#excited rattie noises

[repulsiveliquidation]

Wake Up Call || Jessie Fleming

warnings : this is pure smut. somnophilia (consensual fucking while asleep), strap-on, anal fingering, pussy-eating. enjoy.

summary : jessie comes home to you having some vivid dreams. a good girlfriend always helps their girl in need.

Jessie walked into your shared apartment at 5 am, having flown into London at the last minute to surprise you. She crept in and greeted Milo your dog, giving him lots of pets to try and keep him from barking in excitement and waking you. She dumps her bags at the door and leaves her shoes at the door which she knows she’ll get reprimanded for in the morning but that’s something for her to deal with later.

The door is a little ajar and the bathroom shines a sliver of light into your bedroom. The fan is on high and the AC hums just a touch.

She looks towards the bed and smiles. There she was, the person whom she was sure her bones missed. You looked so peaceful, nose and cheeks lit by the light from the bathroom. They were tinted a little red from the cold room and Jessie turned it down a little. The sun was coming up just a touch in the distance and she knew that you would be up for work soon.

There was a book on the bed face down and she noticed her pillows cradling your head instead of your own. You had her ratty UCLA shirt on, hair tousled from sleep. Your mouth was slightly open and your breath steady. Nothing made her heart swell more than seeing you sleep so peacefully.

She tried to make as little noise as possible getting herself ready for bed, brushing her teeth, and throwing one of your sweats and t-shirts on before standing at the foot of the bed with a little smirk on her face.

She stared at you, watching your body. You had been making noises while she took the fastest shower in the history of man, whines, and whimpers coming from your lips that weren’t exactly soft.

Your hips ground into the soft mattress.

Your hands gripped the silk sheets tight.

Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

Your lips moaned only one name.

Jessie.

You were having a wet dream.

About your girlfriend.

A good girlfriend took care of her girl’s needs, didn’t they?

Jessie was no longer dog-tired. No, that warm shower made her sleepy but the sultry sound of your voice moaning her name was one that she admits she missed. The phone sex was great but the mics never picked up on the soprano and alto tones of your voice that drove her crazy.

Jessie stood in front of her bedside drawer with her hand on the knob for a solid 30 seconds, debating if she should do what she impulsively wanted to do. You’ve said yes to what she was about to do but she didn’t want to disrupt your sleep.

“Fuck it,” Jessie mumbles to herself, opening the drawer a little too aggressively to pull out her strap. She also notices the lube running low and smirks to herself, putting a reminder in her head to ask you about it later.

She settled the harness comfortably over her hips and threw her shirt off, crawling onto the bed. Jessie smirked and listened to your moans.

“Please Jessie,” you begged, shifting to the middle of the bed with your leg pushed up. Perfect.

“I know darling, just a minute sweetheart,” Jessie cooed, pushing your shirt up and kissing down your back softly. She bit her lip and got a little shy at the sight of a wet patch on your grey underwear, hooking her fingers on the thick band and pulling it off. Your hips lifted for her and for a second she thought you were awake but you only whined a little more and your eyes were still shut.

Her thick fingers dragged themselves through your slick folds and she smiled to herself, lathering what she gathered all over her cock. She sat on your leg and used her hand to keep your leg wide open for her. Her cock was thick and long, one that you took with ease and it never failed to make Jessie wetter than she had ever been in her life when you bottomed out on it.

“Easy baby, there you go angel,” Jessie muttered to herself more than you, guiding her cock right into your aching pussy. It swallowed her up and fluttered a little when she bottomed out, Jessie swore she saw you smirk a little in your sleep now that you were filled. She gave you a couple of seconds to adjust before taking matters into her own hands, hovering over you to thrust gently.  She knew you liked being asleep for as long as she could keep you that way, wanting nothing more than to wake up with sticky underwear and soreness that you could’ve sworn you didn’t go to bed with.

“Jessie,” you moaned, hips rolling back into her as she thrust slow but deep. Jessie tried her best to keep her composure but the way your ass looked and the little whine in your voice almost begging for her broke her focus.

She grabbed your hips and thrust in deep. She moaned as she fucked you, rousing you from your sleep. You were a deep sleeper, nothing could wake you in the mornings sometimes Jessie often resorted to a spray bottle with water she labeled with your name.

“You like that baby?” Jessie asked your sleepy form. She leaned over and pressed her lips to your ears, her Canadian accent slipping through as her hips picked up speed.

“What, is that what you pussy needed darling? Needed me to fuck your needy pussy, is that it?”

Your eyes shoot open and you struggle a little before realizing it’s Jessie, balls deep inside you fucking you awake.

“Jessie!”

“Been saying that a lot tonight, doll,” Jessie teased, kneeling behind you and gripping your hips to grind into you gently.

“When did you get back?” you ask, arching your down onto the mattress. Jessie audibly groans, thrusting a little faster.

“An hour ago,” Jessie answered, fingers digging into the meat of your hips. There were white streaks where she held you too tight and it sent a rush of blood that left a sultry tingle in your thighs. Jessie pushes you down fully, legs extending between her legs in a prone position. She pulls out and scoots down, spreading your ass and exposing your pussy. The sun is brighter now, light shining perfectly to cast an orange glow on your core. Jessie digs in, sloppily eating you out to her heart’s content. Her hands knead the flesh of your ass as she moans in pleasure, heart happy to have your taste on her tongue again.

“Fuck I missed you babygirl,” Jessie mumbles as she kisses up your back. You felt her cock poke at your entrance again and like a seamless machine your hips pressed up into her just as hers fucked into you. You both sighed deeply and you turned to look at Jessie, nodding for her to let loose.

“Use me, Jess,” you begged in your best slutty voice, “fuck me like you mean it.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jessie smirks, sitting on your thighs and fucking your pussy hard. She gives you no room to breathe, hips pounding deep into your cunt. Jessie gathers your hair into a ponytail and pulls you up by it, spanking your ass as she ruts deeper into you.  

“Use you like this, sweetheart?” she teases, letting go of your ponytail and pulling out again. She steps off the bed and pulls you to the edge, folding you onto your knees and pushing her cock into you swiftly.

“Yuh–yes!” you scream, feeling her cock thrust right into your sweet spot. She relishes in your vulnerability, angling her hips right into your bundle of nerves.

“Such a good girl, doll. Taking my cock so well,” Jessie praises, thrusting roughly into your pussy. She pulls out just a little and spits directly onto your asshole, two thick fingers pushing themselves into it.

“Fuck!” you moan, gripping the sheets tight. Jessie plants a foot on the bed and fucks her cock into you hard, fingers alternating with her hips. She spits into your winking asshole just a little more before pushing her fingers in, moaning as you take it so effortlessly.

“Just one question, my perfect girl,” Jessie begins, thrusting slow but deep into you. Her fingers in your ass scissored you open, a third finger forcing its way in as another blob of spit joins it.

“Fucked yourself on my cock plenty while I was gone?”

You look back at Jessie, the sun casting a glow around her toned body as your orgasm tugged at your navel. Jessie’s hips never once slowed down, her soccer stamina proving to be useful in scenarios like this one.

“Did you?” she asked, fucking into you hard and fast now that she knew you were getting close. She spanked your ass just as you screamed out your answer, cumming all over her cock and rhythmically clenching on her fingers.

“Fuck Jessie,” you breathe out as she pulls out and takes the harness off. Just as she’s about to pick you up and take you into the bathroom, your alarm goes off. She turns it off and smiles, pulling you into her arms.

“I think a day off is in order, princess.”

“Only if you give me the biggest kiss ever.” 

[star2fishmeg]

can we discuss luke not trusting anyone with his curls but you so whenever he gets home from roadies his hair is a matted mess and he starts pouting for you to help him

We absolutely can, nonnie <3

He probably endures a lot of comments from the guys about it but insists that no one can touch his hair but you, because one; he loves the way you do it, he likes the result of your method and the method itself isn't too much for him and two; he only likes you touching his hair and massaging his scalp. He'd rather have to tame the curls under a hat than have someone else help with them.

Luke who never had a routine for his hair until he met you. You asked about it out the blue and he'd never thought about it, so, you found him one that wasn't too time consuming and went through it with him. You were both in the bathroom, him sat on the toilet seat with you between his legs as you followed the instructions on the product's bottle, massaging through his hair with his hands gently caressing your thighs, his eyes closed and it was as if the noise of the world had completely disappeared. You had explained the steps as you went through them, and he listened, or so he said at the time.

Luke who now finishes his showers and searches for you around the apartment with sodden hair, just to stand there and wait for you to come do his hair for him, leading you to the bathroom by your hand delicately. He sits on the toilet seat as usual, letting you comb through his curls, dab them a little dry and start applying the product all while he hums in satisfaction and traces patters on your thighs and hips with his fingers, pressing kisses to your stomach now and then.

Luke who has to go on long roadies for hockey and finds it hard to keep up with his curl routine and eventually becomes too tired for it. His hair becomes more unruly as his trip proceeds until his teammates start chirping him about how rough he looks. When suggested he go to a salon, he's adamant that they won't do it right and that he only likes the way you do it. When someone tries to touch it, he backs away, it's already a mess, he doesn't need it getting worse.

"Why don't you go get it fixed at a salon? You look like a ratty dog." "Haha so funny. No, they won't do it like y/n."

Luke who by the end of his roadie ends up wearing a hat to tame his curls, buzzing in excitement to get home. When he does, he expects to see you fast asleep in his bed, but instead you're sitting up on your phone and he's rounding the bed and flopping himself on top of your frame and kissing your face tenderly and eagerly, hoping to put you in a good mood before he confesses. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, giggling at his sleepy affections until he sits up and gives you a pleading look, such a pouty man for you.

"Missed you so much," he laces his fingers with yours. "I missed you more," you point to is hat, "What's with that? You'll ruin your hair."

Luke who feels guilty and gives you a pout, as if to ask you to not be mad at him. He takes his hat off and ruffles his hair out slightly, letting the matted and knotted curls, all fallen out of their shape - some janky, some flat, some still fine - by now, fall over his forehead and even though you're irritated he didn't follow the simple routine you gave him, designed specifically to accomodate roadies, you find yourself sighing with a small smile at his puppy dog gaze.

"Help...I tried, baby, I really did but y'know how it gets..." he whines and all you do is lean over, push his hair off his forehead, kiss it and kiss his cheeks and a final, long, sweet kiss to his lips, one that has you slipping your hands to his nape and pulls a little groan from him. "I believe you Lu, we'll fix it in the morning, for now, come to bed."

[hedoublehell]

BITE

Damien Haas x f!reader

You wake up from a dream about Damien, only to find out reality may be better than anything your imagination could come up with.

SMUT -- 18+ ONLY!!!

Warnings: p in v, oral (both male + female receiving), degradation kink (slut + whore is used a lot), praise kink, spanking, dom/sub, dom!Damien, sir/master kink

Note: this is my first fic in about 5 years, so it may be a little rusty. but i hope you all enjoy!!

Tags: @agnewbones, @pedropascallme

“You’re this wet for me already?” 

Cold sweat dripped down the middle of your back outlining the edges of your spine. Reality came back as the pitch black darkness engulfed your vision, replacing the blurs of skin, purple hair, and that one smile that seemingly haunts your every moment whether you’re asleep or awake.

Fuck. Another dream about Damien.

You shifted from underneath your duvet, cold air freezing the damp spot between your legs that was not there when you originally settled in for the night. While you loved living with Damien, your body could not handle the consistent proximity of your bodies. Whenever you wanted food, he was already in the kitchen preparing something that he was going to surprise you and your fellow roommates with. If you needed to shower first thing in the morning, you would come out of your room only to hear Damien’s singing over the monotonous rain of the water pressure. Even at work, you could not shake him, often going out for coffee runs together in between shoots. The only aspect of your life that he was void from was the one that your subconscious craved him in the most. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you slid up your silk sheets into a sitting position. A subtle blink of baby blue light emitted from the digital clock that rested just off to the right of your bed. 3:47 am. 

The ache of need still pulsed in your core, even as real-life came creeping back in. It pounded against the inside of your thighs as the slickness of your excitement dribbled down your panties. Whatever Dream Damien did,  your body wanted more, and knowing that Real Damien was only two doors away made it even worse. Thankfully the room just before his was the bathroom. A cold shower was desperately needed, no matter the time.

You stumbled out of bed, your ragged graphic tee hitting just above your waist leaving your baby pink boy shorts exposed. Considering it was 4 am, you didn’t see a reason to bring a change of clothes, or even a pair of pants, to the bathroom. It was literally the next door down the hall, and no one else should be up.

The house was eerily still, something that you weren’t used to while living with half of the Smosh cast. That, along with the fact that you were always the first one asleep, quiet was never something that you were able to fully experience. The only thing that interrupted it was the soft padding of your bare feet against the wooden floor, the coldness of it sent shivers up your shins. This silence continued until you got closer to Damien’s room.

A faint mumble of voices emitted from the other side of the door. You tiptoed closer, trying to decipher which anime he had decided to throw on as background noise. However, as quickly as you heard it, it stopped. The stillness returned.

Damien’s door swung open. His purple hair was illuminated by the fluorescents behind him, which created a lavender halo around his head. All he had on was a ratty grey undershirt and a pair of thin black and white plaid pyjama bottoms. Your eyes immediately darted to his biceps, admiring the way they flexed as he held the frame. The muscle rippled against the taut skin that encased it. Hair trailed down to his armpit, leaving speckles of black on the underside. A moan threatened to spill out of your lips at the sight, but you held it in. 

“What are you doing up?” His 4 am voice was rasper than you anticipated. Genuine concern spread across his face, knotting his eyebrows. 

“I- I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I might have a shower to try to relax.” Which wasn’t a lie, but it sure as hell wasn’t the full truth. Dream Damien’s doing ghosted your memory, the stickiness of your desire still glued between the crook of your thighs.

His eyes wandered down your frame, stopping a second longer at the heam of your shirt before continuing onto your naked thighs. Shit. Heat spread across your bare skin as his eyes fluttered across the nudeness that defined your lower half. A similar warming sensation welcomed itself across your cheeks as he returned to your face. 

“I didn’t think anyone else would be up…” You trail off.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” he whispered, not daring to look away from you. “I was just watching Demon Slayer, I only got up ‘cause I had to pee. Do you want to join me before you go back to bed? Totally cool if not. I get how hard insomnia can be, though.” 

Before you could stop yourself you were nodding. You knew it was a terrible idea, going into his room right after waking up gasping for him, but you didn’t care. Damien slid out from the doorway, allowing you to tiptoe into his space. Behind you he shut the door, followed by the patter of his feet descending down the hall.

Alone in Damien’s room, you were able to notice more than you ever had. The muted light of his lamp in the far corner illuminated the grey walls which were littered with posters from various projects he had worked on over the years. A television was mounted directly across from you; it was still on Netflix, but it had resorted to playing a slideshow of upcoming titles while it waited for the show to be resumed. His sheets were softer than you remember, the fabric of his duvet caressed the back of your legs as you pushed yourself up against his headboard. His Snorlax plush leaned against your torso as it reacted to the new weight on the mattress. Everything smelt like him. Everything was him. 

Moments later a creak echoed throughout the space as Damien returned. Silently, he walked to his bed and let himself flop beside you. As soon as he hit the mattress, a visceral craving for skin contact twisted your gut. Whether it was from lingering lust or exhaustion, you didn’t know. However, you remained composed, your fingers interlacing with themselves in an attempt to prevent yourself from reaching out and running the tips of them along his exposed skin. As if he could hear your inner dilemma, he cleared his throat.

“Are you okay? Did you have a bad day, or a rough dream?”

Dream? Your cheeks flushed with warmth as the word came out of his mouth just above a whisper. Did he know? Your heart pounded at the thought of him hearing you moan his name in your sleep moments earlier. Flashes of Dream Damien created a mosaic of colour inside your mind as your pulse began to creep its way down to your core. Your eyes remain glued to the ceiling, afraid that if you looked at Damien it would undo you right then and there. He couldn’t know. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” You manage to choke out. 

Weight shifted on the mattress, Damien’s dip coming closer to yours. His hand ghosted the inside of your arm, goosebumps erecting in its wake. His fingertips stilled in the crook of your elbow, lingering for a second before Damien retracted them back and shoved them underneath his head, interlocking them with the other set. As the coldness returned to the skin, a subconscious exhale escaped your lips. 

You glanced over at the purple-haired man beside you. The dull light softened his features, blurring them with the wall behind him. A 5 o’clock shadow speckled across his jawline and his chin, which emphasized the natural pout in his lips. Both the top and the bottom were baby pink and seemed extra kissable with the rest of the world asleep. A piece of dead skin hung from the top, slightly sticking beyond the rest of the pink surface. Your hands found their way to your knees and gripped them tightly, knuckles turning white. No one would have to know, right? 

“Hey Damien?” You whispered.

“Yeah?” 

“Why are you awake?”

Silence spread across the room once again. You could hear his breathing- somehow deep, yet ragged. Hesitation lingered in the air as Damien shifted in his spot, readjusting the position of his arms behind his head.

“It’s stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about how many takes it took me to do the intro to the new video properly. I tried so hard to be funny, but it felt like it kept on falling flat. I don’t know, maybe I had an off-day.” Damien sighs, keeping his eyes on the roof. You could feel his body tense up in fear of what your next words might be. 

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re the funniest person on Smosh. In fact, you’re probably the funniest person I know. It’s so fucking hard to not ruin takes when you’re around, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I promise you your humour lands. It at least does with me.” You shift down his headboard to lie down, turning onto your right to fully face Damien. A wave of his cologne hits your nose while you do so, leaving traces of pine, cherry blossom, and something spicy that you can’t quite place. The whiff of the scent subconsciously causes you to lean closer into him, in search of more. Notes of aftershave joined the mix while wetness began to dampen your panties once again, but you fought to ignore it.

His face brightened at the creation of eye contact. A smile erupted on his lips as he let himself take you in for a second. You could feel the movement of his eyes across your bare face while he attempted to memorize every detail of you, from the way sleepiness smoothed your features to the pimple patch that covered an outbreak on your cheek. Very rarely did he get to see you like this, in your most authentic form, and the sparkle that flickered in his eye let you know that he wanted to absorb every moment.

“Thank you, it means a lot to hear you say that.” He chuckled, a blush settling onto his cheeks. You reached out your hand subconsciously, letting it rest on his bare forearm. The heat of his skin seeped into yours.

“Sounds like we’re just two overthinkers tonight. I was so worried that you would’ve somehow known that I woke up because I had a dream about you.” 

Panic sets in as soon as it slipped out of your lips, the hand that was resting on Damien’s arm immediately flying to cover your mouth. Fuck. Damien automatically pulled himself closer to you, his eyes darkening with an unfamiliar cloud. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

“What kind of dream?” He growled into your ear. 

Need shot to your cunt as Damien moved himself on top of you, one arm on each side of your frame. His knee inched between your legs, the fabric of his pyjama pants rubbing against the thin layer of cotton that covered your core. A groan fell out of your mouth. 

“I think you already know the answer to that, Damien.” You purred needily. Your pulse erupted at the thought of what was about to happen— whatever it was. 

“Are you okay with this?” He murmured. 

For the second time within 20 minutes, you were nodding before you could give it a second thought. Desire dizzied around your thoughts and coated the space between your thighs. All you knew was that Real Damien was here and that he wanted you. That’s all you could ever need.

However, he didn’t move. You were pinned between his two arms, his biceps brushing against yours, sending electricity down your spine. His eyes seemed to consume you as he took you in, letting himself fully linger on the tightness of the grey shirt around your breasts before lowering his gaze to your baby pink boy shorts. 

“Tell me about your dream. Please.” He whined, want dripping in each syllable of his ask. 

“Y-you and I were fucking, Damien,” you groaned, “you had me on a table, legs open and I was dripping. So wet. So wet for you. I needed- no- need, you. Please.”

Your legs wrapped around the knee that rested between them, attempting to gain any form of friction, any form of relief. Damien sat up, shooting his hands around your thighs to prevent you from getting any satisfaction. He shook his head, eyes darkening even further. 

“Not yet, needy girl. I need to know more. I want to know exactly how you imagined it. Don’t you want your dreams to come true?” He cooed, his mouth curled into a smirk. Your eyes widened as you became delirious with excitement at the fact that Damien was in front of you- that he wanted you just as bad as you’ve been craving him.

”I don’t remember a lot, but- but you were fingering me. God, they were so filling. I was naked, marks everywhere on my chest from your lips. I woke up needing you more than I have ever needed anything, please. Please, Damien.” You whined, jutting your lower lip out. Damien’s eyes remained locked with yours as he leaned in closer, his hands dragging up your thighs.

“Don’t you want to see a man up close?” He whispered, his breath dancing along the nape of your neck. 

All you managed to get out was a “please ki-,” before Damien’s lips were against yours, devouring every inch of your mouth. Hints of toothpaste and mouthwash lingered on your tastebuds with every swipe of his tongue. His hands moved from your thighs to your shoulders, gently pushing you to lay down while he remained on top of you. He shifted around, moving his knees on either side of your legs. The hardness of his growing cock grazed against your inner thigh, causing wetness to begin to re-dampen the spot that Dream Damien left. 

The new position allowed him to let his lips explore, a trail of kisses left along your neck in his wake. Once he hit your collarbone, he began to suck ever so slightly. His teeth nipped at your skin, leaving a light purple mark in the middle of the skin stretched around the bone. A breathy moan escaped your lips as he sucked a new spot at the crook of your neck. Your fingers laced into his purple locks, gently tugging at them. In response, he looked up, concern painted across his face.

“Are you okay, am I being too rough?” He said, frozen in place. You shook your head.

“I promise I’m fine,” you breathed, “I just- please. Please use me, Damien. I need you to fuck me, use me like a toy. Let me make you feel good.” 

Darkness returned to his eyes immediately at the sound of your begging. His hands shot to the hem of your shirt while you arched your back, helping him take it off of you. 

“Oh my poor little thing,” he cooed while bending down to lick a stripe between your tits. “You need my cock more than you want to admit, don’t you?” 

Want surged through your core at the sound of his raspy voice mentioning the thing you’ve been wanting. You nodded, shivering at the thought. Gently he raised your ass, letting you shimmy out of your underwear. Wetness coated the inside of your thighs, droplets hitting the mattress underneath you as the cold air hit your cunt. Damien’s fingers tiptoed down your stomach, landing right above the dip towards your pussy. His other hand grabbed hold of your chin, jerking it toward him. 

“Say please,” Damien barked. 

“Please. Pl—”

His middle and ring finger plunged into your cunt. You let out a yelp at the sudden fullness. Slowly, he rocked them back and forth, letting the tips of his fingers brush against the spongy spot at your core. Moans spilled out of you as your fingers dug into his shoulders. As fast as it had started, he pulled his digits out of you, leaving you stretched and wanting more. A frown knotted your eyebrows in frustration while Damien was on the other side of the emotional spectrum, excitement lighting his features as he inspected his two fingers. 

“You’re this wet for me already?” He groaned, bringing his ring finger into his mouth and twirling his tongue around it, attempting to get every speck of your sweetness onto his taste buds. 

You squirmed in response, your eyes stuck to his digits in his mouth. Hearing Real Damien say the only words you remember from your dream overwhelmed your senses– this was a dream coming true.

He hollowed his cheeks against them, moaning as the tanginess of your desire flooded his tongue. After thoroughly sucking on them, he slipped them out of his mouth, creating a V shape with them. Bringing them back to his lips, his tongue darted out, tasting the last bits of you between his fingers. A hum of satisfaction escaped his lips as he looked up mid-swipe, catching you stare, mouth agape. 

“You like what you see, baby? You like watching me suck your juices off of my fingers?” He smiled, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. 

“Yes sir,” you whispered, unable to look away from the man in front of you. 

Nothing else seemed to matter but the way his every motion affected your heart rate. All you wanted was him, any and all of him that he gave to you. Damien leaned down again, pressing kisses to your mound. 

“You’re not the only one who dreamed of this,” he muttered between nibbles, “I’ve been dreaming about having you since you moved in. Finding you not only outside of my room at 4am, but half-naked outside of my room at 4am almost made me to cum on the spot, baby.” He pushed your thighs apart before he dropped to kiss the inside of each, gently sucking up the stickiness that lined them. “I’ll worship this pussy as long as you let me. God knows how badly I’ve been needing it.”

