had any reason to change.

You're not near the center of the country, you're still in the general north area. You're camping because you're yet to get to next town. You're not avoiding towns this time, because you're not on a rush.

You have no reason to rush, because you're travelling for the sake of it. 

... 

So silly. Needing to restate all of this obvious crab because of a bad dream.

Well, it's rather early morning but it is already morning, and you don't want to sneak in to your own bedroll. You decide to gather sticks. Bonbon will need those soon.

... Will Nille be fine with how you left Bonnie in snack duty?

Focus, will you?

It's not so hard to find dry sticks, in fall. You're done by the time the sky is nice and light.

You get a proper pile ready by the time the siblings get out of their tent.

Nille is right here. Of course she is, silly.

You bite down a laught. Changing "stupid" to "silly" is sticking, hm? At least you don't have to put effort for the smile.

"Morning, Bonbon. Nille."

"Morning, Frin." "Morning."

Will she take it well? No point hiding, right? Like, Bonbon must have learned somewhere, and she knows you all were not eager to take a child to danger, but actual cooking and carrying ready-to-go supplies are not the exact same thing. 

"You're up early." Bonbon snaped you out of your mini freak out. Their face has a vaguely accusatory look. You can't lie your way out if this, you know that now. Instead, you shrug.

"Sure am. Wanna join to make breakfast?"

You see them hesitate, but soon enough they pout at you.

"No! You're not putting cheese on the eggs again!"

"You're gonna let the Bug cook?" Nilla looks at you. You feel goosebumps on your back "They're not bad, but..."

"Blew up a kitchen using craft?"

Your relief is short lived, the noise Bonnie makes a reminder that you didn't have that talk last loop.

"Yes, they did." Her serious face gains the start of a smile. 

"It was just once!" Bonnie protests, and then gets the wok. Their sister helps start the fire.

The relief comes back. Looks like this "spoiler" wasn't too bad.

Why are you so nervous, still? Sure, you and Loop didn't really sit down and have a real talk with her in the time you spent in Bambouche, each group with their own part to fulfill, but, if she had a problem with you still, you know she would let you know.

You feel her gaze on you. It's not piercing, again, but you grip your pants under your cloak to steady them.

"Not a talkative type, are we?"

Oh, you think you understand now. 

After some retroactive thoughts about what you now know were "why you and not me?" looks from Loop, you can almost hear it: "why is Bon attached to you?"

You feel like in a comedy, and this is a variation of a "dinner with in-laws" scene. You take a deep breath to not giggle in disconfort.

"You want to talk about something?" 

"Frin's like a big cat, you have to feed him first."

You blink in Bonnie's direction. They're looking at the wok, but their smile is far from hidden where you are. You're pretty sure your face is similar to Pétronille's right now.

"They're like... a cat?"

"Yes! You didn't see? They smirk like a cat, they nap like a cat, they even blep like a cat!"

You're not counting your blessings untill you hear more movement. Oh, the others must be waking up, too.

~★~

You hear the voices outside before you open your eyes. In front of you, the Housemaiden stirs, too.

You're... not exacly in a bed. This is really happening, hm?

You get out before she's fully awake. Stardust and the siblings are already up.

"... they even blep like a cat!"

You put on your signature grin.

"Please, dearies, be a bit louder, I can barely hear you all."

That gets the attention on you. Stardust puts their face on their cloak, but you're sure the seen grateful. Rescued from a conversation. Classic Siffrin.

"Well you should be getting up anyway!" "Sisyphus." "Morning, Starlight."

...

Getting back at you, aren't they?

You nod in the adults' general direction and turn to the Kid.

"You're right. Forgive me, kiddo."

"It's Bonnie."

You k...

....

Nop nop nop~

Some things become too real when said out loud~

"And for that too... kiddo."

"I don't forgive you. You don't learn."

You gasp and put your hand over your chest in an exagerated gesture. You can't help the smirk that tugs the coners of your lips when you see Stardust duck into their cloak again. You're gonna have to call them Turttle at this rate.

