#felt bad for them but didn’t have authority as a guest to do much to help

[hottiesforhockey]

ho, ho, hoe ⎜m.barzal

🎄pairings: mat barzal x afab!reader 🎄genre: romance ⎜christmas special ⎜smut ⎜friends to lovers�� 🎄warnings: mat is in love and not great at hiding it ⎜alcohol consumption ⎜ drunk sex ⎜missionary ⎜p in v⎜pretty vanilla overall ⎜ marking/hickeys⎜ just a dude in love ⎜awkward love confessions ⎜very minimal smut tbh ⎜ 🎄synopsis: an accidental christmas hook up, becomes so much more when your hoe of a best friend catches feelings. 🎄word count: 5.2k 🎄authors note:  this is my first of several christmas fics - there will not be a part 2 but I hope you all enjoy!! christmas fic list

(unedited)

“Come on, you promised,” Mat said, his voice teasing as he nudged you out of the car. “It’s one party. You’ll survive.”

You glared at him, tightening your coat against the icy December air. “You ambushed me. I never said yes.”

“Details.” His smirk deepened, and you hated how easily it chipped away at your resolve. “Besides, you’ve been sulking at home for two weeks. Consider this an intervention. No one should be this much of a Grinch in December.”

It was impossible to argue with Mat Barzal. You’d learned that years ago. He had a way of wrapping his words in charm and layering them with just enough humour to get his way. It didn’t help that his ridiculous good looks made you forget you were supposed to be mad at him.

Mat was your best friend—the kind of friend who’d been there through every bad breakup, every celebration, every boring Tuesday night when all you needed was a movie marathon and pizza. He was also, as you liked to call him, a professional-grade hoe. Always flirting, always texting someone new, always shamelessly charming his way into trouble.

So, of course, it was Mat who had dragged you to this Christmas party. And of course, he’d conveniently forgotten to mention that the guest list included a suspicious number of his teammates, their dates, and not many people you actually knew.

You tugged your itchy sweater down and shot him a glare. “If this is your idea of a fun Friday night, I’m starting to question our friendship.”

“You’ll thank me later.” He slung an arm over your shoulder, steering you toward the door. “Trust me, you’re gonna have a great time.”

What Mat didn’t say—and wouldn’t dare admit—was that he’d spent weeks working up the nerve to do this. To spend more time with you outside the cozy bubble of friendship. To finally figure out if the feelings he’d been burying for years were one-sided or if maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way.

But Mat was a coward when it came to you. A hoe, sure. But only because it was easier to flirt with strangers than risk what you had.

Inside, the party was in full swing. Twinkling lights strung across the room, the faint scent of pine and cider in the air, and a playlist that was just loud enough to drown out awkward small talk.

Mat stayed close, his hand brushing yours as you made your way through the crowd. He didn’t miss the way you wrinkled your nose at the chaos, and his grin softened. “Alright, Scrooge. Let’s get you a drink.”

You let him pull you toward the kitchen, rolling your eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so insistent on dragging me out like this. Don’t you have ten other girls you could be charming right now?”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, so brief you almost missed it. “Maybe I like spending time with you.”

The words hung between you, light but heavy, before he quickly added, “Besides, no one else would put up with your terrible attitude about Christmas.” You laughed, and Mat felt the tension ease, though the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. 

One day, he thought. 

One day he’d tell you the truth.

The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the party, the hum of conversation and Christmas music muffled by the thick walls. Mat handed you a cup of something that smelled strongly of peppermint schnapps and took a long sip of his own.

“This is terrible,” you said after a cautious taste, wrinkling your nose.

Mat grinned. “It’s festive.”

“It tastes like someone melted a candy cane into rubbing alcohol.”

“Exactly.” He raised his cup in a mock toast. “Happy holidays.”

You clinked cups with him, rolling your eyes. Typical Mat—always the life of the party, always ready with a sarcastic comment or a sly grin to keep you on your toes. You couldn’t help but smile as he leaned back against the counter, his dark hair slightly messy and his cheeks already flushed from the heat of the room.

“So,” he said, tilting his head toward you. “Having fun yet?”

“I’ll let you know when it starts.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and you couldn’t help but join in. It was easy to relax around Mat, even in a setting where you felt like a complete outsider.

As the night wore on, the two of you lingered in the kitchen, your drinks steadily disappearing. Mat’s stories became a little louder, his laugh a little freer, and you felt yourself loosening up too.

“Remember that time we tried to make cookies in my apartment?” he asked, his voice slightly slurred.

“How could I forget?” You grinned, leaning against the counter beside him. “You set the oven on fire.”

“It wasn’t a fire,” he protested, gesturing with his cup. “It was a… controlled open flame.”

“Your neighbours didn’t think so.”

“Yeah, well, they hated me anyway.” Mat chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “But you stayed. Even when I ruined the cookies.”

“You had alcohol,” you said simply, and he laughed again, shaking his head.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice softening. “You’re always there for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, but before you could respond, he downed the rest of his drink and changed the subject.

“Okay, real talk,” he said, setting his empty cup on the counter. “What’s your deal with Christmas? Why do you hate it so much?”

“I don’t hate it,” you said defensively. “I just think it’s… overrated.”

“Overrated?” He looked at you like you’d just insulted his entire family. “You’re breaking my heart over here.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s fine. It’s just not my thing.”

“Maybe you’ve been doing it wrong,” he said, his grin lopsided. “You should let me show you how it’s done.”

“And how’s that?”

“For starters…” He reached over, tugging gently at the sleeve of your overused christmas sweater. “This thing has got to go. You look like a rejected elf.”

“Excuse me?” You stared at him, mock-offended, and he burst out laughing.

“I’m kidding! Mostly.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You’re the only person I know who can make something that ugly look good.”

The comment sent a flutter through your chest, but you brushed it off as just another one of Mat’s usual flirtatious remarks. He was always saying things like that—half-joking, half-serious—and you’d learned not to read too much into them.

Still, as the drinks kept flowing and the night wore on, Mat’s comments started to feel… different. Softer. More pointed.

“You know,” he said at one point, “sometimes I think you don’t see yourself the way everyone else does.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on his cup. “Just that you’re… you know. Amazing. Like, actually amazing. And you don’t even realise it.”

You laughed nervously, unsure how to respond. “Okay, you’re definitely drunk.”

“Tipsy, maybe,” he admitted, a crooked grin on his face. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” Before you could press him further, someone burst into the kitchen, dragging Mat into a conversation about hockey and leaving you standing there, your mind buzzing as much from his words as from the alcohol.

As the night wound down, you found yourself back where you started—leaning against the counter, your cup nearly empty, with Mat by your side. The party had thinned out, voices from the living room fading into a low hum. 

He was quieter now, his usual spark mellowed by the weight of the night and whatever thoughts had been lingering behind his lopsided smile.

“You’re staring,” you teased, breaking the silence.

“Am I?” His lips quirked up, but he didn’t look away. “Maybe I’ve just got a lot to think about.”

“You need a brain for that” You hoped your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

He hesitated, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the countertop. “Like how you’re still here,” he said finally. “When you could’ve bailed hours ago. But you didn’t.”

“Maybe I’m a sucker for bad holiday parties,” you joked, but the warmth in his gaze made your chest tighten.

“Or maybe,” he said, stepping just a little closer, “you like spending time with me as much as I like spending time with you.”

It was the kind of thing he’d say all the time, casual and easy, except now there was something behind it. Something that made the air between you feel heavier. Charged.

Maybe it was the alcohol? 

Or maybe it was something you had been feeling all night - a shift. 

“Mat,” you began, but the words caught in your throat when his hand brushed against yours, tentative and testing.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and serious now. “And I will.”

You didn’t. 

You couldn’t.

 Instead, you closed the space between you, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt to pull him down into a kiss. It wasn’t careful or calculated—just instinct, like you’d been waiting for this moment longer than you cared to admit.

His arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, and for once, the rest of the world didn’t matter. Not the bad music, not the overplayed holiday cheer, not even the fact that anyone could walk in at any second.

“Guess the party’s starting now,” he said breathlessly when you finally broke apart, his forehead resting against yours.

“Shut up,” you muttered, laughing as you pulled him back in.

Mat’s laugh rumbled softly against your lips before his hands shifted at your waist, pulling you even closer. The kiss slowed, turning into something softer, sweeter, but no less intense. His fingers traced light patterns along the curve of your back, and you found yourself melting into his touch, the rest of the room falling away entirely.

When the sound of voices drifted closer—someone coming down the hallway, loud and unsteady—you both broke apart, the spell momentarily shattered. Mat took a step back, his eyes lingering on yours, a sheepish grin playing on his lips.

“Guess we’ve got an audience incoming,” he said, nodding toward the approaching voices.

“Probably shouldn’t give them a show,” you replied, your cheeks burning. Your hands dropping to straighten out your sweater, your cheeks burning a bright red as you turn away from your friend - taking a few sobering breaths. You turn back to Mat slowly, your eyebrows lifting as you find him already staring at your, his cheeks burning as much as yours. 

“I don’t think I’m finished with tonight.” He says slowly - adding, “but I’m definitely done with this party.” His Adams apple bobbing as he watches your mind turn a hundred miles an hour. 

“Oh, well there’s a bar down the street thats usually open late.” You note, Mat’s brows furrowing as he shakes his head. 

“That’s not—,” Mat lets out a soft sigh, his smile soft on his face as he spits out, “I’m trying to ask you to come home with me.” 