His words shot straight to your cunt right as he dove in, parting your lips to connect his tongue with your clit. He slowly began swirling it around the spot, sending shockwaves down your spine. Curses spilled from your lips as he picked up the pace, your hands resuming their grip on his purple hair. Two fingers nudged at your entrance, still damp from the combination of your want and Damien’s saliva. He easily slid them in before starting to pump them in and out, matching the pace of his mouth. His digits hit the spot that you desperately craved, destroying the last bit of self-preservation that you had within you. Your walls tightened around them, desperately trying to get every inch of satisfaction possible from his mouth and hands. Nonsensical strings of words tumbled out of the slight part of your lips as the familiar swirl of pleasure circled around your core. Tiny sparks began to electrocute your clit with each flick of Damien’s tongue, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. However, as soon as your orgasm was about to spill, his fingers and lips were gone.

“You don’t think I’m really going to let you cum this fast, do you baby?” He smirked. “I’m not even undressed yet, and here you are, whimpering for my touch like the whore you are.” 

Your hands moved from his hair, letting him stretch straight up from between your legs. Your fingers reached for the hem of his tanktop at once, trying to get the fabric off of his torso. Damien took the hint and tugged each strap of the shirt before yanking it over his head and throwing it behind him onto the wooden floor. Without thinking, a gasp exited you. You’d seen Damien shirtless many times, whether in the dressing room or while grabbing your morning coffee from the kitchen, but this was different. Specks of black hair sprinkled his chest, concentrating in the middle of his two pecs. Lust surged through your veins as you devoured the sight in front of you, taking in every inch of Damien. Never had you seen a man be so easily beautiful, and it nauseated you how badly your body ached for him. 

Without breaking eye contact, Damien shuffled to the end of the bed. His thumbs dipped underneath the waistband of his pyjama pants and pushed them down to the floor, taking his boxers with them. 

“Holy shit.” You mumbled, your eyes surging down to the new part of him exposed.

His cock stuck out from between his legs, the tip of it glistening with excitement. All you could think about was how to get it between your legs as fast as possible, and how its girth would fill you so perfectly. 

“Damien, I need it. Pl-please sir.” You whined, glancing back up at his face. 

He stumbled back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot between your thighs. However, this time he remained sitting. His shaft rested on your lower stomach, causing your mind to short circuit with how close it was to where you had dreamed of it being for months. Heart pounding, you reached out, letting the tip of your index finger brush against the head. He visibly shivered in response, goosebumps spreading down his arms as a tinge of pleasure shot down his shaft. 

“I know you can touch my cock better than that, baby girl. Don’t be afraid.” Damien grunted, his eyes slightly closed in anticipation. Without a second thought, you sat up and spit in your hands. Greedily you grabbed his cock, fisting it. Your hands glided over the smooth, taut skin in a steady motion, occasionally flicking the tip with your thumb. A melody of grunts dripped from Damien’s lips as his hips matched your rhythm. 

Slowly you leaned forward, lining up your mouth with his shaft. You darted your tongue out between your lips, gingerly flattening it against the tip. 

“Is this okay?” You whispered, pulling back.

“God, yes.” Damien interlaced his fingers in your hair, encouraging you to continue what you had started.

Eagerly you wrapped your mouth around his shaft, hollowing your cheeks around it after it hit the back of your throat. You pushed it back out with a pop, a strand of drool attaching his head to your bottom lip. A smile crept onto your lips momentarily. This was not a dream, this was real. Damien’s cock was twitching with desire for you, nobody else. He was muttering your name under his breath as you licked a line from the base of his shaft to the very tip. Paying extra attention to the sensitive strip of skin at the connection point between the base and the head, you traced every inch of his cock with your tongue before returning it to the inside of your mouth. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. What a good little whore you are.” He sighed, grinding his hips into your face. 

Lightheaded with happiness, you gulped up the salty pre-cum that was dripping out of Damien’s cock. Momentarily forgetting about your own pleasure, all you could fathom was the feeling of his erection in your mouth and how pornographic the slurps were as you took as much of him as you could with each of his thrusts. Your cunt leaked with heat while you glanced up at Damien to see him slack-jawed, his eyes stuck on how your tits bounced in sync with his pushes. If you could frame moments, this would be your first choice.

Damien pulled his cock out of your reach, rotating his hips away from your mouth. 

“I think your pussy deserves to be used properly now, do you?” He asked, putting his hands under your armpits and shoving you back onto the bed behind you. 

“Yes, sir! I promise I-I’ve been so good,” You begged, subconsciously spreading your legs as you settled into the far side of the bed. 

Damien reached out with his right hand, letting it caress your cheek. Tears welled up in your eyes while excitement, desire, and anticipation danced through your mind. Damien leaned over to your left, fidgeting through his nightstand to find a tinfoil packet. He held the corner with his teeth and used his index and thumb to rip it open. Returning to the bed, Damien kneeled directly in front of you, lining up the condom with his cock. Slowly, he began to roll it on, letting the latex surround his stiffened shaft.

“L-lemme help, sir. I can help.” Your hand reached out, brushing his knuckles with the tip of your middle finger. With his free hand, he swatted your attempt at help away. 

“I don’t think so, baby. Master can handle it himself,” he chuckled, finishing the job. 

Leisurely, he thrust the tip of his cock into your cunt. With every centimetre of him, your brain flooded with fog, nothing else seemed to matter but the way his cock fit so perfectly inside, as if you were made to please him. Each muscle in your abdomen adjusted to the welcomed fullness that came with Damien, the pressure of satisfaction immediately building as he situated himself in you. 

A deep groan erupted from Damien as he flicked his hips back, fully taking his shaft out. As soon as the tip exited, he slammed his cock back in, letting himself bottom out in your pussy. 

“Fuck- Damien!” You cried. A pleasurable pain rippled through your cervix, sending shockwaves to your clit. Damien’s right-hand shot to your mouth, cupping it over your lips.

“You have to be quiet, whore. We can’t wake up the whole house with the noises you make while I fuck you.” 

His words shot right to your core, your whimpers muffled by the palm of his hand. Saltiness flowed down your cheeks as Damien continued to push and pull himself fully in and out of your heat. His presence was simply overstimulating, and all you wanted was more. The way his chest heaved as he plowed you was memorizing, its rhythm matched his thrusts inside you. Your fingers found their way to his ass, squeezing it tightly as he plummeted into your pussy. His shaft pushed deeper in response to your movements, causing both of you to hiss in satisfaction. 

“Oh fuck, you feel so good, baby. Fit me so perfectly.” Damien growled, throwing his head back, eyes glazing over. 

The vibrations of his voice darted to your clit, increasing the speed of your demise. The stubble of his pubes rubbed against your sweet spot, hitting it at a perfect angle. Damien’s hands wandered to your tits, giving your nipples gentle squeezes with his middle and thumb before rolling them. Mumbles of his title repeatedly spilled from your lips as you arched your back, letting his cock reach the soft spot inside. Sparks flashed in your vision while you came crashing down. Your cunt pulsed around Damien’s cock, extracting every ounce of pleasure from his force. Simultaneously, nothingness spread throughout your mind as you rode out your orgasm– the only thing that grounded you were the whines of pleasure escaping the man fucking you into oblivion. 

As you came back to reality, the only thing that you managed to get out was “more.” 

Without letting his cock leave your dripping pussy Damien immediately grabbed your waist, flipping you onto your stomach. With one hand he shoved your face into his mattress, the other looping around your hips to arch your back. 

“Good girl, knowing we’ve only just started.” His breath tickled your cheek, causing you to tremble. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

Without warning, his cock nestled deeper into your aching heat before fucking you with fervour. The mattress underneath squeaked with each rapid thrust, harmonizing with the slapping of skin against skin. Loudness no longer seemed to be an issue as Damien slapped your ass, the noise echoing throughout his bedroom. He continued to rub the reddened spot, circling the rough skin with the pad of his thumb. Your brain shortcircuited with each jolt of his cock, the way it was still managing to stretch you was all you could focus on. 

“S-so good, sir. Know how to fuck me so good. Love your cock.” 

With another smack on your behind he bowed down, his head now behind yours. 

“I know, ” he kissed your hair before tangling his fingers in it, pulling your head to become parallel with his. “Needed it so bad you couldn’t go a night without dreaming about how well I’d feel, huh? You’re that much of a greedy slut?” 

A whine fell from your lips as you brought your eyes to his. Through your lashes, you could see a wild smile painted across his lips, happiness radiating from his dilated pupils. Never had you seen a man look so beautiful while doing something so inherently filthy, and your cunt throbbed at the realization of it all. 

“I can’t be-believe this is real. I’ve been wanting this so bad, Damien.” More tears dampened your cheeks, the familiar tightness in your core forming once again.

In response, Damien leaned down, sloppily pressing his lips to yours. A mixture of saliva, spit, and tears smeared across your chin as he deepened the kiss, his tongue rushing out to collect traces of the salty combination. Damien’s free hand wandered down to the front of you, pressing his index finger to your sweet spot. 

Sobs fell out of you between each breath while a woozy wave of lust swept over you. The rewarding drop of the pit in your stomach broke through the dizziness. Deepening the arch in your back, the swirling sensation in your clit hit its breaking point. Your hands gripped the sheets in front of you in a frenzy as gratification washed over you. The walls of your pussy clenched around Damien’s shaft, the pulse of his cock hitting your g-spot as your body convulsed. 

“You’re such a good slut for your master, baby. G-gonna make me cum.” 

As your orgasm fizzled out, Damien continued to haphazardly rock himself in and out of your aching heat. Overstimulation stung your core, but you pushed it aside. The only thing that would stop you from riding this out would be if the world ended. All that existed at this moment was Damien, who was behind you, smacking his hips into yours as he chased his high. His grunts filled the empty air between you. With one last nudge, a rush of warmth spread through your cunt as Damien cried out in relief. His head hit the middle of your back as he crumpled, letting his orgasm take over. 

“Jesus, that was amazing.” He whispered, pulling out of you. Your pussy ached with both fulfillment and emptiness as you adjusted to the lack of him. 

You rotated onto your back, craving the view of Damien’s post-O face. He looked hazy, a dopey grin plastered to his face as he gently pulled the condom off before tying it and placing it on his nightstand. Immediately he reached down to you, enveloping you in his arms as he lay beside you. His scent had slightly altered from when you first entered his room, the smell of sex and sweat now intertwining with the notes of his cologne. If you could bottle that, you would without hesitation. 

“Thank you so much, really,” you smiled. “It wasn’t my intention to have this happen when I walked by your room, but I’m glad it did.” 

Damien placed a soft kiss on your lips. Unlike the previous ones you had shared, this one had a pureness to it. Your heart jumped a beat at the romantic undertones as the moment overtook you completely. Your head buzzed with contentment as the past 45 minutes settled in your brain.

“Me too, baby,” he mumbled against your lips. “I hope I made your dreams come true.” 

“You did, I promise,” you giggled, “but now I definitely need to shower.”

[nametakensff]

for the prompts - crowded area w eddie pls!

Thank you for the prompt, anon! 🥰 Have 2.1k of pure mutual fetish AU filth in which E/ddie struggles with a cold on a cramped subway carriage and S/teve is extremely into it 😇

~~~~~~

Content:

M/M, established relationship, both S/teve and E/ddie have the fetish, E/ddie gets off to his own sneezing, cold sneezing, sneezing on public transport, spray, build-ups, announcing sneezes, mess, stifles, sneezing on someone's neck/into their scarf, exhibitionism/voyeurism, embarrassment, public arousal, teasing, brief fetishy dirty talk, mentions of sneezing on someone's face, mentions of sex/blowjobs, potential contagion

CW: People unable to move away from being sneezed on and they are not happy about it, did I mention lots of potential contagion

~~~~~~

NSFW, minors please DNI!

Steve wanted to like New York more, he really did. The past couple of days with Eddie had been a wonderful blur of excitement for the most part, but something he just couldn’t get past was the subway. Endlessly bustling, crammed tight with people, leaving him and Eddie pressed right up against each other, and more annoyingly, strangers. It would leave him begging for relief at every stop, only for the small group of departing passengers to be replaced entirely by even more busy, grumpy individuals. It was their fault for rocking up in peak holiday season and staying in accommodation on what Steve now recognised as an extremely busy rail line, but still. It was a lot for a small town guy to handle.

He sighed in frustration as another wave of people piled onto the carriage he and Eddie were wedged into, muttering a soft apology to his boyfriend as the pressure behind him pressed Eddie back up against the opposite door.

He really wished they would ease up just a little, given that Eddie was already having difficulty breathing today with his nose thoroughly blocked. It would be just their luck that one of them would come down with a bug during the trip they’d been looking forward to for so long. It wasn’t all bad, of course; Steve woke up with morning wood to the sound and feeling of Eddie sneezing against his neck, and the ensuing sex had been excellent.

Eddie had assured Steve he felt perfectly fine that morning, and to be fair, he had been. It was as the day progressed that Steve noticed a steady decline in the older man’s energy and a rapid increase in sneezing and coughing – though the latter paled in the face of the former.

“You okay, baby?” Steve muttered under his breath so that only Eddie would hear him. They were now pressed directly up against one another, Steve’s face beside Eddie’s. He desperately wanted to nuzzle his cold nose into Eddie’s unruly hair. Eddie sniffled, audibly wet and miserably congested, and Steve suppressed a shiver at having the noise so up close and personal in his ear.

“I’m fi’de, Stevie. Al’bost there.”

Steve felt Eddie’s hand squeeze his wrist, about the most movement he could make with people flanking his sides, just as trapped as he was. Steve’s heart fluttered, and he moved his head back to glance at Eddie’s face. Eddie winked at him, smiling even whilst looking absolutely exhausted. His poor, pink nose twitched, so adorable that Steve wanted to lean forward and nuzzle it with his own. He wanted to do so many things, and he was going to spoil Eddie rotten when they got back to their ratty little hotel room. A blowjob would definitely be in order – him giving it, of course. Eddie could only breathe with his mouth held slightly open, nostrils swollen and full of cold. The rims glistened in the overhead lighting, slick threatening to leak out at any given moment.

Steve maneuvered his arm so that he could subtly reach for Eddie’s hand with his own and clasped their gloved fingers together. Eddie sighed in response, slumping just a little as Steve leaned forward, effectively supporting him where the door did not. Steve tried to ignore the feeling of all the surrounding bodies pressing against him, focusing only on Eddie. The sniffling next to his ear was definitely something to hone in on to pass the time; he found himself waiting in anticipation for each one, his boyfriend’s poor drippy nose at imminent danger of running down his face. It was getting to him more than a little bit; he was grateful for the thick winter coat he was wearing, though he was sure Eddie was able to feel the manifestation of his physical appreciation poking into him.

It was only a couple of minutes later when Steve felt Eddie going rigid against him. He glanced sidelong at his boyfriend’s face, heart rate soaring when he recognised the ever-familiar beginnings of a pre-sneeze expression.

“Fuck.” Eddie muttered, starting to squirm, trying but failing to free one of his arms. Steve recognised the dilemma, but realised his own arms were just as trapped. His dick was definitely interested now, had there been any previous doubt.

“Shit, fuck. I n’deed to sn’deeze, Steve.” He murmured in Steve’s ear, and Steve felt a pleasant rush of endorphins flow through him, skin erupting in a cacophony of goosebumps. He knew it hadn’t been Eddie’s intention to work him up, but rather to express frustration. He also knew that Eddie wouldn’t hold his arousal against him, and that Eddie was probably getting off on this too, despite the embarrassing threat of sneezing uncovered in such a heavily crowded space. Steve’s suspicions were confirmed when Eddie’s continued wriggling pressed his erection against Steve’s thigh, hard enough that Steve could feel it through Eddie’s own thick coat.

“It’s okay, Eds. Just sneeze.”

Eddie huffed, ignoring him, still trying to free an arm. The grumpy looking man next to them who had been giving them judgemental glances throughout the journey also huffed, and pressed himself back against Eddie, evidently frustrated with the way he was being jostled. Fucking moron, Steve thought. As if his boyfriend’s face wasn’t a crystal-clear picture of a man about to erupt into multiple sneezes.

“Fuck, fuck, f-fuck-!” Eddie grumbled, sounding genuinely concerned.

Steve leaned forward to whisper into his ear.

“It’s okay, honey. Let them out. We both want you to do that, and we’ll never see these people again. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Eddie shivered, letting out a shaky exhale that Steve recognised as arousal amidst the hitchy little swallows of air he was taking in to fuel the oncoming fit.

“You’re a bastard, Harri’gton…Hh, HH-!”

Steve smiled, keeping his face over Eddie’s shoulder and pressing his thigh firmly between his boyfriend’s legs. He couldn’t see Eddie like this, but he could hear him, and feel every single shiver and hitch of breath; Eddie’s chest expanded against Steve’s own, pushing him back ever so slightly with each gasp. He pictured his increasingly desperate pre-sneeze face, an image he was greatly acquainted with and regularly conjured up whilst masturbating, besides. In his mind’s eye, he could perfectly recreate the tortured expression, Eddie's slick, pink nostrils flaring wide, mouth dropping open as his tongue pressed up against his bottom teeth. A mask of warring frustration and ecstasy as the tickle prodded and teased, until…

Steve felt Eddie hold in his last inhale for an endless second, rib cage pushing against his own, before he rapidly contracted several times in a row with a series of perfectly silent stifles. They were expertly contained, something Steve never ceased to be impressed by even knowing that Eddie had had years of experience with seasonal allergies – probably because his quietest sneezes still startled every person in the room at any given time.

As Eddie continued to sneeze, Steve was torn between concern and overwhelming arousal. It was enough that his poor baby had such a persistent tickle in his nose, sneezing over and over whilst pressed up against him, but he would be lying to himself if he said the fact that other people were also in the relative splash zone, for lack of a better term, wasn’t getting to him. Not that these stubborn little stifles, now starting to make audibly nasal squelching sounds as the congestion built up, were splashing anyone. Yet. He suppressed a full body shiver.

Steve leaned back as much as he could to get an indulgent look at his boyfriend’s contracting features, sneezing now in regular little intervals as though operating on clockwork. He glanced sidelong at the grumpy guy who had shoved Eddie and suppressed a smug grin as he now saw the dude was attempting to lean as far away from his sneezing boyfriend as possible. It still wasn’t enough for either he nor Eddie to get an arm free, much to their mutual chagrin. Steve felt bad for enjoying this as much as he was, but not enough to stop watching it go down.

Finally, the dams of Eddie’s hard-fought resistance seemed to break, and with one particularly desperate gasp, he sneezed without restraint.

“HEHP’TSSSCHHhhtt!!”

It was startlingly loud, even over the clatter of the train and the dull murmurs of other pockets of chattering friends. More importantly, it was impossibly wet, sending a fine aerosol of glittering spray over Steve’s shoulder and onto everybody else, helpless as they were to move away. It also forced twin trails of mess out of Eddie’s flaring nostrils, threatening to flow over his lips. Steve felt weak in the knees, worried he wouldn’t be able to withstand how erotic the whole affair was.

Eddie’s eyes flew open the second after he sneezed, already heated cheeks flushing a darker shade of pink, almost matching his twitching, sore nose.

“Fu’gck, Sorry…!” He muttered, glancing apologetically at the few surrounding commuters who were peering at him in revulsion. They quickly averted their eyes, perhaps out of embarrassment, or perhaps to steel themselves and turn as far away as possible as Eddie’s face started to ominously crumple again. Steve fought with every muscle in his body not to start humping his boyfriend’s leg right there in the middle of the crowded carriage. He felt dizzy with arousal.

“Bless you, baby.” He muttered into Eddie’s ear. He wanted to nibble on his earlobe; wanted to kiss him until Eddie couldn’t hold back anymore and sneezed squarely in his face.

Eddie had no means of responding. He gasped before sneezing again, and again, and again, each one increasing in spraying intensity.

“HAhGKK’TSSSSCHHh!! HAHDD’TZZSHHHHhtt!! EHH’GSSHHHH’Uuu!!!”

Incredibly, Steve was able to hold back a moan. Those sneezes sounded awful, truly overpowering and violent. He couldn’t help but wish for a reality where they’d sprayed his bare skin, or been directed right at his throbbing, naked erection. Thoughts of fucking into Eddie as he crumpled forward and sprayed him with a similar volley of all-encompassing, powerful cold sneezes ran rampant through his mind, driving him crazy with desire.

Eddie’s face was a mess; each forceful sneeze sent the strings of congestion further down until they dripped past his mouth and over his chin. His lips glistened with the aftermath of the clouds of spray that had burst out of him and onto the arms, backs and chests of the people nearby, now desperately trying to angle themselves away and cursing in disgust. Steve felt bad for Eddie to a degree, sure he did. Would have felt worse if he didn’t know his boyfriend, know how much this derision was going straight to his dick, as was the pleasurable sensation of each sneeze that wracked his slender frame.

“Shit, shit…” Eddie muttered through lips he kept otherwise closed against the mess, getting a breath in after that incredible loss of composure.

“Eddie.” Steve said, watching as his boyfriend’s gaze started to go hazy again, yet another outburst imminent. Steve could actually physically feel the wary tension of the people around them; it was incredible how much distance from Eddie they had managed to create, as wedged in like fucking sardines as they were.

“Eddie,” He repeated, “Sneeze into my collar, or my scarf.” He angled closer, twisting as much as possible to offer himself up to his boyfriend. Under his breath, just loud enough that Eddie could catch it if he was listening (he most certainly was), he added, “Time to make a mess out of me instead, okay?”

Nostrils twitching in devilish anticipation, Eddie managed to nod, pressing his face into the soft fabric of Steve’s scarf-covered neck as best he could. He gasped and trembled, arching forward with a series of muffled explosions, the soft wool tickling his sensitive nose fiercely.

“Hhh’MPPFTtt!! MPSHhh!! Hh’MPFSHH’uu!! Hh-!”

Steve’s eyelashes fluttered in pleasure. His entire body felt incredible, every nerve singing as he continued to live out possibly one of the hottest things that had ever happened to him - fully clothed, in public, for fuck’s sake. It was making him giddy, and he had to suppress the urge to laugh at the way the bodies around him seemed to melt in relief now that he took the brunt of his boyfriend’s misery. It was a pretty hilarious situation for the sheer misfortune of it all, to be fair, and he imagined it would be something they could both laugh about in the future. The other commuters, he wasn’t so sure.

Their stop was only minutes away now. As Eddie continued to shudder against him, even his muffled sneezing sounding out in the cramped space, Steve mentally prepared himself for the short walk back to their hotel.

[eight-cats-in-a-box]

Here's the ratchet piece I promised!! Unspecified, but I had TFP Ratty in mind while writing this

Ratchet x Cybertronian!Reader

No use of Y/N. Or even. Like. Gendered pronouns. Except for he/him, and that's for Ratchet.

DING DING DING COME GET UR FOOD

Ratchet twitched slightly when he felt you lay your helm on his shoulder, the weight familiar, if a bit startling. "Primus, you startled me. What do you want?" The soft rumble of your engines and a huff is his only reply, or he thinks it is, until you murmur something in his audial.

"Did you fuel today? You've been meaner than usual, Ratty." He sighed, leaning into you slightly. The feeling of your frame surrounding his was always a comfort he was happy to indulge in. "Not yet, but I'm still at half-capaci-" He hadn't even finished his sentence before you were shoving a cube of energon into his servo, a low rumble coursing through your chassis.

"Drink." He inhaled sharply, surprised at the force in your voice. The low prickle of worry-sadness-fear that Ratchet could feel through the spark-bond sent a pang through him, and he sighed. "Fine, fine. Since you clearly won't be dissuaded." He chugged it quickly, and the whole cube was gone in little more than a few seconds.

"Thank you, sweetspark." Ratchet nearly broke his keyboard at the tone of your voice. You sounded relieved. It made sense, given his habit of not fueling. He didn't notice the cracks forming in his equipment as he gripped it tighter and tighter, until- "Ratty, we need that. Try not to break it, yeah?"

Ratchet froze for a moment, processing, and laughed, revelling in both the feeling and the sound of your shared mirth. He felt lighter than he had in a long time, and as you gently touched your nose to his, nuzzling against him like an Earth cat, it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off him.

As the two of you calmed down, he leaned against you, sighing softly. "...You want to go cuddle?" Ratchet felt more than heard your excitement, yelping as you scooped him up and ran off, carrying him to your berthroom.

Ratchet was half-expecting to be dropped onto the berth, pleasantly surprised when you lowered him onto it like he was made of glass. "I'm not-"

"Fragile, I know, Ratty. Is it illegal to be gentle with my conjunx now?" Tease. He huffed as you laid down, squirming until you got comfortable- which just so happened to be with Ratchet cocooned in your arms. "Comfy?"

Ratchet sighed. He was, actually. The soft hum of your spark, coupled with the general background noise the base made at night was slowly pulling him into recharge. "I needed this." He murmured, unwilling to disturb the peace of your shared habsuite. A sentiment you agreed with, if your soft noise of contentment was anything to go by.

Slowly but surely, Ratchet drifted off into recharge. No nightmares touched him that night, his usually fitful processor soothed by your familiar EM field. And he knew that even if he was haunted by terrors long-past, that you would free him. And he would do the same for you.