The other three come out and give the usual greetings. 

You put some physical distance between yourself and the main group. Not enough to be obvious. You could be an outside observer or not depending of the main group.

You don't have to. You know that. But it's overwhelming.

You hear the others comment about the town you're stopping by, that it's one that they passed during the King quest, but couldn't stay for very long. So, that didn't escape your memory. The party did take another route.

It's such a stupid thing to be conforted by.

You still hang back when the group gether up and gets moving again. Two on the back is better than one, after all. You even make sure to keep the sister by your blind side. It's unsettling, but you're making the Kid Sandwich without making it obvious.

"I hope they're doing better now." You hear the Housemaiden say, almost side by side with Stardust "Last time we barely had time to look for tonics."

In theory, you all already know this, no? Well, there's three reasons she may be saying that like you don't, and you really hope it's because she's that excited or because of you and Pétronille.

You arrive at the town before noon.

It's... a town.

The plate says "Primaville".

There's movement. Not a craze, but far from give the impression of a place of hermits. The buildings have enough personality, but, curiously enough, do seen to put on an effort to blend in, somehow.

Seens like a cosy place. The type a big city born wanting to spend later years in tranquility or a newly bonded couple wanting a nice life start would want to settle on.

Your time as the Wanderer was... full. At least in your head. Even in Bambouche, you still had things in your head that took priority. Right now, it's like you just became a minor-t traveler. No baggage, just a fella that can admire a nice place beyond "I can make a bit of money and no one asks uncomfortable questions".

You allow yourself physical proximity to the main group.

You couldn't retell the talks if you tried, but...

You do register that Bonbon the Kid being annoyed that Odile the Researcher wants to go a library. Again.

That Pétronille showed some eagerness for a perma-building theatre hall. You don't need to see Stardust's face to know.

How Mira the Housemaiden seen to not know what to look at first. It's a heated debate between food, the small-but-good-enough museum, or window shopping.

Exact words escape through your fingers. Except for one set. One that doesn't come from outside.

You hear Stardust's voice. Back at the beginning. The Very beginning. When the dumb, life-ruining wish was made for a second time.

Only after it repeats a few times, a hypnotic and maddening melody, you realise that the words are different.

It's not Stardust's wish. He asked to see the siblings reunite.

The voice you hear, clear as day, as if time, despair and lack of care had never buried it...

("I want to see new places with Mirabelle")

It's not his.

It's yours.

A memory floated back to the surface.

You're shook that you remenber this.

You look at  the Housemaiden  Mira  her, picking at her own fingers and running her hands on the straps of her backpack. The couple had a little falling out, it seens, and so did the alliances: Researcher and Stardust want to see the museum, sister and Fighter want to window shop (you did NOT see that coming!), Kid thinks both options are lame and want to try food, but, even if you joined in, three others (Stardust excluded) agreed that they will try food anyway. It's not a fair fight for the third option. And, it seens, you became the tie breaker for the other two.

After her comment, you can say it might as well be new to her too, right?

Universe, you bitch.

You roundabout, fickle, vague blinding bitch.

You... have no choice but to face this sober.

You give the closest to your signature grin you can without forcing too much and making the moisture in your eyes obvious.

"I'm in the mood for window shopping, myself."

The look of betrayal Stardust gives you should have helped dry your eyes. It didn't. His problem, nerd. You have an idea and you'll go through if you can.

After agreeing on a time and spot to meet again, the party gets divided into two antique nerds with a kid that's not into antiques, and a rather unlikely four. This whole thing feels like the start of a comedy sketch.

You don't understand a pitch of what Isabeau the Fighter says, but you can tell that he's having a good time. Far from for the first time, your hear about how Housemaidens are expected to change style every now and again.

You can't help yourself. When you find a hairnet with a little bell, you want to pat her shoulder but instead snap your fingers to get her attention and shows it, then shake your head lightly. You like her smile when she gets it. You breath in, and out, as discreetly as you can. You focus on that so you won't cry.