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and electric, like a string pulled taut. You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly, or if the adrenaline coursing through your veins was playing tricks on you.

“Home,” you repeated slowly, testing the word on your tongue. Your voice came out softer than you intended, barely audible over the distant thrum of the party.

Mat nodded, his gaze steady but vulnerable, like he was bracing himself for the answer. “Yeah. With me.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat reverberating in your ears. The room around you blurred—the noise, the decorations, the faint smell of spiked cider—and all you could focus on was the way his thumb brushed against his palm, the slight twitch of his jaw as he waited.

This wasn’t like him. Mat, the always-casual, too-cool-to-be-flustered Mat, was standing in front of you looking like his world might tilt depending on your response.

You took a breath, your pulse skipping as you leaned in just enough that your words were for him alone. “Okay,” you whispered, the weight of the decision melting into something exhilarating as you saw his grin break through.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice quieter now, carrying an edge of disbelief, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah.”

His hand found yours again, this time with more certainty, fingers lacing through yours as he gave a gentle tug. “Let’s get out of here before someone stops us.”

You followed without hesitation, weaving through the scattered crowd, ignoring the knowing glances and side comments. The cool night air hit your face the moment you stepped outside, sharp and refreshing compared to the stuffy warmth of the party. Mat didn’t let go of your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

And as he led you down the street, your hand still in his, you felt something settle in you, a kind of rightness you hadn’t expected and couldn’t deny.

The walk to Mat's place was quiet but charged, every step a wordless conversation. The city hummed around you—car engines purring in the distance, the occasional laughter spilling from a bar’s open door—but it all felt like background noise. The real energy was in the small, subtle touches: the way his fingers tightened around yours when your hands brushed, or the way he glanced at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

When you reached his building, Mat paused at the door, his free hand fishing out his keys. He hesitated, looking at you with a crooked smile, his breath visible in the cool air. “Last chance to back out,” he teased, but there was an edge of seriousness in his tone.

You rolled your eyes playfully, though your heart skipped. “Mat, if you don’t open that door in the next five seconds…”

His laugh was soft, barely louder than the jingle of the keys as he unlocked the door. “Alright, alright,” he said, pushing it open and holding it for you. “Come on in.”

The warmth of the lobby hit you immediately, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The building smelled faintly of pine—probably some festive candle someone had left at the front desk—and you followed him to the elevator, the silence between you comfortable now.

Inside the elevator, the closeness felt different. More intimate. The quiet hum of the machinery filled the space, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat. You caught Mat glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Instead, his thumb resumed its soft pattern against your hand, grounding you.

When the doors slid open, Mat led you down the hallway to his apartment. The tension built with each step, your stomach doing little flips as you reached his door. He unlocked it smoothly, gesturing for you to step inside first.

His place was exactly what you’d imagined—warm, lived-in, and distinctly him. The couch had a throw blanket draped messily over one arm, and a few mismatched mugs were scattered on the coffee table. String lights twinkled softly along the windows, their golden glow casting cozy shadows across the room.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, scratching the back of his neck as he shut the door behind you.

“It’s not messy,” you replied, taking it all in. It was charming, actually, and it felt... safe. “It’s nice.”

Mat exhaled a laugh, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he stepped closer, the space between you narrowing again. He reached out tentatively, his hand brushing your arm before sliding down to your hand.

“Still sure?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something vulnerable.

You nodded, your fingers curling around his. “Still sure.”

That was all he needed. Mat pulled you in gently, his other hand finding your waist as his lips met yours. This time, there was no hesitation—no second-guessing. It was slower than before, but somehow even more consuming, like he was trying to memorise the feel of you, the way you fit against him.

One of mats hands reach up, tugging slowly on your hair scrunchie pulling it from the bun, letting your hair fall loose, his fingers playing with the strands as he leads you to his bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours as your arms loop around his neck. Mat’s lips make his way down your neck - pressing soft kisses as he tugs on the hem of your sweater, his lips only leaving your skin as he pulls the thick fabric over your head, his eyes immediately dropping down to your bra. 

“I’m about to fucking combust.” Mat groans, the two of you falling onto his mattress, your head buried among the pillows as Mat sits up on his knees, taking in the sight of you as he rips his own soft hoodie over his head, his hands reaching out for the button on your jeans. 

“God, you’re stunning.” Mat coos, as he slides your jeans down your legs, throwing them off to the side as he smoothes his hands down your body, his hands stopping at your knees as he pushes them apart, his body slotting slowly between them as he leans down to reattach his lips to your jaw - sucking harshly against the soft skin, a soft whine escaping you the blood rushing to the surface as an obvious bruise starts to form. 

“Perfect.” He whispers, against your neck as he picks a new spot and sucks again. 

“Mat.” You hiss, as his hand slowly dips in the waistband of your underwear, gently teasing your clit, his teeth skimming the skin on your neck as he pulls away. “If you don’t put your dick in me right now I swear to god.” You continue, your nails digging into his shoulders as he dips an experimental finger inside of you. 

Mat doesn’t need to be told twice as he makes quick work of his own pants, his cock painfully hard as it leaks with premium - his body leaning over your as he rifles through his bed side table. “Wrap it before you tap it.” He jokes, your hands pulling your own underwear down your legs, throwing them off to the side as you take in Mat. 

“Don’t ruin the moment.” You sigh, but your smile betrays your serious tone. You always knew the hockey player had a good body - his fitness levels beyond the average person, but seeing his stone cut figure was about to make you drool - your hands reaching out for him as he rolls the condom on his dick. 

“Tell me if you need me to stop.” He whispers as he crawls back on top of you, his body slipping perfectly between your legs, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your cheek as he lines himself up. His head dropping into the crook of your neck as he pushes in, his movements slow and purposeful as he lets you adjust with each inch. “Is this okay?” He whispers into your hair, his hips moving excruciatingly slow as he pumps himself in and out. 

He smiles as you nod, your lip trapped between your teeth as you let out a soft whimper, his hands placed on either side of your head as his movements speed up a little. “My pretty little pillow princess.” Mat coos, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair as the sound of skin on skin fills the room. 

“Fuck Mat.” You hiss as his pelvis brushes against yours, your cunt clenching around him - his hips stuttering as he lets out a low groan. 

“I’m close.” He hisses, your head nodding in agreement as your nails drag up his back tangling in soft hair, tugging lightly. 

“I need more.” You breath out, Mat eye brows furrowing as he lifts himself up slightly,  lifting a hand off the mattress, his fingers dipping between your body as he teases your clit softly. 

“Shit.” He grunt as you squeeze around him again, his orgasm being pulled from him as he bottoms out inside of you, his fingers still working on your clit until he feels you clench tighter around him, a long whine escaping you as you cum. Mat’s body falls against yours, the two of your breathing heavily as your fingers continue to scrape against his scalp, a please sigh leaving him as his body melts on top of yours. 

“Mat, I need to go to the bathroom.” You mumble, your eyes almost forcing themself closed as the heat radiating from your best friend tries to lull you to sleep. Mat lets out a grunt, lifting himself up just enough to capture your lips with his, his mouth spreading into a wide grin as he rolls off of you, discarding the condom as he lies on his back. 

“There should be your favourite stuff under the counter if you need it.” He says softly, his eyes already closing, “Come back to me quickly.” He adds, his arm thrown over his eye as his breathing evens out. 

You watch him for a few moments before dashing into his bathroom, facing the mirror as you take in your nest of hair and your flushed cheeks. “What the fuck did I do?” You sneer at your reflection, the bright red bruises on your neck sticking out like a sore thumb. You turn on the tap, using the cold water against your face before cleaning yourself up as quickly as possible, your frown deepening as you step out of the bathroom, Mat fast asleep in the bed, his body turned towards the empty space besides him. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper as you make your way over to the bed, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against his temple before pulling your clothes back on as escaping your best friends house. 

+

+

Three days passed quickly - your phone constantly dinging with a barrage of messages from Mat. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Your phone sat face down on the counter, Mat's unread messages and missed calls an ever-growing weight on your chest. You didn’t know what to say to him. You didn’t know how to face him after what had happened.

Every time you closed your eyes, you could feel his hands on you, his lips against yours. The memory of his soft laugh, the way he had asked you to come back to him—it all made your heart ache. 

You fucked your best friend. 

And then you ditched. 

What if this ruined everything? 

What if he regretted it? 

You finally pick up your phone, glaring down at the messages waiting for you;

Matty ♥️: Hey, just wanted to check in, is everything okay? 

Matty ♥️:  I know this might’ve made things awkward but maybe we should meet up and talk? 

Matty ♥️:  I know you’re reading these, please answer me. 

Matty ♥️:  I miss you. 

Fuck. 

+

+

Mat was - rightfully - going out of his mind.

 He hadn’t heard a word from you—no texts, no calls. You were ignoring him, and it was eating him alive. Every time his phone buzzed, he scrambled for it, only to find some pointless notification or a message from someone who wasn’t you.

He couldn't get the memory of your touch, your laugh, or the way you had whispered that quiet "I'm sorry" as you left his place. That had stuck with him, playing over and over in his head. 

What were you sorry for? 

Leaving? 

Crossing the line between friends? 

Or something more?

Matty ♥️: I miss you. 

His most recent text. He’d sent it hours ago. 

No response. 

Again.

“God, what did I do?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. You had been his best friend for years. He knew you inside out—or at least, he thought he did. But now, it was like there was this wall between you, and he hated it.