Masterlist

[sadhours]

i had to write this cus i don’t even know this man yet but I’m madly in love with him. and if he eats ice cream like this imagine how he eats… other things

baron x f!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, creampie?

🍦

it’s a humid, scorcher of a day. not much to do on a sunday. baron doesn’t have work and it’s too sticky and warm to go outside. you’re laid out on the floor of the living room, tv buzzing with some boring background noise as you tangle your legs with your boyfriend. you’re wearing a sundress, hiked up to offer a bit of relief from the muggy warmth hanging throughout the house. baron’s wearing a ratty t-shirt and some shorts, his fingers grazing against your hip bone while his eyes scan the popcorn ceiling. your eyes are on him, because of course they are. he sure is a sight for sore eyes. sweat droplets forming at the hairline, making his roots damp and stick to his skin.

“what’re ya thinkin’ about?” you ask innocently, fumbling with the hem of your dress.

baron smiles, that sweet smile he gets whenever he hears your voice, “i can see things in the bumps of the ceiling, animals and stuff.”

you turn, nuzzling up to his jaw as you place a hand on his tummy, “point ‘em out to me, i wanna see.”

he lifts his hand, points above him and nudges his temple against the top of your head, “there’s a puppy dog, on his hind legs. begging for a treat.”

you don’t quite see it, eyes scanning but fruitless. that’s what you like about baron so much, he sees the light in everything. you hum, rubbing his tummy as you placate him, “almost as cute as you.”

“and right there, see that one?” he moves his finger a few centimeters to the left. “ice cream cone.”

“your favorite,” you gush, moving your hand to his side to squeeze him. he lets out a giggle and you can’t help but raise your lips to his cheek, kissing his skin tenderly and holding him tighter.

“sure would be nice right about now,” he mumbles dreamily and you place ur fingers under his chin, turning his face and catching his lips in a kiss. it’s slow and sweet, you drag your tongue against his lower lip and he gives you access, parting his enough so you can lick into his mouth.

you could truly spend hours kissing baron, languid and steady. but he ignites a fire in you like no other.

“you taste sweeter than any ice cream,” you confess before connecting your lips again. baron hums, smiling into the kiss as he holds onto your thigh once you hook it over his waist.

the pair of ya keep kissing until your out of breath, pulling away to catch it while he gives you this sweet, golden retriever smile. he’s the sweetest thing ever.

suddenly, baron’s pushing you on your back. he gives you a shy look as he situates himself between your legs, pushing them apart and hooking his fingers into your panties. drags them down as slow as he can and you lift your legs to help him completely rid them. he kisses your knee as you prop your legs up and pull your dress above your waist. baron’s lengthy digits wrap around your ankles as he kisses up your thighs, the sensation running straight to the excitement winding in your stomach. his long hair tickles against your skin and you watch as he blinks up at you, lips tilting up into a smile.

“baby…” you whine, breathless with anticipation.

baron nods slowly, pushing your legs further apart as he lowers himself where you need him most. he kisses your sex softly, peering up at you with those adorable, puppy dog eyes. then he licks up your slit, tongue delving through your folds up to your clit. drawing out another whine from you as you immediately knit your fingers into his mop of hair. baron gets his mouth completely on you, sucking and licking like he’s starved. like you’re his favorite treat. messy with it as he moans against your aching cunt.

“god,” you exhale slowly, “gosh, I mean.”

baron giggles against you and it feels surprisingly amazing, so you tug on his hair involuntarily. which eggs him on, he moans against you again before sucking on your folds as his hands wrap around your thighs. baron’s always so… sloppy eating you out. uses his whole damn face when he does it, brushes his nose against your clit while he lowers his tongue to your hole and prods it gently. gets your slick all over his lips and chin as he eats you out with fervor. that coil in your tummy winding quickly as you write against his face and pull on his tangled hair.

“baby… baby, don’t stop!”

baron groans, tugging you closer by the grip on your thighs as he licks at your hole, nodding his nose against your clit repeatedly. you’re pushed off the edge of bliss, biting your lip to stifle your moan as your eyes roll back in your head. he licks and sucks you through it. to the point where you’re overstimulated and have to pull his head away.

“fuck me,” you beg, looking down at his sweet, gorgeous face, lips shiny with your slick.

baron pulls back enough to push his shorts down, cock bouncing out from its confines. you grab onto his face and pull it down to yours, kissing him hard. he’s smiling against your lips but you moan against his when you feel the head of his cock catch on your pulsing hole. you’re quick to wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to enter you. he gets it, sliding in deep and punching out another moan from you that he swallows down. you can taste yourself on him but it only makes you that much more desperate. you wiggle your hips up at him, sheathing him inside completely and you both still, gasping at the sensation. baron fills you so wonderfully, you’re absolutely addicted. couldn’t be so into any other man. none would treat you so wonderfully.

“baron,” you gasp out, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him deeper.

he rolls his hips slowly, whining into the kiss as he holds himself up with his palms on the carpet by your head. you pull him closer, to the point where he’s collapsing on top of you but you love the weight of him. you plant your feet on the floor beside him and buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. he breaks the kiss but his lips are against your ear in a second as he moans lowly. it does something, adds to the whole experience and you’re cumming out of nowhere. crying out so loud he has to cover your mouth with his palm so his other doesn’t hear. he picks up his pace, fucking you hard and fast through the second glorious orgasm.

but you wrap your legs around his waist again, squeezing him impossibly close as tears leak from your eyes. streak down your cheek to meet his palm and he pulls his hand away to look at you, concern clouding his brown eyes.

“babydoll, you okay?”

“need you to cum in me,” you beg through the tears, clinging onto him tightly.

and it’s like your words ignite something in him, baron whimpers as he hammers his hips down into yours, drilling into you quicker and harder than before. he keeps making these sweet, pretty whines and whimpers before his hips still completely and you feel his seed shooting inside and filling you up. you moan softly, pulling him into another kiss.

suddenly, the warmth overwhelms you but you can’t fathom pushing baron away. squeezing his sweaty body even closer to you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Rebound 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Curtis Everett

Summary: after a divorce, you try to start over.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The village talks. Anyone passing through might see Hammer Ford as a sleepy hamlet nestled amidst rolling hills. They might call it quaint, they may even mistake the whispers for wind. But the town is anything but quiet.

As loud as any tongue are their eyes. You know their names and they know yours. They watch as they pretend not to, looking for fuel for the mill.

You know that Lynette was staring at your ring finger, barren but marked with the imprint of a band. As much as you want to just forget the past, it's not quite over yet. The papers are signed but it's not sealed away. Back to square one, almost.

But there's no starting over here. There's always reminders. Familiar faces, listening ears, and loose lips. You put your head down and ignore them. It's about time you live for yourself and not anyone else.

The library drones with the noise of the ventilation and the hushed voices of those browsing the shelves. The soft click of the outdated mice on their pads and the flutter of pages fill the din. You stamp the returned books and set them on a cart.

The job isn't very much. It's never busy. Not so dully and lifeless as the years you spent at home living a lie.

You close another cover and slide the book aside. A tread squeaks and draws your gaze up. You greet the man approaching the desk as he offers a single book.

"Find everything okay?" You ask. You know him, just like everyone else. Curtis works down at the lumber mill.

"Sure," he answers as you stamp the book and write in the due date. Everything in Hammer Ford is antiquated and dead.

"Alright, three weeks," you say as he offers his library card. You key it in with his name and the call number into the old PC. He watches silently and you hand back the book. He accepts it with a soft thanks.

"It's a good one," you say.

"Hm," he furrows his brow before looking down at the book in his hand.

"Yeah, I read all his stuff when... well, I had a phase," you shrug, "anyways, have a good day. Sorry."

He pauses and considers the book, "I read at the yard. On my lunch."

You're surprised. You don't know much about Curtis, no one does, but he's never been very talkative. You don't even know why you tried.

"Hard work," you comment, "lot easier than this place."

"Eh," he claps the book in his hand and looks away, "well, have a good night."

"You too," you echo back.

You watch him go and don't think much more of it. You assume it's the same pity everyone else treats you with. Your husband left you and now you're working in the library, living in your sister's basement, and all alone. Compared to your ex, you're not exactly thriving.

And who wouldn't feel bad for you? You're over the hill, you're used, and you have a bit too much love in your handles. You feel bad for yourself.

You huff and carry on sorting books. No use dwelling on it all. You're no one's problem but your own now so it's up to you to do something about it.

🌲

On your day off, you wake up at the same time. You're already conditioned to working hours. You have your coffee on the small sofa and watch the local news. Not anything exciting.

This is the first day of your new life. You made up your mind as you lay sleepless at midnight. You're going to make a change.

So, you put on a pair of sweats and a loose tee and that ratty old pair of sneakers you've worn to tatters. It isn't a big leap forward but it's a start. Just a walk. You'll make an effort to go every day, after work during the week, and in the mornings on the weekends.

And the food. You have to rein that in. Just a little less pie and no sugar in your coffee. A decade of bad habits won't be put to rest in a single day but you'll at least try.

You leave out the basement door, mindful not to make too much noise as you do. You woke up your sister's kids once and haven't heard the end of it. You put in your wired earbuds and hook the tiny mp3 player to your waistband. You don't even think they make these things anymore.

You head off down the country road, hills sprawling before you. Just up the rise and you'll turn off into the woods. There's a walking trail that circles back around near Mr. Howland's. It should be too far.

You're proven wrong as you're breathless by the time you reach the treeline. You slow and find a stump to sit on just a few feet down the path. You fan yourself and mourn your own thoughtlessness. You should've brought water.

You get up and stretch your legs, already tired from the walk. You press on. You'll feel even more rotten if you turn back now.

You follow the winding trail around the trees and through the brush. Twigs snap under your soles with a peculiar echo. Critters rustle in the leaves and scurry into burrows. The sunlight shifts above as a shadow ripples over you.

You turn suddenly and look around, paranoid. It could be a bear but they don't often show themselves. Nothing. You're being stupid.

You turn up the music and fall back into step. You see the clearing just ahead and Mr. Howland's rotting shed. Halfway there. You don't think you'll be doing much more when you get home. You might just have a nap.

[obxsummer]

Reunion // Ghost of You

summary below cut to avoid spoilers for s3 ep1-3

let's jump right on in.

part of #obx3celebration

navigation -- series masterlist

--

summary: after being rescued from your island paradise, you're unexpectedly ripped from the pogues and pushed straight into another fight for your life.

warnings: kidnapping, violence, cursing, minor character death

--

The noise of an airplane propeller shook you from your sleep. Ever since you touched this island, you were sensitive to every little sound or movement. Sitting up sharply, you looked to see Pope doing the same. The two of you were quick to catch sight of the plane dancing in the clouds and started shaking friends awake.

“Guys, plane. Plane!” Shaking JJ’s shoulder aggressively, you collected your ratty shoes from the sand and ran towards the shoreline. 

Taking a look back, you could see the uncertain expression on JJ’s face. In the time you all had spent on the island, he had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want to leave. This was JJ’s element, his safe space. He was with you, his family, and they were making things work with scraps. This was the Full Pogue experience he had always dreamed of.

“Hey! We’re down here!” John B was suddenly next to you and waving his arms aggressively to draw any ounce of attention to your group. Pope and Cleo took off up the field to light a fire in hopes that the pilot would see.

A defeated sigh left your lips as the plane looked like it would continue on before making a last-minute change and turning.

“Guys, guys. He sees us!” Kie shook your arm in excitement.

“He’s gonna go to the pond. Come on, come on!” Your brother slung his shoestrings over his shoulders and grabbed Sarah’s hand to tug her along up the hill.

JJ caught up to your side as you guys jogged behind your friends. You could tell he was displeased. You tried to understand why he would feel this way, but part of you just wanted to go home. Watching the aircraft make a successful landing, your boyfriend let out a sigh. 

“Come on.” His fingers were rough as they intertwined with your own. You squeezed, trying to give him some sort of comfort about the idea as you caught up with everyone.

The stairs of the cockpit lowered just above the water as a middle-aged man climbed out. He was quick to join in on the noises of celebration coming from Cleo, Pope, and John B. “Well, what do we got here?”

John B glanced back at your group before responding. “You know, just some castaways.”

“Well, I’ll cross that off my grocery list. Uh, hang on! I got just the thing for y’all.” He disappeared back into the plane for a moment. “Two things you need on a deserted island: first aid and rum!”

The bottle splashed in front of Sarah’s feet. She seemed distraught at the sight in front of her, no doubt fearing that her father may be involved in some way. You didn’t blame her. The constant feeling that you need to look over your shoulder was exhausting, but you were hoping it would change.

“So, what’s the story? You guys sank a boat?”

“Jumped off one,” You replied, watching as Sarah bent down to grab the alcohol out of the water. For some reason, you weren’t as hesitant to get out of here as you probably should’ve been. After a month or so of living like this, you would take the Chateau back in a heartbeat. 

The pilot chuckled. “Well, have no fear. Jimmy’s here. I got you.”

Cleo cheered and threw her hands in the air. “Well, all hail Jimmy, guys! Let’s go.”

The pilot, Jimmy, welcomed you all as John B led the way into the plane. Kie gave you and JJ a look before following wordlessly. It seemed a little too good, but who were you to say anything?

You turned to JJ, taking the chance to check-in. “You okay?” Your hand rested on his collarbone, thumb tracing his jawline as you observed him. His whole body was tense; the fun demeanor you’d witnessed after cliff jumping yesterday disappeared without a trace. JJ’s expression was sharp when he made eye contact with you. Thrown off guard, you frowned and dropped your hands to your side. 

“We said we’d never go back, remember? You said you wouldn’t. And here you are, running after a plane that would take us right back into hell?” He shrugged his shoulders before looking away. You were a bit surprised by his hostility, feeling like he was blaming you for everyone else climbing onboard. 

“Who said we’re going back to the OBX?” You countered as you gestured towards the plane. “There’s no way that thing would fly that far anyway. We’re all gonna be together no matter what.”

JJ let out a heavy breath and refused to look at you. “You don’t get it.” He hauled his boots up before brushing past you to head after your friends into the aircraft. You turned on your heels, the fight leaving your body at the idea of him being so upset over leaving this place. There was no point in arguing right now. 

With a huff, you climbed on board, thanking Jimmy for letting you all come before settling down between Sarah and Kie. The idea of being able to take a shower and put fresh clothes on was amazing right now, so you tried not to hold onto JJ’s poor attitude personally. 

“So, what are you doing all the way out here?” JJ asked as the engine started up. 

“I got a little guide outfit in Saint Vincent. I was spotting fish. You know, the usual. Wahoo,” Jimmy replied as he began flipping switches and steering. “I’d hang on to something. Gets a little spicy on takeoff.��

You shared a look with Pope, the two of you not big airplane people to begin with. Grabbing onto nearby straps, you clenched the fabric tightly. The plane jerked once before things steadied out and you could eventually see the water and island far beneath you from the sky. 

Taking a deep breath, you leaned your head against the metal behind you in hopes that it would calm your racing heart. You were grateful for the opportunity to hopefully go somewhere a little better, but the lack of safety equipment in this plane made you nauseous. 

“Wahoo don’t run in September. Ever, alright?” JJ’s voice broke you out of your self-induced trance. You opened your eyes to see him leaning toward your group as far away from Jimmy as he could get. “So, whoever this man is, he’s not a fisherman.”

“No, I know what this is,” Sarah said as if the answer was obvious, “He’s working for my dad, and he’s probably been looking for us this entire time.”

Pope considered the idea. “Alright, we gotta find out. Start looking for some sort of… clues.”

JJ and John B were quick to create a plan to distract Jimmy. While your brother busied himself with asking pointless questions, JJ dug straight into the satchel hanging on the seat. A few books tumbled into his hands. A photo slid out of the first one, Sarah being quick to grab it. You peeked over her shoulder to see a crisp clear photo of the Coastal Venture.

“This is the boat we were on, with Eberhimi and the cross,” She whispered.

“So he was looking for us?” Cleo asked as she got a look at the picture for herself. A nervous feeling built in your stomach at the thought of this man searching for you on purpose, maybe even for Ward’s bidding. 

A sharp movement of the airplane had you all bracing for some stability as Jimmy called out about turbulence. Kiara looked over your shoulder out the window. You followed her gaze to the window where land was creeping into the blue of the ocean. “Whatever it is, it’s happening fast. Look.” 

“That looks like Barbados. I’ve been there with Terrance,” Cleo piped up as the rest of your group observed what would most likely be the landing place. 

“Okay. There’s six of us, one of him. You know my vote, we storm the cockpit.”

You gave JJ an incredulous look at his suggestion. “No, who’s gonna fly the plane, dumbass?”

“I’ve seen Pope fly simulators.”

“I crop dusted for my uncle last summer, that is not the same thing!”

The group continued to bicker back and forth before ultimately deciding the best option would be to land safely and book it as soon as you got the opportunity. John B was quick to start a conversation with Jimmy again so JJ could sneak the books back into the satchel. It seemed like all was well until the pilot happened to glance over his right shoulder, exactly where JJ was scrambling in his stuff.

The plane jerked aggressively as the boys broke into a fight. Screaming echoed around you with shouts to fly the plane overwhelming as you grabbed on for some sort of hold. The water was approaching rapidly when Jimmy finally turned back around in an attempt to save everyone. Admitting defeat, you closed your eyes tightly and braced against the wall when the first hit came. 

The plane bounced across the ocean, sending the six of you into a mess of tangled limbs against the floor. Someone’s elbow jammed into the weak spot of your back as you cried out. The water started flooding the ground as you all scrambled for an escape. 

“Everybody good?”

The cool liquid sent a chill up your spine once you finally found some footing. John B shoved the door open and crawled out first. You could barely see the people crowding the beach at the sight of the accident.

“They do not look friendly.”

You looked closer, noticing the weapons and vests they were wearing to separate them from casual observers. Slipping on the wet metal, you shifted through the water as everyone began scrambling from the singing airplane. 

“Y/N, let’s go!”

You spared a glance back at where Jimmy was passed out in his seat. A tug pulled in your chest, the idea of leaving someone to drown not sitting well with you. Cursing to yourself, you pushed through the water to grab onto the pilot and tug him out.

“No, no, no. Y/N, let’s go!”

“Hurry!”

You ignored the shouts of concern and worked on tugging Jimmy into the open water. Your feet kicked as hard as possible to keep you both afloat as he slowly started coming to. You waited until the sand was under your feet and bystanders came to help to let go. 

Coughing up water, you turned to glare at the man you’d rescued. “You lied to us.” Adrenaline was pumping through your system, the fear of what had happened taking over. 

The sound of ATVs flooded your senses as you turned to look over your shoulder. The beach was crowded with a series of men, all in tan tactical gear, and all of them heading towards you. 

“You should get out of here.”

Ignoring Jimmy’s useless advice, you took off up the shore in hopes that you could lose them in the mass of people. A rotting boat was taking up part of the shore but you quickly navigated through an opening to hide in the darkness of it. 

You held your breath at the sound of footsteps, a pair of boots coming into view. As soon as the person’s eyes came a little too close, you lashed out and kicked him away from your hideout.

“She’s over here!”

“Shit!” Crawling as fast as possible, you moved through the sand in hopes to avoid the oncoming hands but fell short when a foot tripped your own. Sand clouded your vision as two sets of hands latched on to you and pulled you back up. “Let me go!” You yanked and struggled against them in a desperate attempt to free yourself.

 Eventually, the back and forth became too much for the two men who resorted to picking you up out of the sand to move you into a waiting pickup truck. One of your attackers was quick to slide a thick black zip tie around your wrists, effectively ending any sort of backlash as they pushed you into the tailgate corner. 

“We lost the others. We’ll keep searching.”

The words coming from the man’s radio brought you a slight bit of comfort knowing that the rest of the Pogues got away. You sagged against the side of the truck in exhaustion as the adrenaline began to seep away. 

Jimmy suddenly popped into view, your anger quickly resurfacing at the sight of him. “I save your life,” You sneered.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m gonna try to help you, okay?” He sighed, “I swear. I didn’t know it was gonna be like this. Look, if you don’t fight, if you just do what they say, these guys prob… probably won’t hurt you.”

You shook your head and glared. “Because that’s so reassuring. What did Ward promise you?”

“Who?” He didn’t wait for you to answer the question and continued, “Hey, just take my advice and do what they say. Good luck.”

The truck engine started a second later, one of the guards climbing in the back with you before the vehicle took off. You groaned, tears fighting your eyes at the idea of being taken from your brother and your boyfriend once again. You were sick of this violence around every corner, sick of always being taken from your loved ones.

The sun was warm on your bare skin but did nothing to ease the anxiety building in your chest. You were not equipped enough to keep handling this shit by yourself. The drive continued until you took a right turn down a private road lined with palm trees, blocked with more guards. A watchdog circled the truck as the other guards surveyed who was in the vehicle before it was allowed through. 

Surveying your surroundings, more guards, ATVs, and weapons were at every glance. Your heart sank, knowing there was no way you would be able to outrun everything on your own. One of the guards came to pull you out of the back once the truck came to a stop. You were led up to a large white-colored mansion, the sight of even more guards making you sick. 

The front door opened to reveal a woman dressed in a maid-styled uniform. She took a brief glance at you before letting the both of you through. The foyer area was decorated with expensive artifacts and paintings as you walked. “Take her upstairs. The Orinoco Room.”

A different guard took place and pulled your elbow up the stairs and practically tossed you inside the room, only sparing a second to cut the ties around your wrists.

“Why am I here? Who are you working for?” You took a step back away, the idea of being locked in a room with no escape again haunting your mind. 

“Dinner at eight. I’d clean up.” The door slammed and locked a second later without another word. Your feet stumbled backward until you collided with the bed frame. A sob choked through your throat as the memories became heavy, this feeling all too familiar to you. You didn’t even know if you could be rescued by the Pogues at this point. You were royally fucked.

An hour or two passed before you were able to get yourself out of bed to explore the room. A handful of identical dresses hung in the closet with a note to pick your size attached. Alarms went off in your head at the creepy aura surrounding the gesture before you dropped the paper to the carpet. Moving into the bathroom, a shower was 100% necessary first and foremost. If you were going to go headfirst into this by yourself, might as well clean up when you can.

The products in the shower had to have cost a fortune based on their looks and efficiency. As terrified as you were, this was much nicer than being trapped in the Cameron household endlessly. You took your time to get decent and explore the rest of the room. Dogs barked occasionally from outside, a reminder of the ever-present guards at every corner. 

A sharp knock startled you back to reality as the housekeeper from earlier entered. “He’s ready.”

You didn’t question it, standing up and smoothing out the fabric of the dress as you followed her down the winding staircase. She guided you into one of the rooms connecting to the entranceway before leaving. 

There was one other person in the room, dressed in a tux with their back to you as they poured liquor into a glass. You cleared your throat slightly. “Excuse me?”

Your heart dropped as the person turned around to reveal Rafe Cameron. A fresh buzz cut to his hair made him almost unrecognizable, but he still invoked the same horrible fear in you. This was slowly becoming your worst nightmare all over again. Chest tight with an approaching anxiety attack, you wondered what the hell you were going to do without John B and JJ.

“Y/N?” He looked shocked for some reason and quickly closed the distance between you as his expression shifted to one of anger. You immediately took a step back in return. “Are you trying to weasel in on my deal right now? Is that what’s going on?”

You stared at him for a moment while trying to process what the hell was actually happening. A voice from the other half of the room seemed to hear your thoughts. “I wondered if your little reunion would cause sparks, you know.”

The two of you turned simultaneously to the man who had spoken. He too was dressed in a suit, holding a glass of whiskey as he walked towards you. 

“Who are you?” Rafe didn’t hesitate to ask the obvious.

The man pointed to himself like he was surprised the question was even asked. “Me? My name is Carlos Singh. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cameron. And Miss Routledge, I do apologize for the rough tactics in bringing you here. But please, come, sit down. Come now, I don’t bite.”

There was a period of hesitation before you finally took the initiative to step forward into the sitting room, leaving Rafe to follow behind. “Rough tactics?” The Kook repeated. “What about me?”

“Yes, Mr. Cameron, false pretenses, but the ends justify the means, I’m afraid.” Carlos poured himself another hefty drink before asking Rafe to sit again. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Why are we here?” The question you’d been wanting to know the answer to since the moment they came after you on the beach. Why? Why you and why here?

Carlos stood in front of the two of you and took a sip. “Well, Ms. Routledge, Mr. Cameron. We share certain interests, you know? Objectives.”

“Is this not about the cross?” Rafe’s already limited patience was wearing thin and you feared he would snap any second when he didn’t receive answers. 