That's pretty much the closest of a style sugestion you give. Other than that little moment, you're rather similar to Nille: just eye the thing for a moment and then say if you think it's cute/cute/whatever.

You also find out in real time that you're much picky-er than, well, before, but who can blame you? You've been just accepting whatever you can for as long as you can remember. You can allow yourself to have a drop or two of taste, right?

"For someone who chose to look at clothes, you sure don't stay in one too long."

You swallow the tiny, unstable little hope that Nille seens a bit more at ease speaking with you, and just give your signature smile.

"Not a lot matches me." You say, and lift your cloak to show what you're wearing under. Yes, you got it quite a bit out of convenience, but it doesn't mean you can't actually like it.

Before the agreed on time gets too close, you find what you want. You ask your companions to wait before getting in. You don't give a straight answer when asked why you got out without your hat or cloak, just tell that you'll have to go back later. 

If those things, if they're even the same or copies, were really gifts, than they're yours, not just of your home. Who made them would want you to enjoy wearing them.

So, if when it was almost evening you went back and got out with your main attire pieces an ashy shade instead of darkless and your cloak closing over your shoulder instead of having to clasp on the front, well, not the best place to call a change out as odd.

When Stardust tells about a multi-turn play that had arrived some time before the whole King business and fought tooth and nail to be played out so shortly after, it would be a lie to say you were unsure if it's a good idea...

You're 100% sure it's a terrible idea. 

Alas, you don't voice your concern, with or without thinking throught how you would explain them. The Housemaiden Mirabelle started gushing about how good it is that they're getting this back (of course they are, why wouldn't them?), and your lips are sealed tight. Yes, the other adults show interest too (you'd be blind in all senses to not notice how much the Fighter's eye are shining), but it's her smile that convinces you.

It's good. There's no point denying. It's good to see her happy in a way that doesn't have a shadow over it.

Sitting and watching acts from what sounds like dawn to dusk again is a small price to pay.

[mytwistedspaces]

The Flower - the true story of Chiara and Vally (part #2)

A short novel by Luna (Max G.)

Summary: Where you will learn how time flows right when the besties are together and you’ll discover that for Vally, “on her own terms” means much more than sex.

(click here for part #1)

At Vally's place, we talk about everything. About the things that would really make us feel good. About sketches for Bethesda, a job at Rockville, throwing a party together in the very center of London. Everything falls into place when we're together. Time straightens out and gains – I don't know – some kind of meaning. According to the Pip-Girl – our artificial friend – this happens when Vally and I are both in the region of space dominated by our little wormhole. So close to the singularity inside it, that it finally makes the flow of our emotions stable. And lets us act in sync, protecting each other. I don't know how true that is. I've never been good at emotional relativity. But it's an explanation I like.

Ding (Ugh... it's Mom) «Will you be back for dinner?». «I'm staying at Vally's. We're going to the movies». Ding «Don't be late». «It's Saturday tomorrow». Ding «Don't be late». «Okay». I toss my phone aside.

One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.

DING (...damn. Mom again!)

«Oh, can you sit still? It's going to look like shit...». «It's Mom stressing me out!». «So answer her, come on. I'll keep going after». She caps the mascara bottle. She pretends she's cool, but it's clear as day that she's annoyed. I've ditched her too many times by now. I look at the message. Now Mom's going to tell me to come home. Something's probably gone wrong that's made her upset and she'll want to hold on to me.

Ding Ding (Oh God!!! I'm coming, Mom!)

I pick up my phone. «Are you sleeping over at Vally's?». I check again. «Hey. Everything's fine here anyway. Are you sleeping over at Vally's?». It's all real. «Can I sleep over at your place?». And I hold the phone up to my girl's face as proof. «Hell, yes!!!». I text Mom right away. «hell yes! Vally says it's no problem». «We won't be late! Promise!! LY. LY.», I add, immediately, with a boatload of hearts. Ding «hell yes! love you!», replies Mom instantly.

No way... this really is a whole different universe.