Mat stared at his phone, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. His apartment felt suffocating, every quiet moment filled with the phantom echoes of your laughter or the soft murmur of your voice. He could still see you everywhere—in the hoodie you had borrowed and never returned, in the stupid inside jokes you’d scribbled on his fridge, in the way his couch smelled faintly like your perfume.

The silence was driving him insane.

He stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the room. “Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. He didn’t even hesitate as he shoved his keys into his pocket and stepped out the door.

The drive to your place was short but felt agonisingly long. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his mind racing with every possibility. 

What if you didn’t want to see him? 

What if this was it? 

What if you hated him for what happened?

But he couldn’t sit around wondering anymore. 

He needed to see you, to talk to you, to fix this—whatever this was now.

When he finally pulled up outside your building, the glow of your apartment light felt like both a taunt and a lifeline. He killed the engine and sat there for a moment, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.

What was he even going to say? Hey, sorry I ruined everything, but also, I think I might love you? That sounded pathetic, even in his head.

But before he could second-guess himself, he was out of the car and heading toward your door. His knuckles rapped against the wood before he even realised what he was doing.

Inside, you froze. The sound of his knock sent a jolt of electricity through you. You hadn’t expected him to come here—not after how you had ghosted him. Your stomach twisted with guilt and something you couldn’t quite name.

“Hey, it’s me,” his voice came through the door, quieter than you’d ever heard him sound. “I—I know I should’ve waited for you to reach out, but... I can’t. I need to talk to you.” Your heart clenched. Part of you wanted to pretend you weren’t home, to let the silence stretch on. But the other part—the part that missed him so much it hurt—had already pulled you to the door.

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the doorknob. “Mat...” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” he said quickly, his words spilling out like a flood. “But please—just tell me what’s going on. I’m going crazy over here.”

You bit your lip, a lump rising in your throat. The wall you’d been trying so hard to build was crumbling, and you didn’t know how to stop it. Slowly, you unlocked the door and opened it, just enough to see him standing there, his expression a mix of hope and heartbreak.

The sight of him made your chest tighten. “Mat...” you said again, your voice trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, taking a small step closer. “For whatever I did, for whatever I said that made you leave. But you—you can’t just disappear on me like this. I need to know if we’re okay.”

And there it was. The question you had been avoiding. The answer you weren’t sure you even had.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

“Are we?” you asked softly, your voice breaking on the words.

His brow furrowed, his gaze searching yours. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “But I want us to be.”

And just like that, the ache in your chest spilled over, and the tears you’d been holding back finally came.

Mat’s expression softened immediately at the sight of your tears. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he held back, unsure if you’d let him. Instead, he just stood there, the weight of your silence filling the small space between you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the emotion. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to...” You trailed off, shaking your head as more tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer, his hesitation melting away. “You don’t have to apologise. I just—I’ve been losing my mind not knowing what you’re thinking. If I pushed you too far, if I—”

“It’s not that,” you interrupted, your voice firm despite the tears. “It’s not you, Mat. It’s me. I... what if we made the wrong choice?”

That stopped him. His brows knit together as he studied you, his confusion clear. 

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “What if we ruined everything? What if things will never go back to how they were before? You’re my best friend, Mat, and I don’t—” Your voice broke again, and you bit your lip hard, willing yourself to keep it together.

His eyes widened slightly, something soft and vulnerable flickering across his face. “You think I don’t feel the same way?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words barely audible. “I don’t know what to think. I just know I can’t lose you.”

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as his gaze dropped to the floor. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said finally, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But, God, you’ve got to stop running away from me. From this.”

“I don’t know how,” you confessed, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you then, his eyes filled with something that made your chest tighten. “Then talk to me.”

Before you could say anything, he closed the distance between you, his hands finding yours with a gentleness that made your breath hitch. He held them tightly, grounding you in the moment.

“I don’t regret what happened,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Not for a second. And if you think for one minute that I’d let that ruin what we have, then you don’t know me as well as you think.”

His words hit you like a wave, crashing over the fear and uncertainty that had been suffocating you. You searched his face, looking for any trace of doubt, but all you found was sincerity.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he admitted, his voice soft but unwavering. “But I’m not scared of ruining what we had because what if I want something more?” He pauses taking in a deep breath, “What if I want you?” 

The tears came faster now, but they felt different—lighter, freer. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you did the only thing that felt right.

You stepped closer, your hands slipping from his to cup his face, and kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic like the first time. It was slow and tender, filled with everything you hadn’t been able to put into words.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard. “Don’t run away again,” he whispered, his voice shaky, “Please.” 

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice steady this time. “I won’t.”

[gimme-a-man-after-midnight]

my royal roomie (part 2)

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Orm Marius x Reader

part 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/gimme-a-man-after-midnight/693273500438429696/my-royal-roomie-pt-1?source=share

Summary: After a few days of living under your roof, Orm gets to know the little surface dweller he's been stuck with. With time, a stormy night, and a bottle of wine, the prince learns that he has more in common with you than he may think.

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: female reader, slow burn, light cursing, mentions of past emotional abuse, divorced parents!reader, dead parent, comic lore inaccuracies, floral inaccuracies??

Author's Note:

hi y'all! here's the full part 2 i've been working on for some time! thanks for the support on the last one and again, so sorry for the late continuation :/ i hope this story is to your liking! happy reading!

After the first one-on-one conversation you had in the living room, Orm didn't come out of the guest bedroom for days. You’d see flashes of platinum blonde out of the corner of your eye, just barely missing him by a few seconds whenever you’d be in the kitchen or outside of his door. You had made many offers through the red painted oak of his room to go grocery shopping together or take him on a tour of the town, but all of your efforts were met with a stern "No thank you." You had lost any hope you had of forming some kind of connection with the Atlantean for a while, cutting your losses by quietly resigning to a parallel existence. What you didn’t expect was the mutual understanding you two would come to on one fateful stormy Friday night, much like the one that brought him to your doorstep.

***

 Heavy traffic from the drive home, a full message inbox on your telephone, and the burnt attempt at roast chicken sitting on your oven rack had you nursing a glass bottle of wine by the living room window. Bad days were normal for anybody, but it didn’t make them easier to deal with on your own - the added stress of the stranger living in your space didn’t help either. You had been living a quiet life ever since you moved back to the sleepy town some years ago, taking up very little space and leaving minimal traces of yourself. Whether it was out of caution or cowardice, you weren’t sure yet. Either way, that silence had brought you comfort at a time where your thoughts were too loud, but now with another person occupying your space the quiet was becoming suffocating. 

Orm wasn’t by any means a bad roommate - he kept to himself, he didn’t make much noise, and he even managed to wash his dishes whenever he knew you weren’t in the kitchen - but he was a man.The last time you had lived with a man, the end of its course felt similar to how you two were living now, and maybe that’s why it was bothering you so much. Tip-toeing around the Atlantean made you feel uneasy in your own home, a situation you were all too familiar with. Typically at this time in the night you would be cooking up some plan to urge the man out of his guest room, but after the day you had, you didn’t have the heart to try. 

Once you took your final gulp of wine, wiping at the sides of your mouth with the back of your hand, you trudged away from the raging display outside of your window. The dishes could be a tomorrow problem, you thought to yourself as you were leaving your kitchen counter behind. You had only made it a few paces out of the living room before your body was overcome with chills, making you draw your blanket tighter around you. The draft through the house was unmistakable, confusing you thoroughly due to you always making sure the doors and windows were shut before bed. As you stepped deeper into the house, you realized the distinct breeze was coming from the direction of the guest bedroom. You had made it a point to allow Orm his space, but your brain was stirring with reasons for what he could possibly be doing in there  - most of them unsavory. 

With a deep breath and a tight fist holding your blanket, you gently rapped at the door. 

“Hey, Orm?”

No response. You knock again.

“I don’t mean to bother, but I’m feeling a bit of a breeze through the house and I can tell it’s coming from here, so I just want to see if everything is alri-”

The door suddenly opened a crack, revealing half of Orm’s face which was already more than you had seen in days. 

“If you don’t mean to bother, then don’t.”

The curt response, although expected, has you taken aback. Already seeing the Atlantean retreat from the spot again, you hold the door in its place in effort to keep his attention.

“Look, I know you wanna be alone, but I can’t help wondering why a cold ass breeze is coming from your room, so I just want to see what’s going on. Please, it’s freezing right now.” You do your best to keep control of your tone, not wanting to let on just how much the cold was getting to you - giving the prince another reason to look down on humans wasn’t on your agenda for the night.

 Almost as if he commanded the storm, the lightning cracked loudly outside as Orm swung his door open, revealing his full disheveled state to you. You jolted in place, practically leaping a step back in defense at the swift move.

“What’s going on is the stench of your burnt dinner was practically singeing my nostrils. I opened a window in hopes that I could find some relief, because clearly you surface dwellers have no trouble polluting not only the ocean, but your precious breathing air as well! I have little care for how cold your fragile body may get, so I suggest you retire to your room at once and leave me be.”  

There was a gap in the yelling match conversation, almost as if the blond was waiting for you to bite back at his harsh words, but the glazed look in your eyes and parted lips made it evident to the Atlantean that your mind was elsewhere. Orm followed your gaze, noticing that it was locked onto the maroon sweater he was adorning, looking at it with equal parts surprise and melancholy. His enhanced hearing picked up on a hitch in your breath and chattering of your teeth, confirming to him that you were clearly shaken.