“It is. Tangentially, it is about the cross, but it’s also about something much, much bigger.” Carlos turned around to face a framed painting on the wall that depicted a deep grassland with pyramids of gold. “By orders of magnitude… the completion of a grand quest. You see, the story goes that 450 years ago, a Spanish soldier came out of the Orinoco Basin with a few gold beads. When they asked the Spanish soldier where the beads came from, he replied that he got them from a peaceful Indigenous tribe who lived in a city of gold. El Dorado. For the next 450 years, people tried to find that gold, you know. They tried. Conquistadors, knights, captains of ships, tribes, entire nations. All fighting each other in a race for the end of the rainbow. Thousands of lives. And it falls to me, you know. It falls to me to complete the task, to bring full circle to a quest that has gone on for almost 500 years. Perhaps…perhaps the greatest quest in the history of the western hemisphere. And you two are going to play a part in that.”

“What about you, Ms. Routledge? Are you interested in history?”

The question made you want to roll your eyes. “I’m more of a future person.”

Rafe spoke up, “You know, I almost didn’t listen to a word you said, okay? How much you gonna keep philosophizing?” You honestly wanted to thank him for his straightforward attitude when it came to this.

“You are direct, aren’t you, Mr. Cameron?” Silence followed.

“What do you need from me?” At this point, you were willing to give him whatever he asked for, so long as it was within reason. You wanted out.

Carlos spared you a glance. “I’ve come to believe that you and your friends are in possession of something that can help me get what I want. An old manuscript, a diary actually.”

For a moment, you blanked on what exactly he meant. Then it hit you, Mr. Sunn had given Pope the diary of Denmark Tanny during your hunt for the cross. And if the cross, the gold, and this… El Dorado were all related… you had the key to where you needed to go. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rafe replied as you shook your head lightly.

“I don’t know anything about a diary,” You added, “My brother and dad are the treasure people, not me.”

Carlos looked you dead in the eye. “How else could you have learned that the cross was on the Royal Merchant?”

Shrugging instantly, you stared him right back. “Look, I want to help you, but I can’t. I don’t have what you’re looking for.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that you know, because unfortunately… I don’t believe you. You and your friends couldn’t have found that cross without it.”

“He’s not my friend.” The statement was short and sharp in nature as you spat it back at him. Fuck this dude for pulling you away from your friends, and fuck Rafe for all he did to you.

The Cameron next to you clapped his hands and got to his feet without warning. “Well, this is ridiculous. Okay? I’m out. I don’t know anything about a diary, okay? So-” He moved towards the open door but was forced back the second an armed guard appeared. 

“Do I look like a fool to you, Mr. Cameron?” Carlos repeated his question when Rafe didn’t answer. “You have the cross. She and her friends had the cross at one point. So one of you has the diary. And if you really don’t know, I suggest you convince your friend here to give it to me.” 

A finger was directed towards you, pulling Rafe’s gaze with it as the two of you held each other’s attention for a moment.

“Once I have the diary, you’ll be free to leave.” When nobody made a comment in return, Carlos moved towards the door to leave. “Enjoy the grounds during your stay. I must warn you though. I’m not a man of infinite patience. You have one day. Go to the window for a little demonstration. I think you’ll enjoy it, you know?” He placed two solid pats on Rafe’s bicep before exiting the room. 

The door was forced closed a moment after, Rafe calling out in shock as the lock clicked. If you weren’t freaking the hell out before, you sure as shit were now. While Rafe attempted to wiggle the door loose, you moved over to one of the sheer curtains covering a window and moved it aside. The guards and dogs were still circling, but this time a new figure joined. Jimmy was being pulled along onto the patio.

“Who the hell is that guy?” Rafe was suddenly so close to you, your whole body going rigid in response. 

“It’s Jimmy Portis,” You kept your reply simple. No need to converse with him beyond the bare minimum. He didn’t deserve it.

Carlos showed up through the glass a moment later, sparing the time to turn and find the two of you in the window before he pulled a gun from his waistband. A sharp gasp left your mouth as you figured out where this was going next.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Every inch of your being was telling you to look away, not that you could see them underneath the rooftop of the patio. The loud bang came fast, an involuntary flinch wracking your body as the gunshot echoed. 

“This diary. Hey, no bullshit. Okay? Do you have it?” Rafe was inches from your face, the warmth of his breath on your cheek as you continued to stare forward. “Y/N?”

You turned to him sharply. “No.”

--

You hardly slept that night. The silky tank top and pants that were laid out made you so uncomfortable, not to mention the threat on your horizon if you didn’t figure out what the hell to do. Not to mention, Rafe was sleeping not even a foot away on the floor. With so much “gracious hospitality”, Carlos Singh couldn’t even be bothered to spare another bedroom.

You hoped JJ, John B, and the Pogues were at least doing better than you. Maybe they’d found a way home by now and we’re just waiting for you to escape. Even if you guys didn’t make it out of Barbados, you just wanted to be back with them.

Taking a glance at Rafe’s sleeping form, you pushed yourself off the bed to go by the window where guards had been stationed on the connecting balcony. Body moving before your consciousness, you tapped on the window to get the person’s attention. 

“I need to talk to Mr. Singh,” You tried to keep your voice somewhat quiet. The guard looked at you confused, so you repeated the statement slower.

“What are you doing?” Rafe had woken up at the noise and rushed over to you. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. What the hell are you doing?”

You turned around to glare at him. “Like I owe you an explanation for absolutely anything.” You brushed past him to the other door in the room.

“Think for a second, Y/N! What are you doing?”

Ignoring his question, you began to knock on the wooden door separating you from the rest of the house. “Hello?” When Rafe wouldn’t stop pushing, you snapped. “Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“You’re lying, about this diary. You know where it is?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t.”

Rafe let out a groan as you moved away from him again. “Okay, listen, I wouldn’t tell me either, but he’s never gonna believe we don’t know something, alright? Listen to me! Singh killed that-”

The second his hand touched your shoulder, you whipped around and smacked him. Hard. “Don’t fucking touch me!” The two of you stood there for a moment, tensions high with the looming death threat. 

Rafe raised his hands in surrender. “Look around you. I’m the only friend you got.”

You were prepared to shut him down a second later, but the click of the door lock interrupted the opportunity. The guard from the balcony appeared in the doorway and you were quick to move toward him without a thought. Ignoring Rafe’s annoying voice from behind you, the guard escorted you out of the room and relocked the door. 

Carlos Singh didn’t look surprised at your presence when you entered the study. You stopped short of the table he was seated at. 

“I lied. I know about the diary,” You admitted, fingers clenching the fabric of your clothes. “I don’t have the original, but I can get you a copy.”

He looked you over for a moment before nodding slightly. “I’m relieved to hear you say that, you know. May I offer you something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He almost laughed at how quick your response was. “Relax, nothing’s gonna happen to you now. You’re cooperating, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“I just want to get you what you want, and then I want to leave,” Your voice was stern right back to him, refusing to show a hint of weakness. “I know where it is. But I have to go by myself. Alone.”

In the back of your head, you’re praying that the Twinkie is still alive somewhere on the OBX. Somewhere you can get a copy of the diary and maybe make a run for it.

“How would I know that you’d come back? I need some collateral.”

“Rafe’s here.” There was zero hesitation to offer him up for your sure-to-be disappearance. You didn’t give a shit what happened to him. “Keep him.

Signh laughed at your offer. “Rafe. No, I’ve heard tellings about what happened between the two of you. How did someone so young, get into so much trouble?” He rose from his chair to walk past you. You were quick to follow him.

“Look, I know where the diary is, and if you let me go, I promise you I can get it to you.”

Carlos shut down after that, his responses snippy and harsh until his phone broke the tension. He paused and rubbed his face before going to look at it. You were shocked when he looked at you and laughed. “Amazing. A text from our friend Jimmy Portis. From beyond the grave apparently. It seems Mr. Portis has captured your friends.”

The phone turned towards you to show a picture of John B and Sarah sitting next to each other with the message I got these two underneath. It was obvious they were trying to stage it out to look realistic. They had no idea what had happened. Singh called out for one of his guards.

“Get the big trucks and meet me outback.” His orders were quickly obeyed before he called on another guard. “Fenton. Get Miss Routledge.”

“Mr. Singh, Mr. Singh, please!” Panic was bubbling in your throat as the guard almost slammed into you before removing you from the study area. “You can’t hurt them, please! They’re all I have left, just leave them alone!” Your voice cracked with the strength of your yelling. The guard didn’t falter amongst your struggles and continued to push you up the stairs and back in the room without another word.

Rafe watched silently as you crawled into a ball at the foot of the bed. “What happened?” When you didn’t answer, he let out a sharp breath. “You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point. Okay?”

“Do I have to remind you of everything you’ve done?” You shot back as you looked at him. “You killed Peterkin. Do you remember that? And everything you’ve put Sarah through. Everything you put me through?”

“Peterkin, I was protecting my father, okay? I did what I had to, so don’t.” He walked away from you to sit in one of the armchairs. “I’m as much a victim as she is.”

You turned to give him the nastiest look you could muster. “Kook King Rafe Cameron, a victim of what? Consequences of your own fucking actions? Daddy issues?”

You hardly listened to the so-called explanation he tried to give. It was hard to find any empathy in your body towards the person in front of you. You couldn’t care less about what Rafe thought he was owed. All you cared about was getting the hell out of here, with or without him.

“Look, I have a boat that can get us off the island, okay? But first, we gotta get out of here, and it is better if we work together.”

The sound of yelling outside had the two of you on your feet and heading to the window. Two trucks were lining up for guards to climb into, an assortment of weapons on them.

“They’re leaving?” Rafe asked. 

You took a deep breath, dread flooding your chest as you watched them drive away. “They’re going to find John B and Sarah.”

“Sucks for them,” Rafe said as if he wasn’t talking about both of your siblings being at risk. “That’s good for us though. This may be our only shot of getting out of here.”

--

Rafe was quick to create a plan, something that would pull the guard from your door so you could slip out. Did you like it? Not in the slightest because it was a little to close for comfort. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Y/N!”

You screamed in response, running into the wall to make it seem like Rafe had actually shoved you while he threw a glass vase to the floor. He held a finger to his lips as the guard outside called for the two of you. You continued to lay still, one leg hanging out of the bathtub, knowing your feet would be the first thing in eyesight.

“Hey, you two! What’d you do?” Silence followed the voice on the other side of the door before you could hear the lock click.

Everything moved fast from there; Rafe slammed the guard with the bathroom door and exchanged punches with him while you managed to grab the fallen gun. Rafe was quick to grab the man’s phone while you tore a curtain off the bedframe and handed it to him so he could restrain the guard.

The two of you took off, moving through the house as quietly and quickly as possible. You managed to talk him into exchanging the gun in your hands for the phone, knowing exactly what clues the Pogues would need. You snuck around to get a quick photo of the painting that Carlos had been so intent on explaining to the two of you before following Rafe out the side door.

A grain delivery was occurring just outside, a large truck pulling away just as you stepped out. Your eyes followed the road along the grass line before you were moving, calling for Rafe to follow. The two of you managed to find a gap in the bushes just as the truck hit the corner going slow enough that you could climb on. 

You weren’t prepared, however, for there to be a worker in the back. Rafe moved before you even blinked to attack the man in front of you, eventually gaining the upper hand to throw him off the vehicle into the trees. 

Your eyes were wide as you faced the eldest Cameron but you didn’t have time to question his anger when you heard a familiar noise. The sound of bells was always a comfort in your life. When you and John B were kids, it was the way your dad would tell you it was time to come inside. The pattern coming from the local church was identical to the one your dad would do. Chills raced down your spine at the noise, wondering if maybe it was John B trying to draw you in after all.

--

You weren’t sure how much time passed under the tarp, out of prying eyes with Rafe Cameron. You were beyond done with his presence and just wanted to jump off the truck, but thankfully you guys were able to make it to the marina where his boat was docked. 

Climbing on the large pristine boat, you swore you could hear the bells ringing again, even this far away. You stopped short of untying the bowline, suddenly against the idea of getting on a boat with just Rafe Cameron. 

“I can’t get it.” You lied easily, faking a pull on the rope. “I need some help.”

Rafe let out a loud groan, barking for you to move since he ‘had to do everything’. The second he untied the line, you shoved his chest harshly, watching as he splashed into the water below. You took off, hopping up to the cabin area to move the boat out from the dock. Rafe yelled hysterically below you yet you couldn’t help but smile once you got moving. Pulling the phone from your pocket, you typed a quick message, your heart racing in anticipation.

After docking at a different marina, you waited, foot tapping excessively, for some response that they were coming. The church bells kept continuously ringing, freaking you out even further that maybe they didn’t know where you were.

Eyes on the sidewalk, you watched anxiously for some kind of sign. It came straight towards you in a light blue button-down. You moved quickly the second you made eye contact. “JJ?”

JJ’s whole figure drooped in relief at the sight of you, unharmed. He had felt so much guilt, so much anxiety over the way you two weren’t on the best of terms before you were taken. His feet moved rapidly, body colliding with yours as he lifted you off the ground. Your legs wrapped around his waist out of habit, holding him as tightly as you could.

“Holy shit, you’re safe. I’m right here, I got you.”

You let out a sob, tears streaming down your cheeks before you kissed him heavily. Nothing was as calming as being wrapped in his embrace, feeling his hands on your arms, his lips on yours. You took a moment before separating, your feet returning to the ground before you were attacked by another set of arms.

John B was fucking terrified. The moment you got yanked out of the sand, Sarah was holding him back from going after you. Everything felt too real now, too heavy. Knowing that the second one of you disappeared could be the last time they saw you was scary. He was sick of losing, and he wasn’t about to stand by and watch it happen to you all over again.

More shaky hands piled onto you and your brother, your friends wiggling their way into a huge group hug of relief. Kiara’s hands grabbed your cheeks once everyone stepped away. “You’re not hurt, right?” You could see her eyes scanning for any sort of injury.

You shook your head, brushing tears off your face. “No, no. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“Are you kidding me, babe?” 

You followed JJ’s gaze to the large boat you had climbed off a few moments ago. You laughed, “Oh, yeah. Rafe let me take it for a spin.”

“Rafe?!”

You ignored the rapid onset of questions as your group piled onto the boat. You froze, however, at the sound of the bells tolling. Now you knew it wasn’t John B, and based on the way he was looking back at you, he was questioning them too.

“You don’t think-”

“There’s no way.”

Both of you spoke at the same time, glancing towards the hillside the church was located on. What would be the chances that your father happened to be in Barbados of all places, coincidentally when you crash-landed there?

“Yeah, so I have just a couple of questions,” JJ interrupted your sibling moment as everyone gathered around the two of you. “A Lagoon 620 with twin 150 Volvos. You understand we can go anywhere with this thing, right? Way to be discreet, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him the middle finger. 

“What did they want from you?” Sarah asked the question that the group had been pondering over for two days now. “You swear Rafe didn’t hurt you?”

You sat down on one of the couch cushions. “No, no. I’m fine, promise. I um… Singh wanted Denmark’s diary, of all things.”

Pope frowned at the revelation. “Why?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Said it leads to a treasure that’s bigger than the Merchant.”

“A bigger treasure?” JJ repeated as he sat next to you, arm naturally wrapping around you to pull in close. “Sign me up.”

A moment of processing followed before your friends decided it was time to split and started prepping to leave. JJ moved with them, going to untie the lines. You decided to follow John B and Sarah up to the top deck.

“She’s right, we really need to go,” Sarah reiterated as she tossed a line down below. 

The bells chimed again a few seconds after she finished, both you and John B looking towards the church before glancing at each other. 

“Okay, you definitely heard that, right?” Your brother turned towards his girlfriend for an answer.

“Yeah, I do now.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s exactly what Dad would do to call us home. That pattern those bells.”

Sarah stopped her movements to look at the two of you. She could see the lingering sadness, the defeat that maybe he really was dead and this was a coincidental joke tugging at you. She also knew John B, and she knew where he went, you were usually close behind. 

“Okay. I get it.” The two of you snapped up to look at her. “You wanna go to the tower to go look? Go look.”

John B seemed shocked at her willingness. “You sure?”

She took another glance at you and nodded. “I’m serious. Hurry, and take this.”

“Sarah…” You walked up next to them, hesitant about leaving them again so soon.

She smiled at you. “Yes, yes. You don’t think I know the two of you? He’s gonna drive us all insane if he doesn’t look, and you’re not gonna let him go alone. So go look.”

You shared a glance with John B before darting down the stairs. JJ was on the dock, untying another line when you collided into him. 

“Whoa, hey. You okay?”

“I gotta go.” You didn’t give him a chance to react, John B already climbing off the boat behind you. “I’m going with John B. We’ll be back, okay?”

JJ looked panicked at the idea of you leaving when he just got you back. He knew better than to question you though, and if John B was going, it was enough for him. He gave you a nod, hands coming to rest on your cheeks before he kissed you softly. “I love you, okay?”

“Love you more,” You whispered back, giving him one more kiss before taking off after your brother. Not only were you two navigating a foreign area, but you needed to keep low from Singh’s men too. John B kept glancing back at you, slowing to stay with you when he could.

You slowed your light jog at the top of a hill, the church almost within reach? “Do you really think it’s him?”

John B paused, the two of you taking in the sound of the bells again. “I just… I have this feeling. And I need to know.”

He understood why you were hesitant. Your relationship with your dad wasn’t the greatest, especially as you got older. John B was always the favorite, which would’ve been fine if your dad hadn’t just started neglecting you in return. That’s where you clung to John B, why the two of you grew to be so protective of each other. 

The climb up the side of the mountain was rough, but you managed to do it without any slipping. You honestly didn’t know if this was something you were ready for, but you’d do it for John B. Even if your dad didn’t speak to you, it would be fine. You both deserved answers. 

The church itself was gorgeous with stained glass windows and coiled staircases. You followed your brother silently up the steps, unsure of what to expect. Every creak and groan of the building had the two of you hesitant to keep moving. 

You came through an archway before John B followed a shadow across into the other stairwell. From the glimpse you got, your heart started racing in your chest. You moved down the stairs slowly, the two of you stopping short halfway. 

There, at the bottom of the stairs, stood Big John Routledge. Alive.

“Dad?”

Your father turned to face the two of you, taking in the sight of his two children in the glow of the sunset. “What took you so long, kids? I’ve been ringing for hours.”

John B practically ran down the rest of the stairs and straight into your father’s arms. You stood, frozen in place at the sight before you. Emotions weren’t easy to process. You were a lovely combination of anger, sadness, and joy right now, your mind turning Inside Out at the idea of your father standing here after so long. 

“My baby bird.”

The nickname sucked all the air out of your lungs as you realized your father’s eyes were on you. Your feet moved slowly, hesitant about what exactly you were signing yourself up for, but the moment your dad had you within grasp, he hugged you as tight as he could. You felt like an innocent little kid all over again, with her big brother and Dad always there to protect her. 

“Oh, kids. We have a lot to talk about, huh?”

--

navigation -- series masterlist

[steventhusiast]

STWG daily drabble 12/9/23

prompt: airport

characters/pairing(s): steddie

-

Steve's practically vibrating with excitement as he waits at the arrivals gate. His eyes keep flickering between the arrivals board and the doorway he knows Eddie will appear in.

He can't believe it's been three months. Three months of only slightly moping around with his boyfriend/parter in crime. He never let himself get too sad about it, because he knew that Eddie was experiencing amazing things on tour.

(A small-time singer hired Eddie to be part of his band for his tour around the USA, and Steve could not let Eddie pass that up just because he'd be alone for a little while. He's so glad he convinced him, because the postcards he receives every week make it sound like such an amazing experience.)

Once he realises the next group of people to come through the door are people from Eddie's flight, Steve perks right up. He stands from the bench he's been waiting on, and starts walking over as a crowd of people start walking out. He's scanning the crowd for Eddie's messy hair, and after a few seconds he spots him.

He looks a little exhausted, with his hair up in a bun and sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt on instead of a proper outfit. But he's here. And he's always beautiful to Steve, so he doesn't care that as Eddie gets closer he notices bags under his eyes. He enjoys watching and waiting for Eddie to spot him as well, and knows the exact moment that Eddie does see him, because of the big smile that takes over Eddie's whole face.

"Stevie!" Eddie calls, and manages to wave at Steve even though both his hands are carrying his luggage.

As they reach each other, Steve hesitates on going in for a hug. No one's watching them, no one would notice if the hug isn't quite platonic, but it's still too much of a risk.

"I missed y-" Eddie starts, but Steve wants the reunion to happen in a place he can kiss Eddie stupid. So he grabs his wrist and starts dragging him toward the exit.

"C'mon."

Eddie makes a noise of surprise, but follows him anyway, and as they walk through the parking lot Steve can't help the way his excited grin softens. He's so glad Eddie's home.

They finally, finally, reach his car, and Steve glances around to check no one's about before crowding Eddie up against it.

"I missed you." He says, not even bothering with a proper greeting.

He leans in to give him a gentle kiss, feeling starved after three months of not being able to do it, but Eddie brings a hand up to hold his face before he can.

"To be clear, I wanted to say 'I missed you' first, but then someone had to drag me out of the airport, so-"

Steve cuts him off with a kiss. It's a little awkward, because they're both smiling so big that their mouths are fighting to open, but at the same time it's perfect.

He's home.

[bangchansimpxo]

Behind Closed Doors

pairing: mark lee x reader

genre: fluff

summary: mark lee is a member of the popular dance crew on campus, dream. he brings you to meet the other members and accidentally lets you glimpse the feelings he has for you.

cw: n/a

~originally posted on AO3~

Mark watched as you smoothed down your skirt, examining yourself in the mirror. Your hair fell in gentle waves, kissing your shoulders.

You turned towards him, his breath catching as he beheld the way the eyeliner brought out the sweetness of your eyes, “Do I look okay?” you asked.

Okay? Mark thought to himself. Okay was so incorrect. Stunning. Beautiful. Breathtaking. Okay was an insult when compared to the way you were shining.

But he couldn’t say that out loud; you were just friends. He wouldn’t mess up the friendship by telling you how perfect you were to him even when you were begrudgingly opening the door to your dorm room in your ratty t-shirt and baggy sweats when he came to bother you too early in the morning. So instead he settled on saying, “Yes.”

A pout formed on your lips but he stopped you from turning back to the mirror, “Come on, we don’t wanna be late.”

You were meeting his dance group today and you were very clearly intimidated. Sure they’d reached incredible heights with the views they’d wracked up on YouTube and TikTok. They’d even had TV performances and been asked to dance with stars during their concerts. But to Mark they were just a bunch of dorks who sometimes set aside their stupidity long enough to actually put on a few good performances — nothing to be intimidated by.

“It’ll be fine,” he said laughing at you as you twirled your hair nervously.

He watched your delicate finger twist a soft strand around in repeated spirals, running through so often some stray pieces came off around your finger.

Mark grabbed the fabric of your sleeve, gently tugging your arm down and the finger out of your hair with it. “Seriously, you need to relax, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I know, I know,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

You fell into an easy silence, the only sound the soft hush of your steps on the floor.

He could tell you were still nervous. He watched your small hands fiddle with the fabric of your skirt, twist the rings on your fingers, brush through and straighten your hair. He wished he had the balls to tell you how beautiful your were. How it wasn’t what you were wearing. It wasn’t what makeup look you’d decided upon that day. It wasn’t how your hair looked. It wasn’t how you looked at all. It was just you. There was a glow about you as a person. Sure sometimes the clothes, the hair, the makeup, it enhanced that. But when you took all that away you were still as beautiful as before.

“Y/N,” his mouth started before his brain had caught up.

But the two of you had reached your destination — a classroom outside of class time where Mark and his teammates would be reviewing footage to note areas of improvement and you’d been invited to tag along because you were a fan. Or so Mark told you. He conveniently left out the relentless pestering from his friends to finally let them meet the girl he would frequently ditch them for. No matter how many times he told them it wasn’t like that, both he and they knew how he felt about you even if he never said it out loud.

Mark could hear the six voices inside fighting for dominance over each other. Leave it to Dream to generate enough noise to hear them down the hallway.

Your eyes met his as you both stopped in front of the door. He could see the nerves in them. He knew you weren’t the best around new people and big social functions tended to give you more anxiety than excitement. Perhaps it was the fact that he saw a twinge of genuine fear in your eyes that had his mouth opening before he could process the words he let loose.

“Y/N,” he started, “They’re going to love you, seriously, you have nothing to worry about.”

He sighed at the small restrained smile you gave him, not really letting the words sink in.

He reached out to tentatively hold your wrist, stopping your hands from wringing together. His touch was feather light but he could still feel the softness of your exposed skin.