«No way, Chiara... why are you stressing? Your mom suggested it! She's HAPPY. You're saying it's a different universe? I'm saying this is our universe». «So...». «So... deal with it!». Vally's eager to change the subject. With great ceremony, she parts the sea of makeup from the one of wax strips and unveils the surprise: two little tickets still without names. On the glossy side, black card stock glows pink with a touch of purple. On the back, tonight's date and the dry stamp of the Sin's inner club: a flower. «OMG. Are they letting us in?». Vally nods. Then, dead serious, she writes our names on top. «How did you do it?! God, I want to hook up with Mariano too!». Her eyes sparkle when she looks at me. «Babe, Mariano didn't give me these. I earned them myself». «And how'd you earn them? It's a super-exclusive DJ set. Invitation only». Then a thought hits me. «You're sure about this, right? You're not bringing me to a DJ escort, are you?». «LOL. What are you talking about? Look... if you're not coming, I'm going by myself. But then, there's no way you're crashing at mine again». I sniffle. Oh no! Oh no! She's right. This is our universe. «Don't even try it, okay? I'm coming. No way am I missing it, clear?», I declare solemnly. I take a deep breath, spread my arms like Jesus. «Bring on the mascara, sister. Ad Victoriam!». Vally cracks up. «You just gave me the perfect idea for a little touch-up to tonight's outfit».

(continue)

[timbradfordslover]

Warnings: minor violence

Summary: Your friend Maxwell finds out he has long lost daughter and you help identify her for a case.

Surprise!

"Hey Bradford, have you seen Powers anywhere?" Angela asks as "Y/N Bradford walks into the bullpen with her K9, Osleya. "I think he's out on patrol still. What’s up?" she asked her. "You won't believe this. Look." She points to the case file on her desk and a picture of Maxwell pulled up on her computer. "What's all this? she asked curiously. "Apparently the DNA found at a crime scene matches half of Maxwell's, meaning he has a child no one knew about." She explains. "Like what happened with Oscar," she says. "Exactly," she nods. "I'll call him back to the station now," Angela says.

About an hour later, Maxwell comes to Angela's desk, where Tim and his wife Y/N are waiting for him with Angela. "Sorry I was gone for a while; I got stuck riding with Smitty. Why are you guys staring at me like that?" he asks when he walks over to them. "You have a child," Y/N says. "Huh??? No, I don't." Maxwell says confused. "According to the DNA found at this gang-involved crime scene, you do." Angela explains. "So how do we find them?" Maxwell asks. "Well, you'll need to make a list of possible mothers and go down the line." Tim answers.

"So how many possible mothers did you come up with?" Y/N asks as Tim pulls the shop out of the station's parking lot. "Four," Maxwell answers from the backseat of the shop. "I'm texting them to you now," he says as the other's phones go off. "The first one is Emily Evans, 36, who lives two blocks away." Y/N says after typing the name into the shop's computer. Tim follows the directions from Y/N and pulls in front of a brick one-story house. When the lady opens the door after Maxwell knocks, she sees Tim and immediately starts flirting. "Well, aren't you a cop cutie?" She says. Tim and Y/N both roll their eyes. "Powers, get it in there. We don't have all day." Tim says surly. Maxwell steps forward. "Hi ma'am, are you Emily Evans?" He asks her. "I am. What do you need from me?" She asks. "I'm not sure if you remember me, but we dated in high school." Maxwell explains "You're Maxwell, right?" "Yes, ma'am. We just had a few questions for you. "No problem, as long as I can have some alone time with this hottie," she says as she moves very close to Tim. "Ma'am, these two are married," Maxwell says as he sees Tim look very annoyed with her forwardness. Once she sees that their name tags are the same, she backs off and focuses on Maxwell. "This is going to sound very weird, but is there any chance you have a kid from me?" Maxwell well asks, eager to get out of there soon, knowing Tim is annoyed with the whole situation. "Excuse me? You think that low of me enough to think I'd keep something like that from  someone?" "Ma'am, I apologize for the nature of this situation. This is weird for him too. This is nothing personal. Y/N says to try to calm the lady down. "I don't care. Do you have what you need?" She asks, slowly stepping back into her house. "Yes, ma'am, you have a good rest of your day." Y/N says back. She rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. "Well, that could have gone better." Maxwell says as they walk back to the shop.