After the long silence, you mousily spoke.

“I didn’t leave that sweater out for you.” 

 The arbitrary words silenced Orm, his expression turning to one of confusion as he looked down at the knit fabric on his chest.

“...where did you find it?” 

Your voice didn’t change in volume when you made your inquiry, but your tone was somber. The candid emotion made the Atlantean clear his throat awkwardly, unsure of how to handle such vulnerability from his host. You couldn’t even fully appreciate how much messier Orm looked in comparison to when he first arrived - looking like a 90s wet dream with his ungelled hair, clenched jaw, and broad shoulders peeking out of his loose fitting clothes. No, it was the clothes that were holding your attention hostage.

“It was deep in the wooden wardrobe of my room…the garb you set out for me wasn’t suitable for the storm,” Orm says, arms crossed in a defensive manner as he anticipates your response.

A part of you wanted to laugh at his retort, the corner of your lips quirking up for a millisecond before melting back into the numb expression you had prior. 

“Are you going to ask me to change? Because I don’t see why I should relent,” the blond goads, pulling a haughty expression that comes all too naturally.

Orm wasn’t sure himself why he wanted to urge a response from you - why he wanted to learn more about this sweater that was clearly jumbling up your thoughts enough to render you so silent. He tried to chalk it up to plain boredom, tried to reason with himself that all his time in self-isolation was making him yearn for more. Still, even with those excuses lined up to justify his actions, he couldn’t explain why seeing the down-turned expression on your lips felt so unnerving. This woman in front of him now was like a shell in comparison to the buoyant, eccentric character he had been previously introduced to - and for some bizarre reason he didn’t like it. 

Your thought process, on the other hand, was going in a completely different route. The glaringly red knit in your line of sight brought back too many memories that you had made efforts to bury. The cursed sweater in combination with the Atlantean prince’s snark makes your breath quicken and your mind wander to the whisper of a past life that still takes up space in your home. You couldn’t decipher if your shivering was coming from Orm’s open window or from your body trying to eject all of the feelings evoked from seeing that damn sweater.

“I-I…you…you shouldn’t-” you shakily exhale, your eyes surveying around your surroundings to try and focus on literally anything else. You backstep, hoping that physically running away from the situation will do you good, but your eyes lining up with the red-clad chest and the sound of the booming thunder makes you falter. Your hand clutches at your chest, the white knuckled grip on your blanket alerting your roommate.

The prince's body calls to action, making Orm take an instinctive step forward, reaching out as if to try and steady you. 

“What is happening with you? Why are you so high-strung? Do humans go into cardiac arrest so easily?” 

You couldn’t hear his stern questioning, your mind flitting to images of firm fists slammed against tables and nights spent alone, buried deep under your covers in the hopes of being swallowed by the sheets. It was like the space in your lungs was being taken up by a vice grip, and your ability to think - to form a simple thought that didn’t make your heart hurt - was completely ripped away from you. Even after four years, the memories of him still have so much power over you in a way that’s paralyzing.

“I-I just - I need - I need to breathe!”

With that final exclamation, you scurried away from the Atlantean, quickly making it back to your room before slamming the door shut behind you. Orm was left stunned outside of his door, his eyes trained in the direction of your room down the hall. 

What the hell just happened?

***

Arthur was done - so done.

The newly crowned Atlantean king had so much on his plate already, what with his upcoming engagement underway and him having an entire kingdom to look after. While he did appreciate his little brother feeling comfortable enough to call him at such an ungodly hour, the words the blond uttered made him want to pull his hair out. 

“I think I broke her - your human.”

“Bro, what?”

It was too fucking early for this. 

“Don’t call me - agh, nevermind - something’s wrong with your human and I’m not sure how to approach the situation. Is this really an environment you believe me to find enrichment from? My host is clearly on the brink of some sort of breakdown and I-”

“Wow, I never took you for someone that was so easily shaken, brother.”

Arthur’s poorly timed quip makes Orm stare back at the projection call with a blank face.

“First off, she’s not my human, she’s her own person. Second, what did you even do? She’s not one to just collapse on her own - although she is a serial overthinker and could definitely talk herself to an early grave...”

Orm, frustrated with his half-brother’s lack of support, rolls his eyes over the call.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Something must’ve set her off or triggered her to react in a way. You sure you didn’t do anything?” 

“All I did was answer the door when she knocked. When she saw me at the entrance, she saw the sweater I was wearing and was overcome with emotion. That’s hardly my fault.”

Orm can see Arthur’s brows furrow in thought at the information, almost as if he’s assessing whether he’s been given the whole story or not.

“Well…where’d you get the sweater?”

“I hardly think that matters-”

“Just answer the question, bro-”

An exasperated grunt leaves Orm as he grips at the sheets beneath him in an attempt to contain himself. A part of him regretted bringing up the matter at all, communication with his half-brother being much too awkward to bear. 

“I got it from the wooden wardrobe inside of my chambers! It was much more practical to wear than the flimsy garb-”

“Shit,” Arthur cuts him off, the hologram shifting as the man rubs at his eyes. “The wooden wardrobe with vines on the sides?”

It was Orm’s turn to be taken aback, unsure of how he knew the detail from off the top of his head.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

A muffled sigh comes from Arthur’s end, the image changing again as the king shuffles out of bed quietly to not disturb a sleeping Mera.

“Listen, dude. It’s not my place to speak on her business like this, but all I can say is that the wardrobe - that room - holds a lot of memories that are painful for her. I know you didn’t mean to bring them up, but that wardrobe is off limits. Just try and apologize for now, but don’t pry.”

“But why should I-”

“Orm, seriously! I get it, you don’t like being there - that you’ve spent every day in your room ever since I dropped you off, but she’s been trying. She’s been doing everything she can to get you out of your shell and you’re not giving back anything. There has to be some give here, and that can start with you saying sorry.” 

Orm was surprised by the fact that Arthur knew of his daily whereabouts already, undoubtedly asking you for updates on him. However, what surprised him the most was that even though you have seemingly complained to his half brother, you never once suggested kicking him out - never demanded he leave your house and have Atlantis deal with him. You truly were a peculiar little thing. 

“...fine. But don’t expect me to continue such niceties with her.”

A belly laugh could be heard from over the call, surely out of amusement for the prince's unwavering coldness.

“Good. Now hang up, you disrupted my beauty sleep.”

With a scoff, Orm presses on the green gem of his wristlet and heads off to the direction of your room.

***

When Orm knocks on your door, he expects a big fuss - bouts of yelling, arguing, or cursing that’ll leave his highly sensitive ears ringing. What he doesn’t expect is everyone of his knocks being met with silence - deafening silence now that the storm has subsided. 

“Hello?”

The prince feels weirdly small waiting by your door for your answer, having no clue what he’ll be met with on the other side of him. (It also gives him some insight on how you must feel every time you knock on his door to chat, although he’d never admit to having similarities with you,)

“Are you ignoring me?” 

More silence. 

“Oh, enough of this childishness.”

With a deep breath in, Orm turns the knob of your door and lets himself into your room. He’s met with colorful tapestries embellishing the walls, big rugs covering the hardwood floor, and twinkling lights surrounding the bed frame. The scene that you set for yourself in your room makes Orm think about his home - the way that the colorful bioluminescence would sparkle throughout his kingdom. 

When the initial first impression of your room wears off, he notices there is no one in the bed. No squirming presence under the sheets or anyone sitting on top of the bed to give him a stern talking to. Where did you go?

The blond takes a tentative step inside, stepping over the fuzzy carpets to keep from disturbing their arrangement. When he walks past the bed frame and closer to the window, he sees a lump of a human wearing a large blanket over their shoulders and some type of bulky headgear that covers your ears and emits sound. You were completely enthralled by the scene outside of the window that you hardly notice Orm stepping up next to you. 

A sudden hand on your shoulder has you jolting upward with a yelp, your hand instinctively slapping away at the intruder before you turn to look at where they came from.

“Jesus fucking christ!”

Orm gets into his own defensive position as you scramble to press your back against the wall, looking at you as if you were a trembling animal.

“My god, woman!”

“What are you doing in here you scared me half to-”

“I knocked but there was no answer so I-”

“Oh, so you decided to just welcome yourself in?”

Orm purses his lips in frustration, not thrilled at being met with the uproar he had originally expected. You sigh to yourself in disbelief, willing yourself to be quiet since there would be no productive conversation if you two kept yelling at each other.

“Next time just take the hint that I’m busy if I don’t answer, okay? You can’t just barge in here when you want, it’s not cool…”

The Atlantean has some sense to feel a shred of shame when you speak, although your words are hardly convincing when your eyes don’t turn in his direction for even a second. You look so timid standing there in your corner with the blanket consuming you completely - not at all like the spitfire that called him an “asshole” and warned him not to “test her.” (He secretly felt some relief in your loud exchange mere moments ago, because it meant that version of you was still there.) 

“I…I apologize for intruding.” 

Your head whips up to finally meet the man’s piercing blues, your mouth left slightly agape at an actual apology leaving the arrogant Atlantean’s lips.

“Uh…it’s okay...although, try not to do it again.”

Another moment of awkward silence passes.

“So…why’d you come in here?”

You ask this question as you take a seat back on the floor, resuming your position of staring out of the window only this time without your headphones. You pat the spot next to you on the floor, urging Orm to sit next to you. With a small eye roll, the blond begrudgingly joins you on your multi-colored carpet, opting to rest his arms against his knees as means to shield himself from you.