“Y/N you’re talented, smart, driven, and beautiful. You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met and I wish you could see what I see in you in yourself. You’re about to walk into a room full of doofuses who literally have half a brain cell between the six of them. They sometimes dance well, but I promise you they’re nothing to be intimidated by.”

It was then that Mark listened to what was around him.

Complete silence.

Internally groaning, he turned toward the view he was dreading but none the less expecting to see.

The classroom door was open, six faces were all peering out from the doorway. All wearing an identical shit-eating grin.

It was Haechan who started, “Jaemin you are talented and so so beautiful.”

“Chenle you’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met,” Jaemin continued, the male he mentioned making a dramatic show of delicately taking a hold of Jisung’s wrists. Renjun and Jeno made kissy faces, lips over-puckered in a way that was almost grotesque, at Mark.

Mark could feel the heat in his ears as he turned back toward you, “Y/N meet Dream.”

He would have been so much more embarrassed had you not been beaming at him with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

[jadetheblade4]

Are They Stupid?

A Dog Man Fanfic by Swirly Twirly

☆☆☆

Summary: Petey escapes Cat Jail, but the local guard that checks up on him is the one on his tail!! Will the shennanigans ever cease... (Takes place somewhere before A Tale Of Two Kitties) (Not a ship thing sorry weirdos but this gal wants to write for the silly of it ^_^)

☆☆☆

Part 1:

It was yet another normal day at Cat Jail, Collardale. The guard was doing his normal everyday rounds, albeit with a positive demeanor. He had been having a great day so far, thinking that nothing much could ruin it. He went to Petey's cell with a skip in his step.

"Gooooooood morning, Petey!" proclaimed the Guard, banging onto the cold metal bars of the cell. Petey, startled by this sudden noise, lifted his head up from his piles of papers and blueprints of escape. His face contorted into an annoyed glance once he saw who it was, his ears turned downward in disinterest.

"Aaaaaand goodbye to you, Guard..." Petey retorts, waving him off and continuing to work on his plans.

The guard chuckled. "Aw, cheer up, buddy! Big Jim and a bunch of other cats are planning on taking a sewing class today. You should join them!"

"Don't call me buddy! Besides, why would I want to be with any of those nut jobs? They're all stupid goofballs that don't have anything better to do with their life!" Petey took great offense in that chuckle, even slightly hissing his words to subconciously tell him to back off.

The guard tilts his head slightly, frowning a bit. "Then...what are you doing with your time?" he questioned, leaning onto the bars of Petey's cell. 

Petey's sneer immediately dissapears the moment he realizes how suspicious he looks. "I- um...Well..." he stutters, trying to find something to pass off as an excuse. Suddenly, his ears perk up, a quick idea passing through his genius mind.

He picked up a piece of paper that was a shopping list of some sort but for evil machinery. The contents didn't matter, though. He turned it over and quickly doodled a crude-looking drawing of the guard and himself holding hands, trying to make it as nice as possible with his ratty artstyle.

"Well, for your information... I'm...drawing a picture!! Of us!! Hanging out or whatever, just come see it!" proclaimed the orange cat, waving the drawing above his head.

The guard's face lights up in glee. "Really, Petey? You drew a picture for me??" he squealed in excitement. He never would've thought that Petey would do something nice for him for a change!

Petey nods convincingly. "Uh huh, just open the cell door and come inside to see it!!"

Unlocking the door to petey's cell, the guard steps inside gleefully. "What does it look like? Oh, I hope you capture my likeness onto it!!"

"Yeah, yeah, here ya go, I made it with care and whatnot, blah blah blah sappy stuff..." Petey shoves the drawing onto the guard, who happily accepted it.  The guard's eyes go wide as he scans the picture. A huge grin spreads across his face. "Aw, Petey, I love it!!! It looks so nice!!! C'mere you!!" He goes over to him and pulls him into a tight and loving hug.

"Oof!" Petey's breath slips out of him as he's trapped in the guard's iron grip. "Ok, man, hands off the merchandise!!" He squirms, trying to get away, but the guy has no plans of letting him go at the moment.

"This is the most thoughtful gift i have ever recieved in my whole entire life!!!! the guard proclaimed, continuing to cuddle him more. He comically spins him around and even kisses his cheek a couple of times, the gift really meaning a lot to him somehow.

"EUGH!! Alright ALRIGHT I GET IT I'm such a great pal now GET OFF!!!" Petey wriggled around his grasp until he popped off. He let out a "hmph!" as he tidied himself up from his sudden invasion of privacy. The guard jumped off to the side, a bit hurt by Petey's sudden cold nature. The orange cat notices his sudden deflate and feels a certain pull in his heart. "I mean, uh, no problem... figured I'd repay you for dealing with my, uh, schemes and stuff..." Petey stuttered, shifting his feet.

The guard's face lights back up again as he looks back at the picture. "Aww, it's nothing, Petey!! Just doing my duty!!" he said. Petey let out a smile, strangely happy about his half-assed drawing. He then shakes his head and tries to focus on the task at hand.

"I was thinking about hanging it up over there on the right side corner of my cell, can ya be a dear and put it there for me?" he bats his eyes innocently and points to said corner. The guard happily agreed. "Of course, dear pal!" He gives him one final hug and rushes to the wall to hang it up.

With a devious smile on his face, he tiptoes out of the cell. "Heheh, what a doofus..." the cat giggled. A few moments later, he escapes from the jail once more. "Ahh, finally! I can get back to doing what i usually do..." He walks back to his lab and breathes a sigh of relief. "The life...OF CRIME!!! HAW HAW HAW!!!!" he announces. The large building echoed his words, alerting the butler from the staircase.

"Heya Petey! Been a while since I've seen you around!!" he quickly steps down and joins him as Petey parades around his home. "Breaking out this time was a bit difficult," Petey went on, "but now things can finally get back on tra-"

A tv at the corner of the supposed room they're in suddenly announces its lovely presence by blaring breaking news from its LD screen. Petey and Butler turn their attention to the tv. It shows none other than Sarah Hatoff,  greatest reporter, in front of the very Cat Jail Petey just escaped from moments ago.

"BREAKING NEWS, FELLOW CITIZENS OF COLLARDALE!!!" Sarah declared. "We are currently receiving reports of a runaway warden of sorts from the Cat Jail looking for a certain fiendish feline...PETEY!!!" A mugshot of his face is shown on the screen right next to a goofy-looking photo of the guard, to which Petey frowns upon. "He informs us that if we see the cat anywhere to report to him...and...only him." Sarah scratched her head in confusion. "Huh. Guess the police aren't needed. This is Sarah Hatoff, signing out."

The butler turned to Petey. "Huh, I guess you don't need to, after all!" he said with a dumbass smile on his face. Petey grimaces and pinches the middle of his forehead in frustration. "AAUGH....Why is there always SOMETHING to ruin the mood..." he groaned, marching up the steps to the lab's roof with the butler following right behind. 

Up above, Petey and the butler scan their surroundings. The day-to-day hustle and bustle of the city rings out from below, showing no sign of anything unusual. The butler tilts his head. "Nobody here yet..." he muttered.

The orange cat crossed his shoulders and shook his head. "...Hmph! What am I even worried about anyways?!?" He laughed at how absurd he was acting at the moment to save face as he started walking back towards the stairs. "This lab is one of the most discrete and perfectly hidden buildings in all of the city of Collardale! It'll take a while before-"

A loud buzz-like sound suddenly calls out and the pair jumped in suprise. Petey rushed back and leaned over the roof once more to see a tiny guard waiting patiently at the door, pressing the goddamn buzzer.

"HOW DID HE FIND MY LAB!?!" Petey screamed. He quickly covered his mouth and dragged Butler down to the ground before Guard could see up above. He grabbed his butler by the shirt and whispered, "How did he find my lab?!?!?!"

The butler shrugged. "Gee, Petey, I don't have a clue how the guy could think of coming here."

"Hmm...strange." Petey let him go and scratched his head. He peered over the roof to look at his big fat-ass "PETEY'S SECRET LAB" sign. "Oh, by the way, I think you need to change a few of the lightbulbs on my lab's sign this weekend. A few of them are starting to fade out."

The butler rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'll buy lightbulbs later this evening, I guess..." he muttered again, peering over and looking at the sign with him.

Petey raised his eyebrow. "Also, quit muttering and mumbling so much, it's starting to irritate me >:( ."

The guard pressed the buzzer again. His hand contained a small piece of paper. "Helloooo?"  he called out. "I'm an authority from the local Cat Jail! Is anyone home?" He looked up at the tall building, to which Petey noticed just in time and ducked. Unfortunately, the butler ducked a bit too late, therefore leading the guard to only catch sight of him and not Petey.

"Oh, hey there! I just wanted to ask a couple of questions, if ya don't mind!!" he shouted from below to up above. The butler pops out again and gives a thumbs up, then goes down again.

Petey facepalms himself and groans annoyingly. He then faces the butler, who smiled sheepishly.

"You better not tell him im here. In fact, make him regret coming here in the first place!! I don't wanna be involved with the guy any further!!" he yelled, grudgingly going downstairs.

The butler shifted uneasily in place. "Uh, sure, Petey... I'll see what I can do, I guess..." he mumbled once more as he followed the grumpy cat.

[adore-laur]

THE WAY OF LOVE

— brandy meets a mysterious boy who gives her the best night of her life 🪩

——

LONG BEACH, 1972

Tizzy heels, teetering like a playground seesaw. 

Fizzy soda, bubbling like a carbonated jacuzzi. 

Dizzy vision, warping like a kaleidoscopic mirror. 

The Pike Amusement Park holds the key to all these buzzing delights. With striking colors, candy smoke, whirling rides, electrified screams, and chic ensembles, Brandy has been stung by the metaphorical buzz. She feels like she's stumbled into a thrill-seeking utopia or a timeless rotunda of adrenaline. Her focus blurs as she waits in line for the Ferris wheel. The red, blue, and yellow gondolas spin around, almost making her nauseous on top of the pungent scent of powdered funnel cakes and greasy cheese fries wafting throughout the summer air. 

When the wheel stops with a rusty creak, a group of rowdy boys scramble out and usher themselves through the maze of metal bars to go for another ride. They flock behind her and laugh obnoxiously. They can hoot and holler all they want, but Brandy finds boys her age annoying. They're always arrogant and talk like they're taller than the trees. 

The unoccupied red gondola awaits the next passenger, and before Brandy can take a step forward, she's pulled into it by her older sister, Shannon. They store their woven purses under the seats and then sit down. The wheel moves up one spot to let the boys on, and Brandy peeks over the edge to find them jokingly rocking their gondola to mess with their friend, who's still stepping on. She scowls at their immature antics. They're creating such a ruckus! All she wants is a quiet and peaceful ride to the top to admire the fair from a bird's-eye view. 

"I just downed a slushy in record time, so I might vomit," Shannon informs through a hiccup. 

Brandy twists back around. "What flavor was it again?" 

"Cherry. I swear they spiked it with something." 

"Hey, at least it'll match the color of our gondola. Just make sure to vomit in your purse and not on my new sneakers, please." 

She'll be livid if her spotless Nike Blazers, which took literally months to save up for, get ruined. 

Shannon rolls her eyes, but they quickly widen when the wheel jolts and starts up again. Brandy grips the edge behind her and looks down at the ground, which slowly becomes farther away. She can just barely see the boys doing the same thing.

She peers out at the fair when it comes to a standstill at the very top. Rides swoop, people parade around, and food trucks sparkle in the sun. She's appreciating all the excitement when suddenly an object faintly hits her shoulder. Something falls next to her thigh, and she picks it up with a confused dip to her eyebrows. It appears to be a piece of caramel corn. Is there a hole in the gondola above them? Is she hallucinating from all the vivid colors? Is it raining caramel corn? 

Her ears tune into quiet snickering and hushing coming from below. Of course, it was those ratty boys, Brandy thinks to herself. She grumbles under her breath and moves to sit directly next to Shannon so that she's out of their reach. 

The wheel begins to spin again, putting the boys above them. They're prattling on and gesturing wildly about some sports game they desperately need to catch on television tonight. Brandy can hear athletes' names and statistics spewing out of their mouths, but she can't understand anything. Sports genuinely bore her to death. 

Brandy and Shannon get stopped at the bottom after only two rotations. They both huff in disappointment, mutually hating how this Ferris wheel rips people off. Grabbing her purse, Brandy follows Shannon out and carefully watches her step so she doesn't trip in front of anyone. They walk through the exit gate, and Shannon strolls ahead to throw away her empty slushy cup in a nearby garbage can. A sharp whistle makes Brandy stop and look for where the noise came from. It conducts her vision up to the yellow gondola. 

Great. She could've guessed that they were catcallers. 

She just scoffs and continues walking. God forbid her shoulders are showing! All she's wearing is a dandelion-colored jumpsuit that's not even terribly revealing. She went thrifting a while ago to find something that looked like an outfit Cher, her inspiration, wore on television a month ago. It's not an uncanny resemblance, but it makes her proud. 

"Hey!" 

Brandy halts again at the deeply spoken exclamation. She closes her eyes and mentally prepares herself for what one of them will say to her. She's gotten used to hearing strange and creepy comments, especially since she lives in a tourist city, and she usually chooses to ignore them. She doesn't know why she's about to entertain this certain circumstance. 

Rolling back her shoulders, she turns to face the dreaded gondola again. She's surprised at what her eyes land on. A boy is leaning over the edge and looking at her. He has long, curly hair flowing down to his collar bones, and he wears a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A few buttons are undone, revealing two gold necklaces glimmering against his sun-kissed chest. Black sunglasses sit atop his head to hold his mane back. With a sharp jawline, pink lips, salient cheekbones, hypnotically green eyes, and a dimpled smile with pearly bunny teeth, Brandy thinks his face must have been sculpted by Michelangelo. He appears to be a rich boy who dresses like he's running late to a casual business meeting. What could he possibly want other than to bug her? 

Crossing her arms, Brandy waits for stupidity to leave his alluring mouth. Her gaze is locked onto his so that she doesn't become entranced by his pillowy lips, the near-exact color of the strawberry taffy that vendors are pulling by hand down at the beach.

The mysterious boy folds his arms along the edge, placing his chin on them as if mockingly teasing her impatient stance. Standing under direct sunlight, she's starting to swelter. Or is it his intense stare and unreadable smirk that's making her sweat? She hastily gestures with her hand to get him to say something so she can leave. 

Two of his fingers curl back to beckon her closer. She puts her hands on her hips and begrudgingly marches towards him, tilting her head even more to maintain eye contact. He licks the right crease of his quirked lips and circles his pointer finger. "Are you perhaps a fan of Cher?" 

"Yes... why?" Brandy asks cautiously. If he even attempts to talk negatively about Cher, she'll have to climb up the wheel and kick his perfect teeth in. 

"Your outfit just looks like something she wore recently, that's all," he says while tossing some caramel corn in his mouth. Was he the one who threw it? "I really dig it." 

She rubs the back of her neck, feeling foolish for thinking he'd be another one of those arrogant boys she refuses to waste her time on. "Oh, thanks. She's my idol. Her fashion sense is unreal." 

He nods his head as he chews. "She's far out. Do you watch The Sonny and Cher Show?" 

"Every Sunday night on CBS. I always make sure I have no plans so I don't miss it." 

A dimple indents his face. "They're hilarious, aren't they? They make my belly ache from laughing so hard." 

"Totally." She steps closer when the wheel moves up one spot, raising her voice over the surrounding noises. "When Cher sings at the end, the entire world stops!" 

"Exactly!" His palm cradles his cheek. "Hey, can I ask you something kind of random? I have two—" 

"Let's go, Brandy, it's hot!" Shannon calls out. 

She whips her head around to find her sister tapping an impatient foot and miserably fanning her face with her purse.

"Coming!" Brandy shouts. She smiles and waves to the boy before she begins walking backward. A peace sign and a wink are thrown her way. The last thing she sees before she turns around is his lips mouthing the syllables of her name. 

She speeds up to join Shannon, who has a knowing look on her face as they head toward the gate to leave the fair. Brandy elbows her waist. She'll never hear the end of it if she reveals the conversation that was exchanged. 

On her way home, she realizes she doesn't know the boy's name. It doesn't really matter; she probably won't ever see him again. 

—— 

Later That Night  

It's nearing midnight when Brandy and Shannon arrive at Ruby's Roller Disco. Brandy is fond of partaking in the disco scene, but this is the first time she's been to this place. Shannon had told her it's where everyone goes nowadays. However, she prefers what she's used to, which is the old, rundown nightclub in West Hollywood that she's sure is going out of business soon because their only customers are her and elderly couples. 

Striding through the open doorway, strobe lights and sequined fabrics immediately set the lively tone. The dance floor is packed with bodies roller-skating and grooving to the music under the spinning disco ball. Brandy has changed into skintight bell bottoms and a front-knot floral blouse so that she's comfortable while skating. As she glances around, she can't help but notice how different the energy is here from the place she usually goes. There are more people her age and much more space to move. Also, better music, she hates to admit. They play "Hey Jude" about three times a night at the other disco. And yes, they play the entire seven minutes of it. It doesn't take long for her to develop a migraine by the time she leaves. She's positive she'll be going home with a migraine here as well, since a smoking lounge is to her right and the smell of weed and cigarette smoke is penetrating the enclosed area. 

Shannon has jetted off somewhere to rent skates for them both. Brandy sees people either making out to the slow song playing or passing joints around even though they're supposed to be doing that strictly in the lounge. Everyone seems to be minding their own business in their own dome of happiness, despite the raging world outside, polluted with protests and violence. If anything, dancing with strangers is an escape. 

Her sister returns, holding two pairs of skates, and hands the pastel pink ones to Brandy. They quickly tie them and then roll onto the dance floor as a sultry song ends. A guitar riff kicks in, and "Strange Kind of Woman" by Deep Purple booms through the speakers. The skaters begin coasting mid-tempo, finding a partner on the floor, or dancing alone. Brandy's not a fan of rock songs, so she moves to the edge of the floor and waits for the next one. On the other hand, Shannon has already found a man to grind with. She looks like she just fell in love with him. 

Just as Brandy starts swaying her hips to the chorus, two hands land on her shoulders from behind. She's about to turn around and smack whoever did it, but the warm palms leave just as fast as they came. Suddenly, a tall boy is standing before her. Not just any boy, though. It's the one from the fair. He's chewing bubblegum with a beaming smile, like he just won the lottery. He's sporting a blue, sparkly two-piece outfit made of denim. The trousers are tight against his legs, and the matching long-sleeved shirt is tucked into them with only one button clasped out of the four. Flecks of glitter are spread on his exposed chest. His hair is pulled back into a low bun, and a few curly strands are left out to frame his face. 

"You're the caramel corn boy," Brandy blurts over the music. 

"And you're the girl with the bangin' fashion. I love a pair of bell bottoms." His eyes trail up and down her body. He then snaps his fingers twice as his face twists in thought. "It's Brandy, right?" 

She smiles, watching the lights dance across his face. "Yes. I didn't catch your name at the fair." 

"Harry Styles," he says while tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "I've never seen you around here before." 

"This is my first time here, actually. I usually go to the Slug Bug nightclub in West Hollywood." 

His nose wrinkles with a teasing grin. "Slug Bug? Isn't that where old people go?" 

"No!" She scoffs. "Well, yes. It's just calmer there, you know? I really vibe with the place." 

"I'm just pulling your leg." His hands rest on his hips as he looks around. "You here with anyone?" 

He smacks his gum and raises his eyebrows like the smuggest man Brandy has ever seen. She usually hates people like that, but she finds it somehow attractive when he does it. 

"I'm with my sister. She's probably making out with a guy she just met." 

"Wow," he says with a laugh before glancing behind him. "Wanna dance with me? I can show you some stellar moves." 

As the words leave his mouth, "Love Is Life" by Earth, Wind & Fire begins playing. Everyone starts skating slower as the lights turn from cool to warm tones. 

"You don't have skates on, so dancing with me might be a little difficult." 

"You underestimate me, Brandy," he drawls, leaning closer. "You're looking at the smoothest cat at Ruby's. Ask anyone." 

Brandy juts her hip out and crosses her arms. "You talk a big game, Harry Styles. Show me what you got." 

He blows a perfect bubble with his gum until it pops. "Turn your pretty self around, then." 

Biting her lip, she spins around on her skates so her back is facing him. Harry puts his hands on her shoulders and guides her to the dance floor. He stops amid the dancing crowd, touching her waist and swaying her to the groovy bassline. Brandy uses the toe stop on one of her skates to keep from straying. 

"Weak moves!" she tells him. 

Harry's mouth lingers next to her ear. "Oh yeah? Stay here. I'll be right back." 

Brandy feels the absence of his touch and looks behind her to see him striding over to the DJ booth. She decides to skate a lap around the floor as she waits. She peeks a glance at Shannon, and her assumptions are correct: her tongue is down a man's throat. Good for her.

Moments later, she hears the familiar opening of a song she can never escape: "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" by Looking Glass. The song came out a couple of months ago and has been at the top of the charts, playing on the radio constantly. Hearing her name in a hit song is a blessing and a curse. It's a great song, but she always gets teased whenever she mentions her name. 

Brandy parks herself back in her spot and sees Harry shimmy over to her, making jazz hands with a grin plastered on his face that the turquoise lights motion over. He leans back and rolls his shoulders, singing along as he grooves to the horns. 

He spreads his arms out when he reaches her and says, "I just bribed the DJ with a nifty fifty. Please tell me no one has done that for you before." 

"How many other girls do you know named Brandy? This happens round the clock." She grimaces. "Well, not the bribing part. And did you say fifty dollars? Are you joshing me right now?"

Harry clicks his tongue. "Damn, I thought I was being clever. And yeah, fifty dollars. No biggie." 

Brandy shakes her head in disbelief. "Okay, so your name is Harry. Has anyone ever played you "Harry Braff" by the Bee Gees?" 

His arms drape over her shoulders as he sways with her. "My last name's not Braff." 

"My name's Brandy, but I'm not a fine girl." 

"I beg to differ," he says with no hesitation. He twirls her before asking, "What other artists do you listen to, Brandy?" 

She squints one eye as she thinks. "Cher, obviously. Diana Ross, Barbara Streisand, Aretha Franklin—any female powerhouse, really." 

"I think you're the love of my life." 

"Oh, shut it." Brandy holds her palm to her warm cheek. "Why, do you like them too? Shannon, my sister, only listens to Tony Bennett, so I have no choice but to be the sibling with good taste in music." 

"Is she sixty years old?" he teases with a laugh. 

"That's what I say! She's trying to get me to see him at some opera house, and I keep making excuses not to go." 

"My heart goes out to you in this challenging time. But to answer your question, yes, I listen to all those women. They're sick, so how could anyone not?" 

"A lot of men are scared of successful women, especially in the music industry." Brandy shrugs and moves closer to him. "They're just talking a bunch of jive." 

Harry nods. "Personally, I think Cher could kick them all to the curb. Men don't like that she knows what she wants." 

"How have I not met you before? I think you might be the love of my life too." 

His lips tick upwards. "What's your favorite Cher song?" 

She grasps where her heart is at the impossible question. "Gosh, probably "Do You Believe in Magic" from her Backstage album. It's a cover, but it's way better than the original. What about you?" 

He plays with the ends of her hair and replies, "Mine is "Lay Baby Lay." That one is so groovy." 

"That's such a good one. I love the—" Brandy is cut off when someone suddenly gropes her ass as they fly past on skates. She freezes, blood rushing to her ears. The music drowns out as she tries to determine if what happened was real. She feels like she's underwater. The only sound is her heartbeat on high alert. She slowly looks at Harry, seeing his nostrils flare and his darkened eyes gaze over her shoulder with spine-chilling intensity. Seconds or minutes pass by—Brandy doesn't know for sure—before she witnesses his posture straighten and his jaw tense. 

When the man flies past again, Harry quickly brushes past her and grabs the collar of his shirt to stop him. The force is enough for him to stumble on his skates and tumble to the floor. 

Harry crouches and sizes him up. "You have a death wish or something?" he threatens, chewing his gum faster. 

"Chill out, dude," says the man as he tries to unleash himself from the tight grip. "You're acting crazy." 

"Go take a look in a fuckin' mirror, you bogue piece of shit," Harry spits before standing back up and kicking the man's calf. 

Brandy's hand is swiftly taken in his grasp as he leads her out the door of the disco. Her skates are still on, so she lets go and moves in front of him to glide backward on the pavement.

"I could've handled it," she mutters, letting the fresh air cool her skin. 

Harry doesn't say anything as he pulls out his car keys. A beep echos, and Brandy turns her head to see the headlights of a yellow Ferrari flash. As he opens the passenger door for her, he asks, "Do you smoke?" 

"Um, only weed. No cigarettes or anything like that." 

He hums and gets in the driver's seat. "Wanna share a joint?" 