Ten minutes later they arrive at a white two-story house. "Hi. How can I help you?" a Middle Eastern woman asks after Maxwell knocks on the door. Y/N and Tim stand a few feet behind him. "Hi ma'am, are you Janice Bahmed?" Max asks her. "I am. Am I in some kind of trouble?" she replies nervously. "Oh no, ma'am. We just have a couple questions for you. Do you happen to remember me from high school? "I think so. Yeah, you're Maxwell." She said once she recognized him. I have a few questions for you; unfortunately, they are a bit personal. Is there any way that we could have had a kid together in the past?" Janice’s face hardens. “Yes, you have a daughter. Unfortunately, she left once she turned 18. Haven’t heard from her since. I’m sorry you didn’t know; I wasn’t able to contact you and was too scared to tell you.” She explains. "It's ok. I'm not blaming you. About how old would she be right now?" Maxwell asks softly. "Sara would be 20 now." She says back. "Thank you. Here's my card in case you have any questions." Maxwell says, holding out his business card.

On the way back from the station, Y/N interrogates Maxwell, and Tim drives in silence, annoyed. "So when did you date her?" Y/N asks. "Beginning of senior year, I believe,he says from behind the barrier in the shop. Y/N thinks for a minute and says, "So you would have been around 17. Do you still kinda like Janice?" Y/N asks. Maxwell starts to say something, but Tim slams on the brakes. "Both of you out now!" He growls. Maxwell looks too scared to say something, but Y/N speaks up. “Really, Tim?” She says. “You know I don’t like hearing about personal stuff on the job.” Tim says surly. “Fine, we’ll talk at lunch then.“. She says while rolling her eyes.

When they get back to the station, they work with Angela to create a plan to get the gang members in custody. “So we located where they hang out, so we will have Metro go and check it out. You two Bradfords can ride together with Officer Osleya.” Angela explains. “What about me? Maxwell asks. “You can ride with Arron, she says.

30 minutes later, Tim is driving Y/N’s K9 shop to the location that Angela found. “This is going to be super weird for Maxwell. What if his daughter looks just like him? Y/N wondered out loud. “I don’t care as long as the operation goes well.” He says back as he stops the shop near Maxwell and Aaron's shop. A loud pop is heard on the passenger side of the shop as a bullet comes through the window. “Baby, get down!” Tim yells as both of them dive toward the floorboard. “Are you ok?“ Tim asks Y/N. “I’m going to go around shop. You stay here and call it in.” He says to her. “Be careful, please.” She says as he nods before slipping out the driver’s side door carefully.” After 20 minutes of waiting, Tim radios back and says it’s clear. She steps out and goes to Maxwell’s and Arron’s shop. Tim comes around shortly after. "So Metro will still breach, and we will go in after.” He says. Y/N walks behind Tim, and Arron and Maxwell follow after. “Everyone get down,” Y/N yells as she steps out from behind Tim. Everybody starts to get down, but a girl starts to run towards a back door. Maxwell and Y/N run after her into an alley out back.They chase her down to a dead end. “There’s nowhere else to run. Put down your weapon slowly and get on your knees.” The girl nods and slowly follows Y’N's instructions. Once she handcuffs the girl, Y/N says code 4 over the radio. When they bring her to where the shops are parked, Maxwell realizes that the girl is his daughter. “Wait, aren’t you Sara?” he asks her. “ She looks up and nods. “Uh, how’d you know my name?” she asks nervously. “I’m your father,” he says.

Back at the station, Sara asks Maxwell questions while he processes her. “So how come I’ve never seen you before?“ she asks. “I didn’t know you existed until earlier this morning.“ He explains. “Well, that makes sense. I guess I’ll see you around then.” She says as he puts her into one of the holding cells.