“I came here to apologize, not just for barging in, but for what happened earlier. I shouldn’t have gone through the wardrobe without your permission even if I needed different clothes. I should’ve asked you instead of rifling through your belongings on my own accord.”  

His apology, although rehearsed, seems genuine enough for your shoulders to relax. Your eyes follow the droplets of rain slowly trickling down the glass of your window, racking your brain for the right thing to say. 

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I just…I haven’t revisited the memories that room brings in a long time. You putting on that sweater unearthed them today, and it got me bad. See, I was having a shit day already what with keeping up with the shop, and then an accident causing traffic on the way home, and the wine that I usually like being out of stock-” 

Your rambling gets cut off by a soft chuckle coming from the man next to you, a sound that seems so uncharacteristically happy for his usual demeanor. The corners of your mouth perk up in disbelief, the expression making Orm quickly look away from you. 

“Huh. So that’s what your laugh sounds like. It’s nice…”

Orm didn’t understand why he reacted in such a way, you weren’t saying anything particularly funny…

…It’s just the way your eyes became so animated as you spoke more, your hands gesturing stronger as you explained further - it was amusing to him. So different from the usual company he keeps, always firmly placed brows and crossed arms from the high council members he consulted. Even the Atlantean women, although much more pleasant company, were more regal in comparison to his surface dweller host.  However, what you did have in common with those women was your tenacity. Even with his cold attitude towards you, your kindness was unwavering - a few times a day, without fail, you’d knock on his door with the promise of food and semi-entertaining company. He’s starting to regret only agreeing to the food.

God, he must be going stir crazy.

“What is it about the sweater that made you react in such a way?”

This was when you noticed that Orm was no longer wearing the offending material, choosing to wear the simping cotton T shirt you had given him. It may have been nothing - a simple delusion on your part - but the weight on your chest felt lighter at the idea that the Atlantean took it off to bring you comfort. 

“It - uh,” you stuttered, “it belonged to my ex-boyfriend. All of the stuff in that wardrobe did, actually. We painted the vines on the side of it together…” 

Orm’s arms flexed tighter around his knees at your words. He didn’t know how to respond, feeling significantly awkward due to adorning your ex lover’s clothing, so he decided to just shut up and let you continue.

“When I was 14 my parents got divorced. My mom wanted so badly to make it work, but my dad didn’t like his life here in Amnesty Bay - a part of me felt like he also didn’t like his life with us in general. I mean, he never had a problem making his grievances known, so…” 

Now, this was something the blond was familiar with - uncomfortable family dynamics. The realities of his parents’ marriage were never shielded from him growing up - he often witnessed the brutality of his father whenever his mother, Atlanna, would make her opposing opinions known. He often felt conflicted about which side to take - the one of least resistance that prioritized the well-being of his people or the one that looked out for the well-being of everyone, Atlanteans and surface dwellers alike. Hearing you now, speak your piece on your own upbringing, comforted him in a way he didn’t expect.

“The divorce was messy. Lots of nights spent being pulled in every direction, but with no real place to find peace. After everything settled, my dad ended up moving to New York while my mom remained here. They agreed that for the school year I’d stay with my mom, so she’d have some help at the flower shop, but I’d visit him on major holidays…”

The blanket around you suddenly feels too thin, a chill running over you as you recount your tale. You take a sneaky glance over your shoulder to check if the blond was still listening, and you were surprised (and delighted) to find that his steadfast gaze was at the side of your face. 

“...At some point during my years at university, my mom stopped asking me to visit - demanded that I only live with my dad when I was out of school. You can imagine Arthur had his qualms about that…”

You chuckled to yourself at the memory of a young Arthur blowing up your home phone upon hearing the news. 

“It would only be for the same visiting time as before, so there wasn’t much fuss on my dad’s end, but my relationship with him had become so different after the divorce that it wasn’t ideal. It…It hurt to hear my mom reject me like that.” 

Orm’s mind flashes back to the rain soaked figure of his mother, presenting herself to be siding with his half-brother after his defeat. The sting of her counteraction still lingers in his chest.

“When I had started dating my ex during my third year, I found out the reason my mom was keeping me from home - she got sick…cancer. All of the overworking to pay the bills, lack of support, and the hereditary traits…she got really sick. I guess she didn’t want me to see her in so much pain…” 

Orm watches as you turn away to stubbornly wipe at your face, a sniffle coming from your direction. He hadn’t expected you to willingly speak on your background when he asked about the sweater, but a part of him felt guilty for being the cause of your current distress.

“When she died, I moved back here to look after the house and take over the shop…but my ex had moved in with me. Darren.” 

More tears fell from your cheeks at the same speed as the rain running down your window.

“Darren offered to help me with the business, help me get on my feet. A part of me knew that he was going to hate the life we were starting together based on talks we had about the future, but I ignored it all when my grief became the only thing I felt for a long time. He always wanted more - more than our little town, more than the flower shop…so when an opportunity presented itself to have a life on his own, he took it. Just like my dad did…” 

 Orm’s heart drops at the end of your retelling, knowing the feeling of rejection and abandonment all too well. His father would be rolling in his grave if he knew what feelings this little surface dweller was stirring in him. The gap between the Atlanteans and the humans was closing in his mind, and Orm wasn’t sure if he cared to stop it. All he wanted at this moment was to stop you from crying. 

“I’m sorry for putting on the sweater…and for being an ungracious guest these past few days. I’ve been a real dick.” 

You can’t help but guffaw at his choice of words, using your fist to mask the unsightly sound as a cough. 

“That’s not a very princely thing to say…” 

Orm’s head tilts back as he snickers, feeling slightly proud of himself for inciting a better mood in you.

Ah, that laugh again, you think as you admire how ethereal the man looks in his relaxed state. 

“Perhaps my brother is to blame for my much more…colorful vernacular.” 

“Perhaps,” you hum in agreement, “or you’re just not as much of a dick as I previously thought…sorry for coming on so strong that first day.” 

Orm’s blue eyes shine at you with something unfamiliar - different to the cold, distant stare you were first met with. You find yourself wishing to always be at the receiving end of his kind eyes. 

Orm clears his throat before uttering, “No need to be…I was the one that misjudged you before ever seeing you.” 

A silence falls over you two, a comforting one built between new comrades. Your (e/c) gaze meets his as the storm calms outside of your window, signaling the start of a new chapter for you and your royal roommate. 

[mymoonagedaydream]

Part 1

Summary: Maybe the relationships worth fighting for were the ones in which you had to fight the hardest.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Language, vague references to violence, light public wankery

Author’s Note: This one has been sitting in my inbox for literal years so I hope you’re still in an angsty mood after all this time. Was meant to be a oneshot but hey I got carried away what can I say.

---

Three loud knocks hammered against your door. It made you jump every time he did that, you were used to your guests ringing the buzzer.

You checked the time as you hurried across the length of your cramped apartment, cursing under your breath when you saw that it was almost nine. Him finishing work this late was never good news. Whatever had happened, whether it be another drawn out meeting or an unplanned, after-hours assignment, it would almost definitely have left him in a shitty mood.

You sighed. It used to be that bad days for him were few and far between, now they seemed to outnumber the good ones. 

Sliding the chain off and turning the lock, your heart sank when you pulled the door backwards and caught sight of his miserable expression. You wished so much that there was more you could do to uplift him when he felt like this but, short of marching into his office and scolding his colleagues as if they were suave-suited school children, you were helpless. All you could do was try to help him take his mind off things.

“Hey, Hot Shot.”

He managed to summon a weak but warm smile, planting a kiss on your temple as he shuffled past. “Hey. The crazy newspaper lady let me in again.”

“I figured,” you pushed the door shut and followed him inside, “did she give you another fistful of clippings?”

“Whatta you think?”

He stuffed a hand into his pocket and set down a few scrunched up papers on the coffee table before dropping onto the couch. With a smirk, you picked them up and smoothed them out, scanning your eyes over the headlines. 

“Bless her, she always saves the business stories for you.”

“Yeah, why is that?”

“Probably ‘cause you’re always in a suit and I’m always referring to you as Hot Shot.”

“You talk to her?”

Realising your mistake, you stopped absentmindedly thumbing through the clippings, lifted your gaze to his and shrugged. “Occasionally.”

He narrowed his eyes. You knew exactly what he was thinking. He didn't like the idea of you going near her, he thought it wasn’t safe, probably thought you’d end up locked in her apartment and chopped into tiny pieces that she’d save and use as bullion cubes. 

So now probably wasn’t the best time to bring up your weekly visits to her apartment for coffee and cake. 

Sure, she was a little intimidating to look at, with her wild eyes and deep, sunken cheeks, but she was a sweetheart really. She’d started tearing up newspapers in the downstairs lobby after her husband died a few years ago. He loved his morning reading and she loved clipping out his favourite stories and saving them for him, apparently doing it for other people was the only thing keeping her going now she was alone. You just wished you could think of a way to explain all that to Bucky without incurring his paranoia.

His glare wasn’t letting up. You knew if you didn’t swiftly change the subject there was a danger he might start trying to convince you to move into his much nicer, much bigger and much safer apartment again. As much as you appreciated the offer, it had taken so much for you to move to the city on your own, and you weren’t ready to give up your independence just yet. You were happy the way things were.

You cut in as soon as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Rough day?”