She's thankful that what just happened isn't being dwelled on. She'd rather obliterate it from her mind. However, there's palpable tension severely present. 

"Sure," Brandy says, getting in his car. "Wait, I have to return my skates before I forget." 

Harry laughs to himself. "You really think they'll notice they're gone? Everyone who works there is higher than a kite." 

"Oh," she breathes out. "Sorry." 

He starts the car and rolls the windows down. "Want the first hit?" 

"Is it laced?" 

Shannon had taught her to always ask that. His eyebrows scrunch as he shakes his head genuinely. Brandy watches him lift his butt up on the seat, taking out a bronze lighter from his back pocket. The streetlights reflect off the metallic shine of the case as he opens it. He then opens the glovebox and shuffles through junk before finding a container of pre-rolled joints. His nimble fingers pick one up, bringing it to Brandy's lips. She holds it while Harry lights it, never breaking eye contact. She inhales and rolls her eyes back from the addictive smoke filtering through her body, letting it ooze down to her lungs before exhaling it out the window. Harry's eyes are now transfixed on her lips. 

Brandy passes it to him and says, "This is a really nice car." 

"Thanks, I stole it," he mumbles around the joint. 

"What?!" she exclaims with a cough. 

"Psyche. Relax, yeah? I bought this bad boy a couple of months ago." 

"Don't tease me like that." 

"How would you prefer me to tease you, then?" 

"You're a chump!" She takes another hit before passing it to him again. "Listen, I should check on Shannon. If that guy who groped me is any telltale sign of the type of boys in there, I don't want her to be alone." 

"Did you both drive here?" he asks before hollowing his cheeks and inhaling more smoke. 

"No, we walked from our house. We live together on Brayton Avenue." 

"I'll drive you guys home. I'm not letting you walk around past midnight." 

Brandy stares at him. "You're not a serial killer, are you?" 

Harry smirks, spreading his legs more comfortably. "If that were the case, I think they'd have my face plastered in every newspaper." 

"Not unless you're clever," she mumbles under her breath. "I just met you, so I have a right to be cautious." 

"I know, Brandy," he says with a laugh. "I respect that. Now go; I'll find some tunes to play." 

She takes one last hit before she gets out of his car and skates toward the disco entrance. The weed takes effect rather quickly; Harry must get the good stuff. 

Sliding across the dance floor, she quickly spots Shannon in her neon pink top. Brandy coasts up to her and takes her hand. "We're leaving!"

"What?!" Shannon replies with a frown. "Why? We just got here!" 

"I don't feel safe. The boys in here are all weirdos." 

"Did something happen?" 

"No," Brandy says. "C'mon, I'll go to that stupid Tony Bennett concert if we can just leave." 

Shannon inhales deeply. "Fine. But Brandy Jean, you better keep your word, or else I'll kick you out of the house." 

"I pinky promise. That boy from the fair earlier is going to drive us home. And before you say anything, I trust him." 

"He's here?" 

"Yes, Shannon, for goodness' sake. He's very kind." Brandy leads her away from the dance floor and toward the exit. "Also, don't worry about your skates. They won't notice." 

They grab their shoes and skate out the door to Harry's awaiting car. His front door and the back one are open, and she can see him fiddling with the radio dial while holding the joint between his teeth. 

Brandy shoves her sister in the backseat. "Harry, Shannon. Shannon, Harry," she introduces promptly. 

He removes the joint and puts it out while glancing at the rear-view mirror. "How's it hangin'?" 

"Hi! You must be the guy my sister is in love with." 

Brandy twists back in the passenger seat and pinches Shannon's knee with the full intention of having it hurt. She then makes the gesture of cutting her throat before turning back around. 

"Is that so?" Harry asks smugly. 

"Ignore her. Pretend she isn't here. She's a hologram." 

He just laughs and begins driving down the street. On the way, "Someday We'll Be Together" by Diana Ross and The Supremes plays on the radio. The windows are down, and the California breeze whips their hair around. 

Eventually, he parks in their driveway after being given directions. Shannon pats his back as a thank you, then hops out of the car and stumbles through the front door, not even bothering to take off her stolen skates. The door shuts, and she turns on what seems like every single light in the house. She's high out of her mind. 

Brandy faces Harry and says, "Thanks for the ride. I appreciate you not killing us." 

She's joking, but crime in California has been at an all-time high lately, so she's technically not. She won't tell him that, though. 

"'Course," he replies, taking his bun out and messing with his untamed hair. "Look, I'm sorry about that guy tonight. He shouldn't have touched you." 

She sighs dejectedly. "Obviously, he shouldn't have touched me. It's fine. I'm glad you knocked some sense into him." 

"It's not fine, Brandy," he insists with sincerity. "Don't downplay it. The prick should be in jail." 

"I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay, we won't," he says gently. A few beats of silence pass before he raises his finger and takes something out of his pocket. "Change of topic. Remember at the fair when I was going to ask you a question, but your sister interrupted?" 

Brandy squints at the small pieces of paper in his hand. "Yeah. Go ahead and ask me." 

"So, here's the lowdown. The reason I talked to you in the first place was because I noticed your killer outfit. Then, when you said Cher was your inspiration, I remembered something I had bought a while ago. It's a crazy coincidence." He holds out two paper stubs before continuing, "I have tickets. I was so bummed when I thought I'd never see you again, but fate must be working its magic today." 

"Tickets?" Brandy's eyebrows furrow. "For what?" 

"For the best night of your life," he says with a boyish grin. "Would you like to come to The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour with me in Hollywood tomorrow night? None of my friends want to go with me because they think it's lame, but—" 

"I thought those sold out in less than a day!" she interrupts, her mouth open in shock. "If you're razzing, Harry, it isn't funny." 

"Brandy Baby. Hush for a second, yeah?" 

Her heart skips a beat. "Don't fake me out, please. I would do almost anything to see her in person."

"Shh..." He rests his pointer finger against her lips. "I wouldn't joke about Cher, Sunshine. The ticket is yours if you want it. Unless you want me to sit all by my lonesome." 

She whispers, "You're serious?" 

"Cross my heart," he says, making the gesture. 

"I-I would love to, Harry. That's so thoughtful of you to ask. For you to ask me out of all people, I mean, I'm honored." 

He plays with her moon pendant, looking up at her through his eyelashes. "You've got this energy about you—enigmatic, tantalizing. I think we'll have a wonderful time together." 

"You think so? I might faint when I see her." 

"I think it'll be life-changing, Brandy." 

She can't reply because his palm places itself on her cheek, rendering her speechless. Before she can process his touch, his lips pucker and slowly meet her opposite cheek. They're damp and cold, but somehow they spark a flame inside her body. 

Harry leans back and stares at her parted mouth. It feels like minutes pass as she waits for his next move. His hand moves down to the side of her neck. He leans forward slightly and leaves the softest kiss at her pulse point. Butterflies break out in her stomach, her breathing becomes shallow, and her skin grows hot. Her knees almost give out when his teeth nip the spot he just planted his affection on. 

"All right, I gotta skitty," he says, like nothing just happened. "I'll be waiting out here tomorrow at six thirty on the dot. If you're not ready, you'll be in trouble. Time doesn't wait for Cher." 

Brandy has to blink several times to bring herself back to reality. "Okay. Sounds good. Gosh, I'm so stoked. Wait, what do we wear? I need to plan an outfit. Agh!"

Harry looks her up and down. "Something foxy." 

She smiles shyly and fidgets with the knot of her blouse. "I'll try my best. We both need sleep for tomorrow, so I'm going to go inside. Get home safe, Harry." 

"Always do," he says while twirling his keys. "Peace out, Brandy. Dream with me tonight." 

"I don't think I'll be able to fall asleep. And I expect you to wear something foxy as well." 

He runs his tongue across his teeth with a wide smile before kissing two fingers and holding them out in a peace sign as he retreats to his car. He revs the engine and reverses out of the driveway, speeding off into the night. 

Brandy can't help but agree that fate really has worked its magic today. 

—— 

Tomorrow Evening 

Brown silk and pearls galore. If Harry wants foxy, Brandy is giving it to him tenfold. 

She carefully adjusts the thin straps of her mid-thigh dress in her vanity mirror. The single layer of ruffle that dips into her cleavage is tight against her shimmering skin. The long pearl necklace wraps twice around her neck and then drips down to her navel. White platform heels heighten her generously, and a matching leather purse completes her accessories for the evening. 

She peeks at the Kit-Cat Klock on her bedroom wall—only one minute until Harry is supposed to arrive. She exhales a nervous breath and makes sure she looks presentable. 

Bold mascara on top and bottom eyelashes—check. Glossy lips from her sister's coconut balm—check. Beige eyeshadow with winged eyeliner—check. Lacy black lingerie—check and check again. 

She's gambling with her luck, but from what she's seen, Harry oozes sex appeal, and it'd be a shame if nothing happened tonight. 

She hears a honk from outside her window as she sprays her citrus Dior perfume all over her body. He's here. Shutting off the lights, she practically skips down the staircase to open the front door. Shannon isn't home tonight, so she doesn't have to worry about her big sister's protectiveness about where she's going and who she's with. She walks down the concrete steps and toward his car. She hasn't even looked up yet, too focused on each step so she doesn't humiliate herself and trip over her clunky heels. 

The sound of keys jingling has Brandy eventually gazing up at him, and she almost trips at the sight. There Harry stands, leaning against the door of his yellow Ferrari with his ankles crossed over one another. His hair is let loose, and the curls seem more defined than before. He wears a geometric-patterned suit with plum and olive colors, the pristine blazer left open over a black button-up. On his feet are dress shoes that are polished to the nines. However, the most noticeable part of his outfit is a single strand of pearls around his neck. 

He must notice her staring because he laughs at the coincidence. "It seems like I've got a copycat on my hands," he says. 

"I wouldn't have taken you for a man who owns pearls," Brandy admits as she stops in front of him. "My mistake." 

He hums deeply. "I wouldn't have taken you for a woman who could just about drop me to my knees. My fuckin' mistake." 

She smooths her palms over the lapels of his blazer. "You look very handsome, Harry. This suit could put Sonny to shame." 

"Quite the compliment, doll. Dare I say that Cher has nothing on you tonight?" 

She narrows her eyes at him. "You don't mean that. No one can look as good as Cher, and you know it." 

"It doesn't matter because we"—he attempts to slide across the hood of his car but only gets halfway before he stumbles off slightly—"are going to have the best night of our lives. I got a cassette tape ready and some Cola for the drive there." 

Brandy amusedly watches him open the door for her with a dramatic bow. She maneuvers around the car and sits in the plush passenger seat. He closes the door before jogging over to his side, but not before tugging up his pants, adjusting his collar, and teasing his hair in the side mirror. She laughs at his antics and gets comfortable in the leather seat of his Ferrari. 

Once he's in, he turns the key in the ignition and presses a button on the radio to fast-forward the cassette tape already in the slot. He places a hand on the back of her headrest to reverse out and begins driving down Brayton Avenue toward Hollywood. It's about a thirty-minute drive to the CBS Television City venue where the show is being held. The seating time is at seven, so they should arrive on time. 

The cassette stops at "Sentimental Lady" by Fleetwood Mac. Brandy grins at his choice. 

"Know this one?" Harry asks while turning it up. 

"I do." 

He flicks his blinker on and smoothly merges onto the interstate. "Sing with me. Don't go shy on me now." 

She brings her knees up on the seat. "I'll only sing if you do." 

"Deal." 

They drive down the boulevard and past the palm trees, singing along to the voice of Bob Welch the entire way there and drinking ice-cold bottles of Cola. Before they know it, the building comes into view, which is a black-and-white structure with a large parking lot in front that's packed. There's orange tape surrounding it for the show being held tonight, and hordes of cars coming in are being directed by security. 

Brandy can feel the excitement and the buzz. It's something she wants to experience all the time. 

"Are you ready for the night of your fuckin' life?" Harry asks, fixing his hair in the rear-view mirror. 

"Fuck yes," Brandy says. 

"Atta girl." He nudges her side. "You should swear more often. Life's more fun that way." 

They eventually get out of the car and begin following the crowd, tickets in their hands and heels clicking on the pavement. When they reach the door, they show their tickets and are ushered to the room where the show will be held. Brandy assumes they'll be part of the live studio audience tonight. She's never gone to a variety show before, and it's exhilarating.

Once they're situated in their seats, which are far back from the stage—but it doesn't matter since she's about to see Cher fucking Sarkisian—they wait for the show to start. 

"Gonna faint yet?" Harry teases from beside her. 

"I genuinely might." 

"I'll pretend to also faint so it's not as embarrassing for you." 

"Gee, thanks," Brandy mutters with a crooked smile. 

Over the next half hour, they converse about what songs they think will be sung tonight or what they will joke about. Brandy can't get over how handsome Harry looks in a suit. She notices his eyes keep gazing down at her pearls, burning her cheeks. She feels so comfortable around him. There are no awkward pauses in conversation since they have so much in common. 

When they're in the middle of talking about what the best flavor of soda is, the lights suddenly go out, making everyone gasp. 

A spotlight shines on the stage, music starts, and the screen lifts as Sonny and Cher walk out. The crowd goes wild, whooping and hollering for America's power couple. 

Brandy could cry. Her idol is in front of her, dressed in a white dress with pastel polka dots of pink, orange, blue, and red. Sonny wears a matching button-up under his white suit as they take center stage, holding hands. They sing a short opening song and then introduce themselves before getting right into the jokes. 

Throughout the show, Brandy and Harry laugh until their stomachs hurt. The dynamic between Sonny and Cher is unlike anything she's ever seen. The timing of the jokes, the chemistry, and the love are so magical to witness in real-time. After a hilarious and dirty joke, Brandy looks at Harry and sees him slap his knees in laughter, with eye crinkles and dimples on his gleeful face. It makes her swoon. The venue is cracking up—an infectious joy that only a room full of people gathered for the same thing could bring. 

At the intermission, some people leave their seats to go out and smoke or talk to others. Brandy is admiring the stage when Harry's hand suddenly nudges hers on the armrest. His pinky strokes the back of her hand. Her eyes are glued forward, but she feels it. It's the only thing she can focus on. 

His palm slowly wiggles under hers, and he interlaces their fingers together. They stay in that position until they have to clap when Sonny and Cher come back out. 

At the end of the show, Cher comes out by herself to sing a song to close the night. The golden spotlight behind her sets the intimate ambiance. She walks to the middle of the stage, and Brandy is blown away by her ethereal beauty. She wears a pink, frilly dress and a matching flower clip in her sleek black hair. 

"The Way of Love" starts, causing the room to go completely silent as she sings the bittersweet tune. Everyone's eyes are on her. Everything is still. It's like it's just her in the room.

During the song's crescendo, Brandy can feel Harry's gaze on hers as Cher's powerful voice belts for the audience. She doesn't want to look away, but when she feels him lean in, his musky cologne invades her senses as he squeezes her hand. A kiss to her temple is planted, blooming into heat that spreads over Brandy's face. She turns her head and whispers, "What was that for?" 

His green eyes glimmer in the low light. "You just look really pretty," he whispers back. "And happy."

She smiles giddily and continues watching the performance. When the song ends, everyone gives a standing ovation as Cher bows and exits the stage. The cheers continue long after she's gone, and Brandy looks around the room in awe. She feels like she's in a dream. It went by so fast. 

"Let's skitty," Harry says in her ear while clapping. "The traffic will be terrible getting out." Brandy nods and grabs her purse. Harry intertwines their fingers together and leads her towards the exit. 

It's dark when they reach outside. People are talking loudly about the show and smoking near their vehicles. Harry starts his car once they're both in, turning the headlights on and tapping his finger along the steering wheel. A whole minute passes, and he still hasn't started driving. His eyes are zoned out on the dashboard. 

Brandy waves a hand in front of his face. "You okay?" 

He looks over at her almost shyly. "Would you want to stay at my place tonight? I've got plenty of room for us to chill." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah," he says. "I'd regret saying goodnight to you so soon." 

Brandy contemplates the offer. She hasn't stayed at a boy's house in a while, but she trusts Harry. She's had such an enjoyable time tonight that she'd hate herself if she just went home. 

So she says, "I'll stay with you. Do you have a phone? I'd need to call my sister before she calls the fuzz and they show up at your house." 

"I have a wall phone in the shape of a heart, if that's what you're asking." 

"I wasn't, but that's cool," she replies, mesmerized by how his lips form around certain words. "You know what else is in the shape of a heart?" 

His elbow leans on her headrest. "Sock it to me." 

Brandy smiles and places her forearm on the console. "Your lips." 

Harry swallows, then asks, "What else about my lips?" 

"They're the color of strawberry taffy. Not sure if they would taste like it, though." 

"You know what they say, right?" He glimpses at her mouth. "There's only one way to find out." 

Brandy doesn't know whose lips crash into whose first, but it doesn't matter because they taste better than any sweet in a candy shop. Their lips part with a wet pop, and Harry mimics the noise with his mouth. Brandy giggles and kisses his bottom lip hungrily. 

"Coconut," he murmurs, twirling a strand of her hair around his pointer finger. "Far out." 

Some glossiness from her lips has transferred to his own, so Brandy wipes it off with her thumb. "Let's head back before it ends up in other places," she suggests boldly.

Harry gives her an open-mouthed smile, then kisses her cheekbone before palming the wheel and reversing out of the parking spot. During the drive, he shows her the new cassette tapes he bought recently, gushing out facts about the artists and pointing out the guitars used in certain songs. Brandy listens the entire time with intrigue in her eyes. 

After thirty minutes, Harry pulls into his driveway. His house is much smaller than expected for someone with decent money. It's a yellow ranch-style home with a collection of neatly trimmed landscaping, including shrubs and a single sycamore tree. The garage door is see-through, and the house's white trim pops compared to the dull neighboring houses on the street. 

Brandy's trance is broken when Harry opens the passenger door for her and holds out his hand. She takes it. He guides her to his front door, lets her step past the threshold first, then flicks the lights on. 

"I'm going to change really quick," he murmurs in her ear before brushing past her and strolling into another room. 

Brandy takes the opportunity to observe his multifarious decor and interior design. The copper-colored carpet in the living room feels cloud-like beneath her feet as she wanders around. Assorted sizes of orange, yellow, and white low tables are placed around the conversation pit, and potted ferns contrast nicely with the overload of orange. A yellow leather couch is embedded around the pit, and a table in the middle has a vase of dahlias and a collection of glass bongs. An inlet in the farthest wooden wall holds a box television and a piano. Drawers, books, and a radio surround the remaining space. 

On her left is his kitchen. A small island with a basket of bananas is surrounded by oak cabinets. More plants are either on the refrigerator or hanging from the ceiling. Everything is organized. Everything is placed with purpose. Everything is Harry. 

Speaking of the devil, Harry returns wearing what looks like pajamas, and Brandy laughs at their luxuriousness. He has on a red, floral check-print jacket and matching pants that could be straight from a fashion catalog, for all she knows. He's shirtless underneath, with nothing but a cross necklace on his chest, and his feet are bare as he walks toward her. 

"It looks like you're just wearing another suit."

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in. "It's totally a suit." 

She snorts. "I wouldn't expect anything less." 

Harry flops backward onto the couch and rests his hands on his stomach. Brandy thinks it's the most endearing thing in the world. 

"Stop starin' at my paunch," he says with a grin. "I can't help that Coca-Cola makes me bloated." 

She sits next to him. "It's cute. The butterfly tattoo is a nice touch to your paunch." 

"Yeah? Is that a kink of yours? My paunch?" 

"Let's stop saying paunch. And no, you dork, it's not a kink. I'm just not a fan of boys with rock-hard abs and steroid-pumped biceps. I like a natural body." 

His knuckle runs along the exposed part of her thigh. "Same here." 

Her skin heats under his touch. "Can we smoke weed together again? Let's end the night on a high." 

"Oh, she's a comedian now?" Harry groans, gets up, and walks to a table in the corner of the room. "You take a girl to one comedy show, and suddenly she thinks she's Joan Rivers," he mutters teasingly. 

"Get bent! I'm funnier than you; just admit it." 

He cackles, and she turns to watch him put a vinyl on his portable record player. She notices that his hair has transitioned into a middle part sometime throughout the night. 

"Chain of Fools" by Aretha Franklin crackles through. He walks back to her with a joint and a lighter, then boldly straddles her thighs on the couch. Brandy just about dies. 

Harry lights the end of the joint and asks, "Do you know how to shotgun kiss?"

Her eyes widen. "I know what it is, but I've never done it. I've always wanted to try." 

"It'll rock your world." He shifts on her lap to get more comfortable, and she can thoroughly feel his cock through his pants. He must not wear underwear to bed. It should disgust her, but her mind is too frazzled by their current position to care. 

Harry takes a hit from the joint, keeps the smoke in his mouth, and then cradles her cheeks with gentle palms. He leans in and places his thumb on Brandy's bottom lip to open her mouth, resting it on the bottom row of her teeth. The smoke releases down her throat. The feeling is euphoric, intimate, and sensual. 

She breathes out, the residual smoke blowing in his face, and she falls into a trance, looking at his lustrous lips. "I thought you're supposed to kiss someone when you do it." 

He twists her pearls around his finger and gives them a light tug. "C'mere, baby. I'll kiss you all you want." 

His hand holds her head as he guides her lips to his. They connect, and it's like ecstasy unfurls in her heart and stomach. With unhurried movements from the weed, their lips move against each other like they're the last drop of water in the desert oasis.

Harry's tongue slips into her mouth, so she sucks on it tenderly as her hands linger on his waist. He's still straddling her, his bulge pressing against her. His free hand holds the joint away from her as they move their lips until they're numb and swollen. Brandy eventually breaks from the kiss to catch her breath, leaving Harry whimpering helplessly. 

"Can I please touch you?" he begs with bruising kisses to her neck. "Tell me what you like. What makes you feel good? Tell me where it feels good." 

"You can touch me." 

"Where? Tell me where it aches, honey." 

Brandy lets out a soft and short whine. "Everywhere." 

"Where do you need my hands? Talk to me." 

"My neck. It feels good when I'm choked." Her eyes snap open at what she just exposed. She immediately backtracks by adding, "But we don't have to do it if you're not—" 

"Don't move," Harry interrupts, springing off her and dashing to his bedroom. 

Brandy can hear shuffling and drawers opening and closing. She toes her heels off as she waits, then stands up to roam to his record player. She sifts through the stray vinyl on the table, eventually removing the Aretha Franklin disc and replacing it with an Ike & Tina Turner one. She meticulously places the needle so it plays "Come Together." 

Brandy is admiring his wall art when she feels something cold against her arm. She looks down and has to do a double-take at what she sees. Is that a dog collar? 

"I'm not into barking like a dog for a man," she says, her head completely empty while gazing at the black leather. 

He kisses the pearls at the back of her neck. "This isn't for you, Brandy. You've already got a choking toy." 

He tosses the collar onto the nearest table, then reaches around her front to wrap her pearls around his hand until they're tight and restrained. His other hand fidgets with the zipper at the back of her dress. 

"May I?" he asks. 

What she's wearing underneath will surely come as a surprise to him. She nods, her eyes rolling back from the pressure. His fingers trail along her upper spine until they reach the zipper. Brandy can feel his breath on her skin as he slowly pulls it down until the material loosens against her body. 

"Fuckin' hell." Harry nudges his nose into the side of her neck and moans softly. "What's this, hmm? Been hiding this from me?" 

Brandy feels him bring the straps of her dress down her arms. She turns around, Harry's grip on her pearls leaving, and she shimmies the silk material down her legs the rest of the way while keeping eye contact with him. The lace lingerie is revealed, and Harry's eyes are glued to her chest like a teenage boy. He walks backward until he bumps into the table, bending down and blindly grabbing the collar from behind him. 

"Put it on me," he says breathlessly, like he can't get air in his lungs. 

She takes it as Harry turns around, taking off his own pearls so she can fasten them around his neck. He holds his hair up so Brandy can loop the collar belt through the clip. She doesn't tighten it too much, but just enough so that a pleasurable pressure should be felt. 

"Good?"

He hums. "Perfect." They walk down into the conversation pit. Brandy waits for Harry to initiate something. 

"Lie down for me, love," he says while he drapes his pearls over the television. "Legs spread." 

She bites her lip to hold back an excited smile, then lies on the couch, obeying his command by spreading her thighs. Harry takes off his jacket and sits on his knees between her legs. His fingers run along the lace detailing of her lingerie. 

Brandy squirms from the tension and whines. "Touch me. You said you would."

"Patience. You said I could touch your neck. I've got two hands, baby, so where do you want the other one?" 

She palms her core and moans at the sensitivity. She's wet already. "Here. I need you right here." 

His fingers move the fabric covering where she needs him, circling his fingers in her wetness and pushing them into her. Her back arches, and she reaches her hand around the back of his neck to tug the collar's strap. His head tilts back, his mouth parting from the choking sensation. 

Harry pulls her strand of pearls as two of his fingers begin slowly thrusting in and out of her. She breathlessly moans, her airway restricted. She moves her hand to squeeze his cock through his pants. 

"Don't do that. You'll make me lose it right now." 

"Make me come. Please, Harry." 

His fingers thrust faster and curl skillfully to hit all of her sensitive spots, his thumb pressing down on her clit to bring her to her climax. He balances on his knees to get more leverage, his necklace dangling over her body. Brandy grabs onto his wrist, which flicks with each movement. 

"You're fuckin' beautiful under me and falling apart like this." 

"I'm almost there. Keep going. I feel it." 

He grinds against the couch. "Where do you feel it?" 

Her hand presses against her lower stomach. Harry removes his hold on her pearls and places his hand over hers. "Yeah? Feel that pressure? I'll make it feel better, I promise." 

He moves his mouth down to lick along her entrance, and that's what does it for Brandy. She cries out as the pressure pops like a needle in a balloon. She comes around his fingers, holding onto his bulging, tattooed arms. 

"Harry... oh, it feels amazing." 

He removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth to taste her arousal. "You did so good for me." 

Once Brandy winds down from her orgasm, Harry gets up and walks to his kitchen. She hears the faucet turn on, and he returns with a damp towel soon after. He wipes her with the lukewarm fabric, then sets it on her stomach for a bit, the warmth feeling heavenly on the slight pressure still there. 

"Come to bed with me," he says lowly, removing the collar. "We can smoke and giggle until we crash." 

"Don't you want me to take care of your... you know, boner?" 

He shrugs. "Sometimes it feels good if I let it ache until morning. Plus, I'm high and drank, like, a gallon of Cola, so I don't think it'd taste any good." 

"Fair point." Brandy reaches out her arms. "Take me away, Casanova." 

He laughs and pulls her up, then quickly grabs his lighter and another joint before guiding her to his room down the hallway. His bedroom is simple, with several shelves and drawers along every wall. His bed is low to the ground and stays with the house's orange theme. 

Harry climbs into his bed and points to his dresser. "You can wear one of my shirts if you'd like." 

Brandy opens it and searches through endless ripped and faded T-shirts. She removes her lingerie and grabs a Blue Öyster Cult tour shirt to put on. She then crawls onto the memory foam mattress. 

"Did you know," Harry says slowly, "I'm fuckin' stellar at doing a Cher impression?" 

Brandy notices the weed he smoked throughout the night, which makes him talk more deeply and languidly than he already does. "Say psyche right now." 

His head on the pillow whips toward her like a meerkat. "No joke. Give me a song to sing with her voice." 

He's totally bullshitting, but she goes along with it anyway because his being high is incredibly endearing. 

"Okay, do "All I Ever Need Is You"." She flips on her side to face him. "Let me sing Sonny's parts. I bet I could do his voice." 

"You go first. I don't want to be outshined." 

Brandy takes a quick hit of the joint before clearing her throat. "Honey, all I ever need is you," she sings, trying to imitate Sonny's unique voice. She feels like she's floating from the weed in her system, and she's never felt happier. 

"Winters come, and they go," Harry joins in loudly, and Brandy loses it as his terrible impression. "And we watch the melting snow!" He belts the lyrics with one hand on his chest and one in the air. "Sure as summer—" He chokes on the last word and eventually gives in to the giggles. They laugh hysterically until tears brim their red-rimmed eyes and their sides cramp. 

Brandy looks over at him, finding his nose scrunched up. His laughs come out silently, and she's absolutely enamored. 

Once their laughter dies, she sighs happily and rolls onto his chest. "That was gnarly and not in a good way." 

"Like you were any better." 

She sticks the joint between his teeth. "We'd make an awful tribute band." 

"You'd have to dress up as Sonny," he mumbles around it. "Can you grow a mustache?" 

"Better than you could. Can you pull off Cher's wardrobe?" 

He removes the joint and exhales smoke up toward the ceiling. "I think I could wear a dress, yeah. But I don't think it would flatter my paunch very well." 

"Here we go again," she says lightheartedly. "'Bring back paunchy men' should be your new advocacy." 

He laughs, pinches her hip, and then reaches over to shut the lamp off. After stamping the joint out in the ashtray on his nightstand, Brandy feels his arms wrap around her body. She nuzzles further into his cozy chest, feeling his long curls tickle her cheek. 

Pure ecstasy courses through her bloodstream. The weed heightens every touch, every graze of his fingers, and every breath he takes from under her. Suddenly, his lips move to her ear, soft puffs warming her skin as his legs tangle with hers. He murmurs in a sleep-laden voice, "Dream with me, Brandy Baby." 

She stays silent and sinks deeper into his embrace. Little does he know that every second spent with him so far has already felt like a dream that no psychedelic could ever bring about. 

—— 

The Morning After 

Soft, melancholic piano notes wake Brandy from a deep slumber. It's a haunting composition with drawn-out notes that echo into the bedroom, where she lies under the warm sheets alone. Harry must be the one supplying the morning serenade. 

She's too drowsy to place her finger on what the song is, so she stretches her sore legs and swings them over the edge of the bed to follow the wistful melody. It leads her to his living room, where the rising sun casts golden light beams on the carpet. Dust particles float, and birds chirp outside the open windows. Soon enough, she finds Harry sitting in the glow of dawn, his back turned to her as his nimble fingers run along the glossy piano keys like it's second nature to him. The brass pedals groan and creak under his sock-clad feet, his head bobbing to each note that beautifully flows out. He's wearing a grey turtleneck sweater tucked into black slacks, and his hair is pulled into a loose bun. 

He pats the wooden stool beside him, sensing her lingering presence. "Sorry I couldn't give you a morning snuggle. I woke up with weed brain." 

Brandy walks over and sits next to him. "What are you playing?" she asks, watching him press down on the keys. 

""Crescent Noon" by the Carpenters. It reminds me of a mournful autumn." 

"It was a nice sound to wake up to. You're very talented." 

"Thanks," he says with a faint smile. "I always try to play a little before I go to work. It starts my day off right." 

It hits Brandy that she really doesn't know much about his personal life. "Where do you work?"

He stops playing, mumbling, "It's lame." 

"Tell me," she encourages, sticking her cold hands under her bare thighs. "I won't judge. I'm a lousy waitress if it makes you feel any better." 

He sighs and shuts the piano lid. "It's volunteer work, more like. I read books to the kids at the public library on Victoria Street." 

She gasps. "That's awesome! I might have to stop by sometime." 

"My friends always tease me for it," he says, his ears flushing pink. "But I really like it there. Seeing their faces light up when I sit them on my lap or do a funny voice makes my day sunnier." 

"I'm sure it makes their day sunnier too. What time do you have to leave?" 

Harry glances at the ticking clock on the wall. "I need to be there at nine, so in about five minutes." 

"Oh," Brandy whispers, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry for waking up so late. I'll let you get ready." 

"Uh, I can take you home on my way." 

"Sure thing. I'll go grab my stuff." 

While roaming his house, she picks up her dress, lingerie, heels, pearls, and purse. Once everything is messily balanced in her arms, she sees Harry holding the front door open. He has on dress shoes that tap almost impatiently as he waits for her. 

Something feels off. Brandy swallows a lump of trepidation and walks out the door, ignoring the bizarre energy shift. Harry shuts it behind her and quickly slides into the driver's seat of his convertible as she gets in the passenger seat. He starts the engine, then turns on a random radio station before driving toward her house, which she's surprised he remembers. "My Cherie Amour" by Stevie Wonder plays quietly. The drive is otherwise silent, and it doesn't feel right. 

Seven minutes pass before he pulls into her driveway. The sun peeks over her roof, making the pavement sparkle. Shannon's car is parked in the garage. Hummingbirds flutter their wings by the trumpet honeysuckles lining the sidewalk. All these things should bring her comfort, but she feels nauseous instead. 

Harry wipes his palms against his slacks, fiddles with the air vents, scratches his head, then shatters the silence. 

"I think this should be a one-time thing." 

Well, that's definitely not the first thing she wanted to come out of his mouth. 

He clears his throat and continues, "I'm not really a relationship guy, you know? I don't think I could provide that for you if that's what you're looking for." 

Not a relationship guy. Didn't he basically ask her out on a date? Selflessly granted her the best night of her life? Ignited her skin with bruising kisses and touches? Apologized for not snuggling with her in the morning? Did she get the completely wrong idea? 

"Sorry, I'm a little confused," Brandy says, shaking her head. 

Harry lets the car run, its rumbling engine filling the dreadful atmosphere. "You're not the problem. I should've told you sooner, and that's my fault." He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "I like being around you, yeah? It's just... well, I'm in my early twenties, so I want to coast through life for a bit before I get into anything serious. Figure shit out. Figure myself out." 

The unexpectedness of it all makes her clam up. A surge of humiliation sears her throat when she says, "Oh, okay. That makes sense. I understand where you're coming from." She's saying everything she doesn't want to, but the words keep spewing. "I had fun last night. Thank you for letting me experience Hollywood." 

"Thanks for catching my drift. The last thing I want to do is lead you on." 

"You didn't." He sort of did. "Timing doesn't work out sometimes." It felt like it was working perfectly fine. 

"Timing's a bitch," he says, knocking on his dashboard. He then checks the radio clock and sighs. "I should go before I'm late." 

Brandy swallows roughly. There's no point in trying to change his mind. She won't hold him back from living how he wants to. But why is he being so nonchalant about it? She feels like she's being flung to the side without warning or care. It almost feels like last night meant nothing to him. 

After nodding and unbuckling her seatbelt, she says, "Well, I hope everything runs smoothly for you. With the volunteer stuff and all." 

"I appreciate it," Harry replies, sticking a piece of gum between his teeth. "Hey, what restaurant do you waitress at?" 

This boy is giving her whiplash.

"Um, Cheyenne's Café. It's on Cudahy Street, right off Pacific Boulevard. Kind of a hole-in-the-wall place." 

"I might have to stop by sometime," he says with a grin, repeating her words from earlier.

Brandy suddenly feels annoyed at his apathy for her heart, which he ruthlessly stomped on and crushed, so she opens the car door and steps out before her emotions get the best of her. Boys disappoint her and only keep their word for a short time. She doubts Harry will visit; he's probably letting her down easily. 

"Maybe you should," she says, a hidden bite in her tone. "They have mouthwatering banana waffles." 

He closes his eyes and groans deliciously. "That's it. You've convinced me." 

She plasters on a fake smile and gathers her belongings. "Goodbye, Harry. Enjoy the sunshine today." 

Harry's hand lightly grasps her wrist as she's about to walk around his car to reach the front door. Consecutively, there is a stroke of his thumb, a skip to her pulse, and another crack in her breaking heart. 

"See you later, Brandy." 

One last stroke is given before she reluctantly lets go and opens the door. She slams it shut, making the entire house rattle, then throws her things onto the nearest flat surface. Her sister is sitting at the kitchen table, reading the daily newspaper, and drinking a tall glass of orange juice. Brandy huffs, remembering she forgot to call her last night. Shannon glances up at the sound and leisurely takes in her appearance. At that moment, she realizes Harry's shirt is still on her body. It makes her bottom lip tremble. 

"Where were you?" Shannon asks warily. "Why do you look like you're going to cry?" 

Brandy covers her face with her hands and lets out a wretched sob. "Harry…"

Shannon immediately envelops her in her arms. "What happened? Are you hurt?" 

"Remember the boy that drove us home? I stayed the night at his house, but he said it should only be a one-time thing because he's not looking for a relationship right now, and I pretended that I was okay with it." She sniffles against Shannon's chest. "But I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it, but I-I got scared because he looked so sure of himself. I didn't want to force him to fall in love with me." 

Shannon sways her consolingly. "Why didn't he say something before he took you to his place?" 

Brandy shrugs. "I don't know, Shan. Boys are dumb." 

"That's very true. Why don't you take a shower while I fix breakfast for you? Let's talk more about it later."

"Okay," she mumbles, wiping her useless tears away and moping to her bedroom. She curls into bed and pulls the covers over her entire body. She can't bring herself to take a shower. Her throat and head hurt. Her heart aches. 

It's impossible not to think about yesterday and how divine everything was—how Harry had kissed her with his strawberry-taffy lips, touched her with sheer desire, and made her feel like she was floating through a dream. The words he spoke were enthralling. The music he played bared his soul. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed could make just about anyone fall head over heels. How could she forget the moment he looked at her in the venue with an expression she thought could be love?

Brandy throws the duvet aside and sulks over to the record player on her dresser. Cher's Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves is already on the platter from when she got dolled up last night. She carefully adjusts the tonearm and crawls back into bed. 

The first track begins, and it can't erase her sorrows since it's the same song Cher sang to the crowd. 

Damn those lyrics that will forever remind her of Harry. Damn his ravishing smile, his alluring voice, and his sugarcoated ways of stringing her along. 

Above all, damn their fate. The course of fate can be a cruel thief. It can be by chance or by choice. It can come when least expected and give a person the right feeling at the wrong time. 

Brandy realizes fate is like that Ferris wheel she rode. It led her on with its appeal and took her for a spin. Then, before she could even soak up the feeling, it stopped. It let her off, and she never reached what she yearned for the entire way around. 

Perhaps that's just the way of love.

——

[faerunsbest]

Someone requested a fic for Ma'na and rackal

So here's

afterparty

Featuring @barbwillbrb s tav rackal

One year after everything was said and done. They've celebrated with old friends, recalling the best and worst times. Rackal was thrilled to be free from the stench of Sulphur and bile but he'd accomplished his task.

Karlach was well, she was safe and well. New heart pumping wildly in her chest as she rushed her companions to grip them up in a massive bear hug. But it was over now.

He's just standing here under a tree waiting. A tall willow tree, it's long heavy branches swaying in a breeze. He could smell lemongrass in the breeze, hearing birds chirping and despite all the calm.

He was anxious.

She wasn't there.

Did something happen?

Did she change her mind?

But no that made no sense, no one else was worried and they all said they'd seen her recently and would say no more…hiding little smiles.

He frowned and scratched at his scruffy beard while he waited where he was told to be. Rackal whipped around when he heard a noise he didn't immediately know.

Hooves clopped on an unpaved path, old wooden wheels creaked to a slow, then stopped. Nervously Rackal turned around but didn't move from his spot, peering through the branches. A small cool hand reached out to set on his forearm.

He whipped around again, breath catching on his throat when he saw her again.

Ma'na.

All pale skin, and bright blue eyes focused on him. She smiled bright and threw her arms around him, Rackal lifting her up off the ground as he hugged her.

“I missed you!”

His face split in a giant smile when he felt her hands holding his face, and soft lips freckling him with little kisses. He moved one massive arm under her rump and kept the other around her back.

Rackal caught her lips in his, kissing for the first time in a year. After all that hell and chaos and just hoping she would wait like she promised it was bliss. They stayed that way a moment before she batted at his shoulder playfully

“Put me down and hurry! I've a surprise for you!”

They stepped out from under the tree and curtain of branches over to a small wagon. Rackal plopped his ratty pack in the back and went around to steed pulling it.

Pinky, he gripped his face, scratching just under the goats beard. Then under the stack of horns and behind his ear. Pinky leaned forward lightly butting against Rackals chest.

“Ah did you think I forgot about you? How could i”

A few more pats and scritches before Rackal hopped into the long bench seat where Ma'na sat waiting. He sat close and lay an arm over her shoulder, excited to see whoever the surprise was. The trip was hours, though shorter for him as he dozed against her.

A bump in the road caught his attention as pinky Pulled them along, clapping around a long curved road on a mountainside.

As he woke he found himself looking down at the mountains foot, Where a small stacked cottage sat. Two floors in a small space. A little garden plot beside it blooming with color. Off to the other side a small coop with a fence made of woven brambles. He smiled at the thought it out in his head, a home with his love.

Rackal took a deep breath,smiling as he realized they must be near water. Soon enough they approached the little cottage, Ma'na turning In place to him.

“Surprise!”

She hopped out and unlatched pinky from the straunda small whine could be heard from under an even smaller version if the house. A white dog stuck his head out then bounded over as rackal stepped out if the wagon.

“SCRATCH! you kept him!”

“Of course!”

Like a child, rackal immediately began crouching down to play with the dog. Arms out, hands ready as scratch bounces around just out of reach. It wasn't a minute before the dog was snatched up in another big hug, Happily yapping as he was held not unlike a baby.

“Do you like it? I build it for us!”

Ma'na motioned to the space all around them.

“It's not very big or fancy but-”

Scratch was quickly set down as he hurried over to Ma'na and kiss her again.

“ You made this? All of this!?”

“Yes! I bought the land cause it just seemed to have everything.”

“Can we go inside?”

“Oh yes! I've just finished it a day ago!”

“Is this why you weren't at the party?”

“Yea I wanted to make sure this was all done for you.”

he Went over and realized the door was bigger than most, it was tall enough that he wouldn't have to duck to enter. Inside was a small kitchen and hearth, a Little round table by a matching window. He went over and realized he could see scrapes in the wood… She made these.

He went upstairs and had a soft gasp. The upstairs was just for them, a bedroom. A big squashy bed sat on a carved wood frame, matching end table and dresser off to the side. He smiled at the knobs on the dresser, recognizing the butt of old daggers.

On closer inspection, the blanket on the bed was quilted. Pieces of a hundred different coats and shirts…he pulled it close recognizing the stitches. Astarion made this.

Rackal looked around more, laughing as he realized the curtain rode was gales old staff, a hanging plate engraved with githyanki writing. Lae'zel.

He laughed as he looked around and saw a little of everyone there. The family they built wouldn't ever be forgotten, it was part of home.

Their home.

His home.

“Ma'na, this is amazing…”

He felt her lean against him and lay her head against his chest.

“You think so? Good. because I just want a home with you.”

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Endure V: Anniversary

Series Synopsis: You and Eren Jaeger have been best friends since the age of two, but the two of you are destined for an inevitable tragedy. The world you have been born into is cruel; it is one where friends are traitors and enemies are allies, one where you find yourself doubting everything you've ever known. In this life, mistakes are fatal, and you must be careful, lest you make one too many.

Chapter Synopsis: One year after the fall of Shiganshina, you live with the Rals. You tell Tullia about your past, and a legendary figure makes a visit to give Petra some exciting news.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader, Armin Arlert x Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, sexual abuse (non-explicit), major character death, angst, original characters included

A/N: if you don’t like petra sorry because in m1ckeyb3rry land we love petra <3

Flowers for Mikasa, a blank journal for Armin, and your heart for Eren. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Tullia followed you patiently, holding Merry as you gathered your materials into a basket before setting out for the large pine tree on the hill behind the Rals’ house. Though it wasn’t the tree Eren had loved so much when you were children, it was as close as you could get.

Today marked a year since your friends and family had died at the hands of the titans. You had already paid your respects to your brother and parents with Petra’s support, and now Tullia was joining you as you went to apologize once more to your best friends.

In the past year, you and the blonde girl had become closer than you had anticipated. She was fun and bright, and she made you laugh again with her silly jokes and her biting sarcasm. You had been the one to ask her to come with you. You weren’t sure you could face the ghosts of your past without her soothing presence.

She smelled like lavender and the rain, and her voice was high and clear when she spoke, though she did not do so much. It was not out of any sense of shyness or anxiety; rather, Tullia did not see the point in filling silence with unnecessary noise. It was a quality you admired about her.

You had still not told any of the Rals who exactly Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were. You could tell they were curious, but they respected your privacy enough not to push. However, it had been a year. You resolved that today was the day you were finally going to speak of your childhood friends, if only to Tullia and Merry.

Laying the bouquet of purple campanula flowers at the base of the tree, you let out a deep, shuddering sigh.

“Mikasa,” you murmured, “Your favorite color was red, I think, because of that ratty old discount scarf that Eren gave you. But they say campanula flowers symbolize gratitude and, well, I’m grateful to you. You were my first girl friend. You let me braid your hair and you looked out for me whenever Oskar and the others wouldn’t leave me alone.”

You knelt on the ground in front of the flowers before turning to Tullia and motioning for her to sit with you. She did so cautiously, as if worried you were going to shatter just by her mere presence. Perhaps a year ago, you would have, but not now. Not anymore.

“She was like a mountain,” you informed Tullia, who listened with wide eyes, “Strong and quiet and steady and dependable. I once thought that I had had to save her, but in the end, she ended up being the one that usually saved me. A lot of people did that, actually. But she did it the second-most.”

“She sounds like a wonderful person,” Tullia said.

“She was. She was so wonderful, Tullia. She had long black hair and dark grey eyes, the kind that you would look into and feel like everything would be alright, because Mikasa was there and things didn’t go wrong when Mikasa was there,” you said, and though it was agonizing to think of the girl, you did not cry, not yet. You believed you had run out of tears a long time ago.

“I wish I could have met her,” Tullia said.

“I do, too. You two would’ve been friends, I think,” you said before pulling out the blank journal.

“Min-Min, my Min-Min. You were the smartest person in these walls. I remember how much you used to love writing and drawing, so I hope you can use this up wherever you are,” you said, placing it next to the flowers. You did not even look at Tullia when you started talking, because if you moved, you were afraid you would burst into tears. Maybe you hadn’t run out quite yet.

“Armin used to tell us about this thing called the sea. A giant body of water filled with salt. We all promised to go see it together, but now, they’ll never get the chance, so I’m gonna do it for them. Armin himself was quite like the sea, though, so I guess they got close enough. He was calm and peaceful and gentle. Whenever I was scared or tired, I knew he would be there to sit with me until I felt better.”

“He must have been a really great friend,” she said softly. A lump grew in your throat, and you stubbornly swallowed it down.

“Yeah, he was. He got bullied a lot, and we would always have to fight the people that bothered him off. One of them had a crush on me, actually. Oskar. He’s d-dead, too,” you said. Tullia made a sympathetic noise.

“Eren always got mad whenever Oskar would try to flirt with me. He said I deserved better than him, not that I ever really liked him to begin with. In Eren’s eyes, that didn’t matter. It was an offense for Oskar to even look at me,” you said, and a few tears slipped through, splashing onto the ground in front of you.

“Can you tell me about Eren?” Tullia said, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. Merry nosed his way under your hand, and you began idly stroking his head to distract yourself.

“Sure. He burned brighter than the sun. He was so passionate and determined; what he wanted, he went and got. We met when we were two years old. Actually, my earliest memory is of him saying my name, that’s how close we were. For all of his fire, he was actually quite easygoing. He played dolls with me and had tea parties and let me braid his hair, though it was far too short to really do anything much with,” you said, more tears making their way down your cheeks.

“He must have loved you a lot,” she said.

“He did. Oh, I don’t think anyone could ever love their friends as much as he loved Armin, Mikasa, and I. When we were nine years old, Mikasa was kidnapped, and I went to go save her. That’s how we met and became friends; well, after the fact, of course. Once I arrived at the cabin, I realized how in over my head I was. I almost suffered the same fate as she had, but then he was there. He killed two grown men for me — and Mikasa, too,” you added as an afterthought.

“He killed two grown men at the age of nine?” Tullia said in surprise.

“Yes, and I convinced Mikasa to kill the third,” you said offhandedly. You could sense the way she drew back, but you didn’t care. If you had to go back in time, you would do it all again. It was what those men deserved, after all, for what they had done to Mr. and Mrs. Ackerman as well as Mikasa herself.

“That’s...um, wow,” she said.

“I guess. It’s what we had to do, so it’s what we did. Dr. Jaeger was furious and scared, but Eren knew that it was either the kidnappers’ lives or Mikasa and I’s. He made a choice, and I believe it was the right one,” you said.

“When you look at it like that, then yeah, you’re right. I’m glad you were alright, at least,” she said after a moment. You shrugged.

“Suppose it was only delaying the inevitable, though, but agreed. Anyways, ever since that day, he only became more protective. He had always looked out for me, ever since we met, but after I almost died, he followed me everywhere. He was worse than Mikasa, even. To anybody else, it would be annoying, but I didn’t mind it, for the most part. He — he was my hero,” you said, “and that makes everything so much worse, because he died thinking I didn’t want him around anymore.”

“What do you mean, if you don’t mind me asking?” Tullia said.

“No, it’s fine. It feels kinda good to talk to someone about everything,” you said.

“I’m happy to listen for as long as you need it,” she promised, and you allowed a small smile to grace your face in gratitude before you remembered your final conversation with Eren.

“He wanted to join the Scouts, like Petra, only he wanted to do it to get revenge for humanity and see the outside world. I wanted to be a Scout, too, though not out of some grand ideal of needing to be humanity’s savior. I just wanted to be with him, to see him be happy and be there when he finally obtained his coveted freedom,” you started. She nodded encouragingly at you.