His head collapsed backwards. “Mhmm.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Nah, s’alright, just seemed like everyone was out to piss me off.”

“Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

He chuckled gruffly as you flopped down beside him, his arm moving to cradle your shoulders and hug you tight to his side. “Have you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“You wanna order pizza?”

“Definitely.” 

You leaned forward and rustled around for the takeout menu in your coffee table junk drawer. Bucky shifted slightly, out the corner of your eye you could see him starting to dig the fingers on his free hand into his knee. He cleared his throat nervously before speaking again.

“Can I pay this time?”

“We’ll split it.” 

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind-”

“Buck.” You gave him a look as you dropped the menu in his lap. “We’ll split it.”

He didn’t push back. You’d gotten pretty good at standing your ground out of necessity because, if Bucky got his way, you’d never be allowed to spend a single dollar. He earned a lot more than you, a helluva lot more, but you still preferred to keep things equal. You got by just fine. 

The two of you settled in on the couch together. He hustled downstairs when the buzzer sounded and you demolished the pizza in front of the TV, enjoying the peace of each other's company, chuckling at whatever shitty reality show was on at 9pm on a weeknight. 

Despite his best efforts, though, it was obvious that something still wasn’t quite right with him. He needed some help unwinding.

“Hey, you wanna hear something funny? It might cheer you up.”

His head lolled towards you, a wide smile creeping over his lips. “Go on.”

“So, at work this afternoon, Judy was doing her rounds upstairs when she noticed a guy tucked in the corner by adult fiction. It’s pretty routine to get the odd embarrassed reader trying to hide away up there but apparently he was grunting like a professional tennis player , her words.”

“Jesus.”

“Mhmm. So she called the cops and they hustled up there, apparently he���d been jerking off in the aisle to a fucking Mills & Boon novel called The Dark Duke . We had to get the janitor to get rid of it in a biohazard bag, poor guy. He’ll probably call in sick tomorrow from the trauma.” You were laughing through your words but, when you looked over at Bucky, an incredibly stern face was looking back. “C’mon, you gotta admit that’s funny.”

“It’s not funny that you’re around creeps like that every day.”

“This city is full of creeps, just so happens that a few of them have library cards.” You flashed your eyebrows at him, he didn’t even crack a smile. “Jesus, Buck, you don’t think you’re taking this a little too seriously?”

“No, I don’t.”

The two of you fell into silence. His eyes flicked away from you for a second, his expression suddenly becoming resolute. You could see the words forming in his throat. You knew exactly what was coming.

“You really need to think about coming to work at my place.”

You jumped up from the couch. “I can’t have this conversation again.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re already in a shitty mood and me making the same argument I’ve made a thousand times before isn’t gonna help.”

You picked up the empty pizza box and trudged through to the kitchen, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t, unfortunately, because he decided it was smart to jump up and follow you like an irritating child.

“I just don’t get why you won’t take it. It’s better money, better hours and we’ll practically be-”

“Practically be working together yeah, I know, I’ve heard this speech before and the answer is the same. Thank you, but I’m happy where I am.”

“You wanna work in a fuckin’ library forever?”

You threw the box down on the counter and swivelled round to face him. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about my choices like that, like you know better.”

“Jesus, I’m just tryna’ look out for you.”

You shook your head, in disbelief that you’d been dragged into this argument once again. “Whatever.”

“Is that it?”

“I honestly don’t know what you want from me, Buck.”

“I want to know why you’d rather stay in a shitty job and a shitty apartment than have something better.”

“Because I don’t want to work for your fucking father, alright?”

His face dropped. You realised that your words had come out with much more venom than intended but, in all fairness, this had been building up for a while. You’d been with Bucky long enough to know what kind of business his family was in and you wanted no part of it. Your love for him had helped you move past your unease about what he did for a living, because you knew with utmost certainty that he was a good man at heart, but you couldn’t say the same for the rest of them. You wouldn’t allow yourself to get dragged in too. 

He clenched his jaw for a second before biting his cheeks, his head slowly beginning to nod, anger rising in his face. You just waited. Anyone else might have been scared of him in this moment, of how he seemed to be coiling up like a threatened snake ready to strike, but you weren’t. He’d never given you any reason to be.

His mouth fell open but quickly snapped closed before any distinguishable words could escape. With a loud huff, he stormed away, yanking his jacket from the couch as he passed and tearing your front door open. 

You saw him hesitate in the corridor for a second. He brushed his hand over his hair before suddenly lashing out, striking the side of his fist against the doorframe. The whole wall shuddered.

“Whoa, hey.” You hurried over and reached for his shoulder. “That looked like it hurt, are you-”

He grabbed you. 

Your eyes locked with his, you’d never seen him this angry before. In fact, you were so caught up in his warped expression that it actually took you a few seconds to feel his grip, to feel how tightly he was squeezing and how his fingertips dug into the space between the veins and tendons in your wrist. You frantically looked down at his white-knuckled hand and tried to yank yourself free, hoping that any amount of resistance would encourage him to release. He didn’t let go. You looked back up at him. 

No words were exchanged, but you saw in his face the moment he realised he was hurting you. The redness in his cheeks seemed to drain away in an instant, leaving behind a deathly paleness that highlighted how quickly the tension dissolved from the muscles in his jaw and forehead. 

He let go.

With panic thumping in your chest, you quickly stepped backwards and slammed the door. You sheltered behind it, frozen, as he softly knocked against the wood and apologised over and over again. 

You stayed there until you heard him walk away.

---

Part 2

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[sebsxphia]

miles miller x reader. | drabble.

￫ warnings: mentions of sex.

￫ authors notes: my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

after you and miles left the el royale, he didn’t feel comfortable staying in many motels after that. he couldn’t trust them after what he saw went on behind his walls, or what “management” made him do. yet still, he wanted to experience some form of comfort and hospitality that these places often advertised. he wanted to fuck you in a motel bed and experience that same sort of thrill that he saw time and time again, from the odd innocent couple that came to stay at the el royale. he scouted out motels and saved up enough money for months. he wanted it to be perfect and finally, he came across a secluded vacation home. it was a stand-alone property, but it still had the feel of an upscale motel. it even had a heart-shaped, pastel pink tiled jacuzzi.

anyone else may have thought it odd to embrace the similar environment of a place that caused you so much grief, but miles wanted this. in the early days of his career at the el royale, it wasn’t bad. there was stability and good hearted people who simply wanted a place to lay their head for the night. it was good and it was safe, and miles wanted to recreate this with you.

he now had you sprawled out underneath him, on the guest bed in your vacation home. he was softly uttering sinfully sweet sayings into your ear and he felt confident and at ease that no one was listening in, or recording his devotion of utter love for you.

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

» Part 2 [ PAIRING ] Dio Brando x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] The title is a Hamlet reference. I doubt any of this is historically accurate and I quite frankly do not give a fuck. Not beta read; we post like men. Oh and like don’t binge drink, it’s bad for you [ SYNOPSIS ] You and your toxic bestie, Dio Brando, get drunk and horny at your family’s country house after graduating from your respective colleges. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.8k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, alcohol, y/n wears men’s clothing (yes, you hate all that fancy, upper-class finery. yes, you’re not like other girls.), voyeurism, dubcon, mutual masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), snowballing, teasing.

You were draped on the couch, taking up as much space as possible. Your head rested uncomfortably on the ornate armrest. The intricate, oak carvings couldn’t have been more unforgiving as they pressed against you. You found yourself resenting your parents’ taste in gaudy furniture, an aspect of them you never had a strong opinion about before this very moment.

Granted it wasn’t often you found yourself existing under these circumstances. How could your perception remain the same? There you were, drunk on whiskey in your father’s library while he entertained guests on the other side of your modest country house. Your contentious yet closest friend was seated on the other end of the couch, his large hands haphazardly resting on your bare feet. His head was tossed back, eyes shut. A slight scowl adorned his face. You suspected he was fighting off the spins.

“Are you alright?” You asked, nudging him with your foot.

No response. Not even a groan.

“Dio.”

“No.”

“What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing,” he yawned. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“Come on.” You nudged him once more with your foot. “Entertain me. It’s the absolute least you could do.”

Silence. You sighed, saddened he refused to humor you. You gazed down at the floor and felt around for the bottle of whiskey the two of you had been nursing all night. The room was dimly lit, the chandelier above you barely casting off any light.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you knocked over the bottle.

It made a muffled thump as it collided with the plush carpet. You sighed again though this time it was tinged with relief. Sitting up, you opened the bottle and took a sip. The sound of your swallowing seemed to rouse the blonde. His eyes fluttered open and turned his gaze towards you.

“How pathetic,” he slurred. “Hand it over.”

A callous response but it still radiated warmth. It was part of your report, that tender snarkiness. For the most part Dio was a perfect gentleman which you felt was a little phony.

“You cannot expect me to do anything vaguely helpful after calling me pathetic.”

“I could have sworn you had a thicker skin,” he said as a slight smile crossed his face.

It would have been cruel to deny him so you handed over the bottle. His fingers brushed up against yours, the pads of them roughened by years of playing rugby. You thought about how they’d feel caressing your cheek. And you thought about how the weight of his palm would feel against your neck. Closing your eyes, you hoped to push the thoughts from your mind.

“My skin couldn’t be thinner,” you said exhaling.

Dio stifled a laugh before taking a sizable swig from the bottle. He wordlessly handed it back to you. You went to take another sip, but hesitated. Your skin was flushed and you felt like the temperature in the room had risen a few degrees.

“Where did all your conviction go? Didn’t you say something about getting so drunk you go blind?”

“I was coming off the high of graduating. I can't be held accountable.”

You rolled up the sleeves of your dress shirt and unfastened the first few buttons, incredibly thankful your parents suggested dinner be a more casual affair. You couldn’t imagine how miserable you’d be if you were cursed to wear a corset and bustle along with a florid gown.

“We should probably go back out there. Let them know we’re alive.”

You groaned. “But all those people...”

“There are seven people here including you, your parents, and me.”

“Do you want to go back out there?”

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed.

“I am torn though,” you murmured before gulping down some whiskey, savoring the woody burn it left on your tongue. “Watching all those people kiss my father’s ass would be hilarious to see but I—I’m… It also sounds terrible… Because… I’d have to talk to… people.”

Dio clapped.

“Bravo. Your articulation is unmatched.”

You kicked him.

“Asshole. Be nice. We’re in my house.”

“Last time I checked you didn’t own it.”

“Last time I checked…” You struggled to put together a retort. “You… Fuck off.”

“I’d rather fuck you.”

His frankness caught you off guard. You nearly choked on your own tongue.

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you,” you muttered, trying to cover up your growing embarrassment.

You always had a crush on Dio, but you buried it deep down inside yourself in hopes that it would dissipate. It wasn’t worth pursuing him. You told yourself a smattering of assumptions to aid it: he’s betrothed to someone else, he’s too popular for a slag like you, he probably snores, he’s not into women. You weren’t sure if any of those things were true, but you tried your damnedest to believe them wholeheartedly.

“I’ve drank too much to be a gentleman.”

Looking him in the face was a struggle. There was no way you could keep up your façade if you had to confront his copper-colored eyes.

“Don’t act like you’re not interested,” he teased.

You wanted to slap the devilish smirk off his face. He was right; you were very interested in having his cock throbbing your cunt. But the library wasn’t conspicuous. Hell, the doors didn’t even lock. Anyone could stumble upon the two of you.

You exhaled and decided to be frank.

“You’d have to be a fool not to notice I suppose.”

He inched closer to your end of the couch. You leaned away from him, hoping that keeping your distance would let you fight off your ardor.

“I’m not going to force myself on you. But you’d be a fool to deny me.”

“Good thing I don’t mind being a fool,” you said, laughing nervously.

“I, Dio, can’t accept that,” he slurred.

“Even if I wanted to… y—you’re too drunk. I’d be taking advantage of you.”

“You’re just as drunk as I am. Don’t be stupid.”

“Are you going to insult your way into my pants?”

“Only if it’s working,” he said before making grabby hands beckoning you to pass him the bottle.

You took a quick sip before handing it over. You watched in horror as he finished off the last of it. Sometimes you worried about his drinking, but your concern always felt hypocritical considering you were his drinking buddy. So many nights spent intoxicated, stumbling down empty streets, illuminated by moonlight.

“Is it working?” He asked expectantly.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“There’s no need to be so demure.”

His face was inches from yours. The aroma of whiskey radiated off him, the scent overwhelming your senses.

“You know you want me,” he purred.

“Even so my father’s down the hall. It’s too risky. I don’t even want to think about what my mother would do.”

“As if that doesn’t make it more intriguin—”

“Don’t tell me you want to get caught!” You exclaimed.

You quickly covered your mouth with your hands as if that would've muffled your previous comment. Your skin grew even warmer, the embarrassment becoming unbearable. You wanted to fuck him, to feel his rough hands all over your body. But you knew it would be a disaster if you were caught with Dio of all people. Your family found the blonde charming, but his status as an adopted son was a stain upon his existence. Sure, he had good manners and seamlessly adjusted to living in the lap of luxury, but he was still a low-class lout from the slums of London.

“Oh god no. That’d be awful, but you have to admit it’s sort of appealing. You did say you wanted to be entertained. I can’t think of a better way.”

“Dio…”

“Like I said, I won’t force myself on you. But I don’t plan on giving up so easily.”

“Th—that sounds rather ominous,” you laughed nervously.

He leaned in closer, the heat of his body intermingling with yours.

“You love it,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “You need me inside you.”

He glanced down and noticed he was unbuttoning his pants.

“I haven’t even agreed to anything yet!”

“Hm, I find it hard to believe you don’t at least want a peek.”

Damn. It. He was right. You desperately wanted to know what his cock looked like.

“If you’re that nervous I’m certain we can think of something else to do. I already have an idea.”

“And what is that exactly?” You asked.

“Let’s violate ourselves in front of each other.”

You cocked an eyebrow. Now that wasn’t a bad idea at all. You’d even argue it was a good one.

“That does sound thrilling. Though I may need more convincing.”

Dio leaned back against the arm rest. Once again he flashed a smirk only the devil himself could muster. You desperately tried to invoke some semblance of bravado to hide your simmering lack of composure. All bets were off however when he pulled out his cock. It was thick and long with a couple veins snaking around it, and it curved slightly upwards. It was gorgeous.

“Are you impressed?”

“No. I mean, very,” you choked out.

He licked his palm and began to stroke his raging erection. You were frozen in place, your eyes trained on the blonde masturbating in front of you. You were utterly transfixed, intoxicated by the playful gleam in his eyes.

“Are you waiting for a written invitation?” He questioned.

“What? N—no,” you stuttered as you undressed.

You dropped your trousers and undergarments on the floor in a heap. You felt so exposed compared to Dio. If your parents were to walk in he could easily force his cock back into his pants, but you were naked from the waist down which was much harder to disguise. You cursed yourself for chucking the throw pillows across the room when you first decided to hole up in the library.

“Quit pretending to be shy,” he hissed. “Spread your legs.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Any discomfort you previously felt melted away. You never realized how much power his words held over you. You repositioned yourself on the couch and spread your legs, letting him get a scenic view of your cunt. You cupped your hand around your mons and let your fingers drift down your clit. Your eyes were fixed on his cock, lust radiating from your gaze.

“You want me. I can tell,” he said, stating the obvious. “You couldn’t hide it if you tried. Pitiful.”

You hated how right he was. Having his cock buried in your cunt sounded spectacular. But you simply couldn’t, at least not tonight.

“I bet you’ve been waiting your whole life for something like this to happen.”

Once again, he was right.

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” you said as you spread apart your folds.

“I’ll do that once you stop being so obvious.”

“Liar. We both know you’ll always have a needlessly large ego.”

“Needlessly?”

Your legs tensed up, muscles constricting with pleasure.

“Ye—yeah,” you groaned. “You heard me.”

You slipped your fingers inside yourself, coating them with your fluids. Your cunt throbbed as you pulled them out and let them slide along your labia. You were so sensitive, almost certain your climax was on the horizon. You hated being so easy, so quick to come. But there was no way you’d be able to stave off the ecstasy enveloping your existence.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you?” Dio asked as he rubbed the tip of his cock with his thumb.

His cock was like a beacon, glistening with precum. You wanted to wrap your lips around it and let him fuck your mouth to his heart’s content. Your breathing gradually morphed into subdued panting. You were coming undone. Dio’s verbose declarations and moaning didn’t help. You didn’t expect him to be so vocal.

“You look as pathetic as ever,” he said, gripping the length of his cock.

“You don’t look much better.”

“Ha. Sure I don’t.” His tone dripped with sarcasm.

He was holding it together better than you, but still he was slowly breaking down. His strokes grew faster, his hips bucking against his fist ever so slightly. You knew you were a sight to behold, that he was loving every second of this.

You went to speak but you were soon overwhelmed with pleasure. It was as if your body was sinking into the couch as your orgasm overtook you. It started as a tingle in your toes and then proceeded to barrel through your body like a wild animal. You held your free hand over your mouth to temper your moans.

“Uncover your mouth. I want to hear you say my name.”

You wanted to kick him off the couch, but refrained and relented.

Dropping your hand, you cried out his name.

“Again,” he ordered, clenching his jaw.

You repeatedly moaned his name, letting it fall from your lips like a prayer. You only stopped once the tingling and warmth invading your body ceased. You turned your attention back towards him. He looked so satisfied. Him deeming your declarations enjoyable filled you with pride.

“Would you mind if I helped you?”

Dio’s eyes widened though he quickly regained composure. He unfurled his hand from his cock and grinned.

“By all means,” he replied, gesturing towards his cock.

You got closer to him and gripped his cock. You brought your face closer to it and rolled your tongue against the tip. You ran your tongue along the underside, relishing in the low groan it elicited from him. You savored the precum that coated his cock.

“Who’s pathetic now?” You said, flicking the tip with your pointed tongue.

“Stop talking and suck.”

You rolled your eyes and proceeded to service him. You breathed through your nose and gradually took the full length of his cock into your mouth. He placed his hand on the base of your skull and pushed your head down. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to relent.

“Shit,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

You were taken by surprise when he began to fuck your mouth. He latched onto a chunk of your hair, forced his cock in and out of your mouth. Your head vigorously bobbed up and down. You didn’t even gag. The pride you felt was insurmountable. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he moaned.

You lived to be praised by Dio, to have his light shine down upon you. His words enraptured you and left you entangled in his charm.