“He didn’t want me to go. He said he’d have to take care of me the entire time, and I was better off staying in the walls, where he thought I belonged, even though he hated people that accepted the walls as safe. I was so angry, I told him I didn’t want him to protect me anymore, ever again, and that was the end of it. Then Shiganshina fell, and he was either crushed by debris or eaten by a titan. I wonder if he thought of me,” you said, and against your will, you began to imagine Eren’s final moments alive. You let out a choked cry, and then it was as if the dam gates had broken.

You began to sob harder than you had thought it possible, your tears watering the soil as you heaved.

“Why did he have to go?” you gasped out. Tullia was silent, rubbing your back slowly as you ripped at the grass that grew where you sat in an attempt to make the world feel the same pain that was stabbing at your heart. How could he have left you all alone like this? The two of you were supposed to be best friends, but best friends didn’t scream and fight and yell at each other. Best friends didn’t leave each other.

No, Eren had never really been your best friend, had he? He was the sun and the sky all in one; he was the blazing blue of the summer solstice and the scorching gold of the desert sands. He set you on fire and held you, cried for you, saved you as you burned. It only made sense that he had died so young, for no being could ever be so bright and last. He was a strike of lightning, illuminating the world in a flash of hair-raising electricity and then vanishing forever, leaving nothing behind but the rumbling thunder of his sole mourner’s cries.

He had been everything to you, and now you were left to deal with the sorrow of his passing on your own. You had grown dependent on him, but he was gone now, and you needed to make your own light if you wanted to continue to see the world. Perhaps it would not be as brilliantly colored as it had once been, but it would be enough.

You wished you could tell him about all of these revelations. You knew he would be proud of you, because you had finally realized that you did not need him, had never needed him. You only wanted him. Oh, how you wanted him; he who had been ever constant in your changing world. Yet when you wanted him the most, you were cursed to never have him again. Such was the universe’s cruel humor, and you knew that whichever god was up there, playing with your lives like you and Eren once played with dolls, they were having a good laugh at this stroke of misfortune.

So, to spite them, you stood. You stood and faced Tullia; Tullia, who was here and now. Tullia, who had been there when nobody else had been. Tullia, who was alive and not dead, Tullia, who was kind and funny and cared about you, in some small way. She raised an eyebrow at you, and she did not comment on the way you determinedly wiped away your tears, nor on the way no new ones fell.

“Ready to go?” she said.

“Yeah. I’m ready,” you said, and you turned your back on the bouquet of flowers and the blank journal and the tear-watered earth and Mikasa and Armin and Eren and your childhood and Shiganshina. Merry bounded ahead of you, and a breeze blew your hair back from your face, exposing it to the world around you.

And so you laughed in delight. They were still with you, in the way the wind played with your hair and the flowers bloomed in all different shades, each of them your favorite, and the sun shone its rays on your face, lighting you up with warmth and gold.

Tullia did not question this development, perhaps understanding that you needed it, perhaps not understanding but trusting you anyways. She walked beside you, and when she gave you a devilish grin and asked you to race her back to the house, you eagerly accepted.

You both took off running, and she won, of course, but you were not upset. You fell in the grass and rolled down the hill, the world a blur of green and blue as the heavens and earth combined. For a moment, the hues mixed into a peculiarly unique shade of jade, and you knew he was saying I love you, I’m proud of you.

“You guys are covered in grass! Filthy beasts, Levi’s coming over to have dinner in two hours!” Petra shrieked when you and Tullia ran in, snickering.

“Oohhh, Levi’s coming! Did you hear that, Y/N? Levi’s coming!” Tullia sang.

“Levi with the burningly brilliant mercury eyes and the neat dark curtain of hair that falls perfectly in his face and the chiseled jaw and the sharp nose and the six-pack abs and the probably HUGE —”

“Y/N!” Petra cut you off, “Don’t you dare repeat any of that when he’s here!”

“Sure, Petra,” you agreed.

“You’re in a surprisingly good mood, actually. Did something happen?” she said, as if just noticing how you had seemingly woken up from a long dream. The curtains on your life had been drawn back, the window thrown open, and you were inhaling deep gasps of air like you would never breathe again.

“Just feeling like I finally let go of some things and was able to realize that it’s a beautiful day,” you said.

“Well, okay then, I guess. Good golly, though, you guys need to take showers or something, really. Get! Get! I will not have you embarrassing me in front of humanity’s strongest soldier!” she said, shooing you away in the direction of the bathroom. You and Tullia obliged, giggling as you ran upstairs.

You allowed Tullia to get ready while you gathered your clothes. You usually wore Tullia’s things. Luckily, both of you had similar sense of style, so you were able to continue wearing almost a carbon copy of your normal outfit, with a navy skirt, fitted white shirt, and a loose tan cardigan that Petra had apparently knitted some years ago. The only difference now was that you no longer tied your hair up. With the loss of your white ribbon, you no longer had the motivation to put it up in the childish ponytail of your youth.

Tullia usually dressed in a black turtleneck tucked into a light green skirt, a light grey cardigan, also knitted by Petra (apparently knitting was a great favorite hobby of the older girl), with her hair neatly plaited into two twin braids tossed over her shoulders, loose strands escaping in the front.

“You can shower now, Y/N,” Tullia said, exiting the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Grabbing your own towel, you ducked into the room she had just left. The water was already warm, thanks to her having showered before you, so it did not take you long to get cleaned and ready (to Petra’s great relief).

“Can you cook?” Petra said as you traipsed downstairs. You shook your head no, though Tullia nodded in affirmation.

“Yes, Pet, you know I can,” she said. Petra wrinkled her nose and flicked her younger sister on the forehead.

“Your cooking is gross, T. I was asking Y/N, but apparently she can’t. Okay, you two, set the table and then make sure the living room is clean. I have no clue what the Captain wants, but we can’t make a poor impression on him. He’s a notorious clean freak, so we have to be good about this,” she said.

“I’ll get the living room if you set the table?” you said. Tullia nodded.

“Deal,” she said, beginning to take out the silverware. You had never really understood the purposes and differences between the different forks and stuff, so you left that to your friend, grabbing a broom and sweeping. Back in Shiganshina, you had been just as likely to use your hands as you were to use a fork and knife, so the finer aspects of table manners were beyond you, try to teach you though Petra and Tullia did.

But cleaning was something you could do. Eren had idolized Captain Levi and, having heard that he was obsessed with being clean, often made you practice cleaning so that you were up to standard. You doubted that even the Captain was as strict as your friend had been, but either way, it meant you were well prepared for this moment.

You wondered what Eren would think of the fact that you were about to have dinner with the legendary Captain. He was a near-myth in most households: about fifteen years older than Petra (which led you to believe her feelings were not at all reciprocated and, indeed, somewhat more of a celebrity crush than anything else), he had joined the Scouts one day and boasted the highest titan kill count of all humanity. Titans were nothing compared to the man, and you were thrilled yet scared to finally put a face to the name.

Your first impression was that you had not been expecting him to be so short. He was really, really, really short. A little bit taller than Petra, but a couple of inches shorter than even you at eleven were. Still, he carried himself with the air of someone twice his size, and despite his small stature, you found yourself believing every single story you had heard about him.

He had a baleful gaze that made it seem as though he was permanently discontent with the world around him, and dark, bruise-like shadows painted the skin under his eyes. A frown was etched onto his face, which might have been handsome if he would smile more. You couldn’t really see what Petra swooned over, but to each their own, you supposed.

“Who cleaned the living room?” he said as you sat on the couches to have a drink before dinner. The Captain had requested tea, while you and Tullia would only have water. Petra was having her favorite, a carton of tomato juice that she sipped on through a straw.

“Oh, I did, sir,” you said, jumping to your feet.

“...good job. It’s not half bad, I guess,” he said with a nod at you. You were taken aback before nodding slowly and sitting back down, pride swirling in your heart. It seemed that all of the “cleaning training” with Eren had really paid off, for you had just been complimented by Captain Levi himself. Petra and Tullia seemed similarly in awe, staring at you with wide eyes. Petra shot you a discreet thumbs up, and you did the same back to her.

“So, Captain, what brings you here? Not that you need an excuse to be here! I mean, you can come whenever you want, my house is your house, plus you’re my superior officer so you don’t even need an invitation actually, anyways um I think I’m rambling, gee, I’m so sorry!” Petra said, stumbling over her words and promptly closing her mouth when Captain Levi turned his dull gaze to her. If you squinted hard enough, you could almost see a flicker of amusement flashing through his eyes.

“Just relax, Petra,” he said. His voice sounded bored, as if there were a thousand better things he could be doing with his time instead of drinking tea in the Rals’ living room.

“Right! Yes, sir, I will relax immediately!” she said, saluting and then decidedly not relaxing, sitting with her back ramrod straight.

“I’ve been looking for members for a new Special Operations Squad. You know Eld Jinn, Oluo Bozado, and Gunther Schultz?” he said, ignoring her obvious stress in favor of getting to the point.

“Yes, Oluo and I graduated together. He was the number two cadet in my division,” she said.

“If my information is correct, you were the number one,” Captain Levi said. This was news to you. You had always known Petra was strong, but she had never told you that she had been number one. Judging by the way Tullia’s lips had parted in shock, she hadn’t known either. Petra did not acknowledge your surprise, instead nodding at the Captain.

“That’s right, I was,” she said. No wonder she had been able to save you back in Shiganshina! She was seriously strong — stronger than everyone her age in the military.

“Good. I want you to join,” he said.

“Huh?” she said.

“The Special Operations Squad. I want you to be a part of it,” he clarified.

“Huh?” Petra repeated. You had a feeling she was in some sort of shock at the moment. After all, how often did one’s celebrity crush waltz into their home, call them strong, and ask them to join their super special squad? It was not a regular occurrence, which just went to show how truly exceptional Petra was.

“Are you going to do it or not? I can always ask someone else, but the truth is that I’ve heard quite a bit about you from your superiors, so I’d prefer to have you as part of my squad,” Captain Levi said in irritation. You leaned over and pinched Petra to break her out of her daze. It seemed to have worked, as she shook her head to clear it before enthusiastically nodding.

“Boy, would I ever! Yes, yes, yes! Wow, I can’t believe you picked me! Thank you, sir! I promise I won’t let you down! I pinky swear!” she said, saluting and offering the Captain her pinky. He looked down at it disdainfully before arching a brow at her. She turned bright red, but before she could retract her hand, he interlocked their pinkies and shook them.

“Okay. I’m holding you to that, Ral. You’ll get more detailed instructions later on, once the whole squad is together,” he said, untangling their pinkies and standing, “Now, I had best be off.”

“Oh, wait, we made dinner! You can’t leave without eating!” Petra cried out in dismay.

“It’s true. Petra made us get all of the fancy forks out and everything,” Tullia added.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what all of those forks are called, but we have them,” you said seriously.

“Hm,” Captain Levi said, politely pretending to not notice the glare Petra shot you and Tullia, “I suppose it would not hurt for me to stay for dinner. Very well, then. What did you make, exactly?”

“Mashed potatoes and vegetable soup!” Tullia said proudly, “Petra made the potatoes but mommy made the vegetable soup, so I would recommend you eat that because Petra is a terrible cook.”

“Tullia! I am not! Captain, I’m not a terrible cook,” she assured him.

“I see,” he said, though at this point, he looked genuinely bewildered as Petra and Tullia broke into an argument about which of them was a better cook.

“That’s just how they are,” you whispered to him.

“Is that so? And who might you be? I was only aware of Petra having one sister,” he said, turning to face you. Despite the fact that you were taller than him, it still felt like he was looking down at you. Besides, the difference in your height was not substantial enough for you to actually tower over him, and with the way he was humanity’s strongest soldier and twenty years your senior, he was an intimidating figure, tiny though he may be.

“I’m Y/N L/N. I’m not related to Petra, I’ve just been staying with her and her family for the past year. She saved me from the titans after the fall of Shiganshina. My parents and brother were eaten, though, so the Rals have let me live with them,” you said. Captain Levi’s face softened, and he reached up to pat you on the head.

“Poor kid. Well, at least the Rals took you in, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me, okay? I think I kind of know how you feel, so...yeah. Whatever. Or don’t, it doesn’t matter to me,” he said, drawing away with a scoff.

“Oh, thanks, Captain,” you said.

“Uh-huh. Let’s go eat now, or the food will get cold.”

After dinner, where everything tasted perfectly decent, despite Tullia’s warnings, Captain Levi bid you all farewell before mounting his large black stallion and taking off, back to the Scout Headquarters, which was apparently where he had lived, seeing as that was the address he had given the family for if any of you ever had to contact him.

“CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” Petra squealed as soon as he had vanished in the distance.

“I KNOW! YOUR COOKING ACTUALLY DIDN’T SUCK!” Tullia squealed back. Petra scowled and tackled her sister. They began to wrestle on the floor, once again arguing about who was better at cooking in between punches thrown at each other, although now, it was also interspersed with comments about how Tullia had embarrassed Petra in front of the Captain. Letting out a gentle laugh, you headed to the study, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen, leaving the sisters to their brawl as you began to write.

Dear Captain Levi,

What is it like being a Scout? I think I want to join the Survey Corps. See, my friend from Shiganshina wanted to go to the outside world, but he died, so I’m going to do it for him. I don’t know if I’m cut out to be in the military, though, so I’m a little worried, but I have to try. You understand, right? I guess what I’m asking is if you have any advice. If anybody’s strong, it’s you, after all. Maybe one day, I’ll be your subordinate and in your super special squad. Well, I guess I had better not get ahead of myself.

From, Y/N L/N

Your response came a week later. You were only alerted to the fact because Petra came storming into the house, a ginger colored whirl of fury and excitement, depositing an envelope in front of you as you ate breakfast.

“Now would you like to tell me why Captain Levi himself is writing to you? You had best not be bothering that poor man, he’s far too busy to be dealing with the likes of you,” she said.

“Oh, he finally responded? Yay!” you said, ignoring the second half of her statement and ripping the envelope open in excitement. Petra gasped in offense at the way you had completely brushed her aside before peering over your shoulder to read what the Captain had written to you.

Dear Y/N L/N,

Being a Scout is awful. You can die at any moment. You probably will die. Your friends will die. Your comrades will die. Strangers will die. But if you survive, you will be strong, like me, like Petra, like every other Scout that continues to fight, even when things get hard. It takes a special sort of person to willingly put themselves into danger for humanity, time and time again, often with little to no reward. Your friend must have been a special person, then. Are you?

My advice to you is to avoid the Scouts completely, but, if you are dead set on joining them, as I expect you are, then I will tell you that no matter what, you must keep fighting. Strength, speed, intelligence, power: none of those matter when you are faced with a titan. They do not care if you were at the top of your class or if you barely passed. In the end, a meal is a meal, and they will kill you if you do not possess an incredible will to endure.

Endurance. The word has many meanings, but the one I refer to is “the capacity to last.” Do you have the “capacity to last” when the world has gone to shit around you? When you are surrounded by blood, both that of your enemies and of your friends, will you crumble and break, or will you rise to the occasion? Would you give up your very life if it was necessary? Would you give up your friends’ lives?

These are not questions I can answer for you. They do not even have correct answers, to tell you the truth. You must simply ask them and earnestly reflect on the answer. Only then can you know if you have what it takes to join the Scouts.

I hope that one day you are not my subordinate but rather my equal. Something tells me that you have what it takes. You endured the fall of Shiganshina. You endured the deaths of your family and friends. You endured Petra’s cooking (Petra, if you are reading this, I am only joking. Your cooking was perfectly lovely, and I would be delighted to partake in your mashed potatoes again). You will endure this, kid. It will take everything you have, and you might not even recognize yourself when you come out on the other side as the victor, but you will endure, and one day, you might just outdo us all.

Sincerely, Captain Levi Survey Corps, Special Operations Squad

[anamelessfool]

Cringe is dead, make messy drawings of your blorbos

Exerpt from Tilted

There was a knock on her door, which meant she had about fifteen seconds before Copia opened it.

Halfway through his count, she ripped the door open, grinning wildly. He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh-eh!”

Copia was wearing his usual threadbare red tracksuit, and he had never looked better in it. She had requested he wear something comfortable for their night in. She grabbed him by his ratty red hoodie and brought him in for a vigorous kiss. “Hey, I have a surprise for you! You'll love it!”

He uttered one of his exasperated noises, then smiled faintly. He gazed at her tenderly across his delightfully upturned nose, the white Infernal Eye bright in the half dark. He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her waist. “And what's this surprise now, hm?”

“One of my favorite ways to spend a Saturday night,” Marian said, leading him into her room. On the floor was a pizza box and pillows from her bed, next to the large cardboard box and an ancient television set hooked up to her garage sale prize. “Pizza and games.”

“Oh!” Copia looked a little disappointed, but smiled anyway. He pointed at the mass of cables attached to the TV. “And what is all this?”

“It's a game system! I had the same one when I was a kid.”

“And you have a television here, as well?” He attempted to spy around her. “Fridge, microwave, What else do you have in here?” 

“Barely works, there's no cable or antenna,” Marian redirected. “And the panini press has been broken for a while, so that doesn't count.” 

“Games?” 

“Yes! You've shown me your thing, now let me show you mine.” She grinned. “I haven't played in ages. I loved it. Inner child healing shit, right here.”

“I thought we would um…well um… you know ,” muttered Copia, shuffling his feet and twisting his fingers. “That's the most popular pastime of ours, anyway.” 

“Right but...This is fun! Adventure! Character development!” Marian gestured wildly towards the game system. “I bought it for you. For us.”

He looked into her face, a genuine smile appearing on his. He brought her hand to his lips. “Sure. How could I say no to your inner child?”

“She's quite fussy,” Marian replied, pinching his ass and making him yelp. She sat down by the television, hugging a pillow to her chest. “You pick the first one.”

He looked through the box, picking up one cartridge at a time, nodding, then returning it to the box. She watched him minute after excruciating minute. “Copia, just pick one!”

“Oh uh ok here this one ah—here,” he stuttered, handing her a random game. There was a cartoon of an old lady on it. Marian took the cartridge from him, blew a bit into the socket, then shoved it into the console.

Driving Miss Daisy the pixelated screen said, while snoozy 8-bit music played. The game started and Copia was, in fact, a chauffeur for someone named Miss Daisy.

“What the fuck is this?” Marian was maneuvering a pizza slice into her mouth.

“I er…I like the realism,” Copia said. “It's like you're actually driving her. I wonder if I get the good ending.”

Marian frowned. “I can't play a game like this. It's what I do for work, why the hell would I do this for fun,” she muttered. She dropped her slice on a paper plate and rifled through the cardboard box again.

“Copia, oh my god!” Marian grinned ear to ear, grabbing him so suddenly he jumped. “We’ve got to play this!” She pulled out a well-loved cartridge that said Tetris 2 on the torn-up sun bleached label. “The hours I played this as a kid…” She hastily shoved it into the machine. “Just try it!”

A cheery, reeling Russian folksong played forever on the start menu. Copia tentatively picked up the controller and pressed start. The view cut to a small frame with blocks floating softly down. Copia stared, enchanted, as the blocks stacked on top of themselves like layers of brightly colored snow.

Copia’s wistful excitement turned to panic as the blocks slowly overwhelmed the screen. “Marian?! What do I do?!”

“Rotate the blocks! Like this!” She reached around behind him and put her head on his shoulder. She grabbed the controller around his hands and pressed a button. “You try to stack them perfectly. And then—” Marian completed a large section of wall with a long piece, and the screen flashed. The wall was gone. She gave his cheek a victorious kiss. “That's how you get points.” She nuzzled the side of his handsomely graying hair, taking in his warm scent, sighing deeply by his ear. He shuddered in happiness. This was exactly what she imagined when she snuck this game system into her room this afternoon.

“Hmmm…erm…oh! Aha!” Copia uttered his little noises of satisfaction as the game began to make sense to him. He gently rotated the blocks and watched them finish the walls. Marian was in agony watching how slowly and thoughtfully he played. 

[nuatthebeach]

come let's walk for miles

thanks @narukoibito for giving me the prompt "don't go. stay." and just encouraging me to pop out of my shell and post again! i had so much fun writing this drabble!

title is the english translation of the song "aao milo chalein" in the bollywood movie "jab we met."

comment here on AO3.

The crisp crunch of the snow pressing against his boots is but a dim noise to his ears, easily muffled by the heavy weight of his clouded thoughts. Whimsical lights hang about the village, like fairies dancing in homes of glass, bringing life to an already lively and bustling community. Rich aromas of spices and bakery goods waft to meet his reluctantly curious nose. From a distance, he can see children holding hands, prancing in circles, books resting on the grass not far from them.

Suddenly, memories of too pristine drapery, burnt bread served in small portions, cold spaces and even colder company flash before him, and he reconciles instantly that for the person beside him who deserves a thousand shimmering lives, the one he could provide is laughably unfit.

He chooses instead to clear his throat from the overwhelming constriction building within. “Welcome home."

Harry isn't even sure she hears him until her voice reaches his ears this time, less strained but equally quiet. "Thanks. You've…we've come a long way together. I couldn't have returned home without your map and knowledge of the terrain and…well, your company."

Long way together, indeed. He starkly recalls the night they first met a month ago; he was nearly passed out at the pub, his ratty travelers’ attire dragging on the floor. In contrast, her finely stitched gown - though roughly hiked halfway up to her knees - allowed her easy passage to approach him and demand guidance back to her home. One of her many demands from him, as it would soon appear. He listened as she spoke of how a neglectful carriage had failed to pick her up while in town doing business across the country. Locals suggested that he - a troublesome albeit spatially adept traveler - could help her.

A bag of coins had clanged against the table before Harry could form the words "what's in it for me?"

Turns out, there was a reason why she was in such a rush to return home so quickly. It's the same reason why after weeks of navigating rocky territory and shady inns - all made surprisingly easy with her laughter by his side - he musters all the courage he can…

And shrugs these complicated feelings off.

"For all your talk of disliking sugar, you sure do come from a place with a lot of honey cakes." He lifts the sweet sample to his lips, sinking his teeth in appreciatively. Something to keep his mouth busy, at least.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work very well. "Mmh, nice. You can really feel the corn amongst all that syrup. Good to get your vegetables in."

She sighs, her breath misting the air from his periphery.

"Honestly, I'm quite jealous." That last word chokes in his throat. "You've been stopped four times already with people offering you this. They're that excited to see you again."

"Harry - "

He can’t bloody stop himself, can he, because the next thing he knows: "I bet Dean would have this waiting for you right by the door." The intake of her breath is sharp, not so much a warning but a tense silence. "It must be in the betrothed handbook or something. 'Feed thy wife or face wrath.'"

"Very funny."

"That's why we came here, isn't it?" The reason why she was in such a rush. The reason why the ring sits on her finger, a delicate piece he caught his eyes tracing several times over the past month.

A reminder that she's not his, that she can't ever be his - he's a lonesome wolf, strings to his abusive aunt cut years ago, his proper language a residual to his pseudo-rich past. And she. Well, she's of the lifestyle of everything he left behind, of everything he hates.

So why does he not hate her?

He pauses at a nearby cart to pour himself some ale to mask his fidgeting.

"Harry."

Jaw clenching, he forces down his drink in burning gulps, really letting the seconds drag. "Ginny,” he mimics.

He hears her huff.

"So this is it, then. You're just going to keep evading my departure? Through flimsy humor?”

Pushing through the sharp pain her words evoke, Harry takes in a harsh breath. "There's nothing to evade. You're getting married. And based on everything you've yapped in my ear about so far, to a really nice man."

"Yes…but that was before - "

Smashing the remnants of the honey cake in between his fingers, more decadent and rich than anything he's had the pleasure of tasting in his meager life, he snaps in two. "What should I say, Ginny? Don't go? Stay? Maybe Dean likes to whisper sweet nothings to you, but personally, as a mere acquaintance, I - "

Her fingers tug at his arm with unsurprising strength, forcing herself into his space. His stomach can't help but lurch at how the sunset paints her hair in ways that pedestal the lush sky only second to her attention.

"An acquaintance?” Her voice falters. “Is that all I am to you? Just…more than a stranger?"

He swallows, a chill settling low in his gut. Cruelly, he delivers the blow anyway.

"With time, acquaintances become strangers too."

Sure enough, the rageful tempest that battles its way across her fierce features is nothing in comparison to the aching realization that he is breaking her heart all the same. Like his damage was decreed collateral from the start of time, he watches her pieces shatter too.

"Well," Ginny whispers, eyes glassy, voice severe. "Allow me to speed things up for us then."

Harry doesn't turn to watch her leave. If he did, he might never stop.