His body tensed up and his hips rolled against your face. It didn’t take long for your mouth to get filled with the piquant taste of his cum. It flooded your mouth and seeped out from the corners, dribbling down your chin. Once he finished he gently pushed you off of his cock. You held his cum in your mouth and leaned in, cupping his face in your hands. Pressing your lips against his, you forced your tongue into his mouth. You let the cum you held in your mouth flow into his. He let out a grunt that seemed to have an air of unsureness, but he ultimately accepted your gift. Resting his hands on your back he passed his cum back to you. You broke the kiss and swallowed. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand and cleared your throat.

Suddenly everything felt rather awkward.

“That was—”

“I’m sorry!” You blurted out. “I should have asked before I did that. To just spring it on you wasn’t fair.”

“You have no business interrupting me,” he chided. “Like I was saying, that was—”

“Terrible. Horrible. Ghastly even.”

His tone softened. “Hush. It was great.”

He rubbed the back of your head and pulled you, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re much more forgiving than I’d ever be.”

“I believe you earned it.” He ruffled your hair. “We ought to make ourselves decent. Show our faces. Let everyone know we’re still alive.”

“No, come on. Let’s make them think we perished,” you whined.

You were kidding obviously, but you had no desire to face your parents let alone everyone else. Dio merely shook his head and put his cock back in his pants. You stood up and put yourself back together. You stumbled a bit like a fawn taking its first steps. The blonde snickered at your gracelessness and slung his arm around you.

“What do we tell them if they ask what we’ve been up to?” You asked.

He appeared to be deep in thought.

“We should be honest. I don’t think I could bear lying to them all.”

He sounded so genuine. If you didn’t know him well, you’d be apt to believe him. But you knew he was more wolf than sheep. You elbowed him in the ribs.

“You’re the worst. I’m telling them you were puking in a vase and I had to console you.”

[toast-tales]

Cursed Cravings, Chapter 6: Lessons in Futility

In which Christopher gets a talking-to from Sam. Contains: ~1.5k words Chapter 1 | Read this story on A03!

Christopher had retired to his bedroom for the night after his attempt to feed Danny, preferring to sulk in isolation—not that such a thing had ever been hard to come by for him. There had been many times over the years where he might forget that he had someone else in his home at all, if it weren’t for the fact that this awful, grotesque form could smell them so well, even from across the entire house. Even when he tucked himself away upstairs, Danny’s scent was still entwined faintly in his senses.

Thanks to Danny’s friend, he’d done what he had to do this morning to keep the curse at bay, so the pain in his stomach wasn’t so bad yet. It was tolerable—just the gentlest of reminders that he was fucked, instead of the overwhelming ocean of misery it would eventually become. 

He had another week or two, at least, before he drowned again.

The days that immediately followed when he did it were always when his mind felt clearest. And this time, he didn’t have to worry about when he’d find the next person, or if he would at all, and how long he’d have to endure the pain of that infernal magic eating away at his insides and demanding, always demanding more. 

So, in the absence of that usual anxiety, he was left with the much more uncomfortable prospect of the longer term, and the grimness that was his future. Or what was left of it, anyways.

She certainly won’t be the one to end this. 

In the midst of his gloomy rumination, he thought he could hear something downstairs, though he assumed it was just Sam. If there was actually trouble, Sam would alert him. He didn’t particularly want to confront Danny again yet if it wasn’t necessary. There was a chance he could get her to tolerate his presence if he took things slowly—offered her nicer accommodations in return for a more cooperative attitude, perhaps.

Despite his windows being very firmly shut, a breeze blew through the room, raising the hair on his arms slightly. His eyes idly scanned about as he laid back on his bed. “Is there a problem, Sam?” 

“Oh, no, no problem at all. I just thought I’d check on you, let you know I put Danny in the guest room, see if you wanted any tea-”

Christopher sat up in bed immediately, halting Sam’s blatant attempt at skipping past some particularly crucial information. “You what?” 

“Well, you usually like chamomile before bed, so I-”

“No, no. Don’t you try this with me right now,” Christopher muttered darkly, his eyes scanning futilely around the room in search of where his manservant’s voice had come from. Sam’s voice had floated around the room without giving him a place for his eyes to land on, so he chose to glare at a suspiciously sheepish curtain. “You put her in the guest room without asking me first?” 

“You wouldn’t have said yes anyways,” the curtain protested. 

“What if she tries to escape?” Not to mention this throws my whole plan out the window if Sam’s already let her out of that cage. I can only offer so many incentives for her to not actively hate me.

“Dude, it’s still a giant room. She can’t even get off the bed without help. I’m gonna check on her all the time, and I don’t sleep. You know that.” 

Christopher growled, mostly annoyed that Sam was right. Even so, he shook some of the blankets off of him with an irritated jerk of his arm. “I’m going to go put her back.” 

The curtain inflated a little, almost as if it was smug. “No, you aren’t. I locked her door. Give it a rest for tonight, or I’ll lock yours too.” 

“Sam, you’re forgetting your place.” It was hard to muster up any sort of authority, however, when there wasn’t anyone to actually aim his withering gaze at. 

“I am the place, Chris.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Christopher sighed, too tired to argue, knowing it wasn’t an argument he would ever win. Not when his manservant was an incorporeal spirit that could slip a rug out from under him or lock him in his own room on a whim. He was just lucky that Sam was usually incredibly loyal to him. 

Sam didn’t respond, leaving Christopher with the conversational equivalent of a brick wall to argue with. He flopped back down onto the bed, defeated. 

The lamp on his nightstand turned itself on, the flame flickering weakly. “You know, you should try being nicer to Danny. I think there’s a real shot of breaking our curse with her. She did technically volunteer to stay here willingly. Plus, she’s actually pretty nice.” 

Christopher gave the lamp a weary, dead-eyed stare. “Did you see the way she talked to me? She wouldn’t even eat the food I made for her earlier. She threw it at me. I don’t have a chance.” He stared blankly at the ceiling, a decade-long weariness settling into his bones. “She didn’t scream, but she still thinks I’m a monster. It’s no different than all the others.” 

A pillow from beside him rose with a vengeance and smacked him square in the face. He sat up again, glaring at the offending, seemingly innocent pillow. “Sam, I swear to god, I will-”

“THAT was your idea of ‘nice’ earlier? Really?” 

Christopher sighed bitterly. “Well then, since you’ve got it all figured out, what would you suggest that we haven’t tried already, a million times before?” 

“Well, I’ve already gotten the first step out of the way for you, giving her a nicer place to stay than a cage. You’re welcome. Maybe you could try, y’know, talking to her? Ask her about her hobbies, her family, whatever. Just try and think about how you’d like to be treated if you were in her place.” 

“That never works anyways,” he said with a grimace. “You know it doesn’t.”

“You have to TRY.” 

Christopher rolled his eyes. “She won’t talk to me, Sam. You’re delusional if you think she’s going to be the one to break my curse.” 

“OUR curse, may I remind you. And may I also remind you that the deadline for that is-”

“I know,” Christopher growled, letting out a bit more irritation than he’d intended. His face fell slightly as he sighed. Time passed so agonizingly slowly and yet, the deadline that Sybil had given him was approaching so soon. A month. That’s all they had left, before he was doomed to be a fucking giant forever. It already seemed like forever, anyways. Ten years of this? He could hardly remember being human, eating real food, laughing with friends and hosting parties—a time before he had to hide a set of grotesque horns with his hair every morning. It was like the distant dreams of a different person entirely, tinged with a hazy light but not entirely real. 

He could almost feel Sam draw back, their voice quieter now as the flame of the lamp died down slightly as well. “Pardon me for saying so, but it doesn’t even feel like you’ve been…trying, anymore. We have this perfect opportunity waltz up to our door right before we reach the deadline, and you’re just going to…give up?” 

“What’s the point?” Christopher whispered. He should have been angrier at Sam for saying something so brazen, but he couldn’t find the words to argue with them. He wasn’t the only one cursed, anyways—Sam had also paid the price for Christopher’s mistake, and had done nothing to deserve it but remain by his side when everyone else had fled. But at least Sam didn’t have to deal with the awful burden he did—and when they were doomed to live with this condition for the rest of their lives, at least Sam would be free of the pain he would have to endure. 

“She might be the last one, you know. Before the deadline. We might not get another chance.” 

Christopher’s lips tightened into a fine line. He said nothing.

“...just try, tomorrow. She might surprise you, you know.”

Christopher felt the room get a little emptier as Sam’s presence left, extinguishing the flame on their way out, and he was left with nothing but darkness and his thoughts. There’s no point. She’s not going to give me permission to eat her, especially when I can’t even MENTION the curse itself. That goddamn witch only gave me that stipulation to make a mockery of me. She just wanted to see me suffer for the rest of my life.

He had a week or two, at most, before he would get hungry enough to be forced to eat Danny. It was, admittedly, more time than he usually had—most humans, like the man from yesterday, only wandered by when he’d long since passed the point of desperation. He still didn’t think there was a chance, even if he managed to improve his relations with her in such a short timespan. Why would he go through the effort of being nice and gaining her trust when he’d just have to eat her anyways? It would only make it harder for him when he reached the end of the limit on his hunger. 

It was better that she hated him. Hatred made him feel less guilty about what he’d have to do eventually. 

It had always been harder when they thought that they could trust him, only to have that trust shattered when they were betrayed by the monster in the end. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Next chapter ->

How will the next day go, I wonder? I guess we'll have to see in Chapter 7, Quest for Answers! Thank you all for reading!

I would have posted earlier, but there was a total eclipse today. I was a bit preoccupied!

Thank you, as always, for reading!

[bluejay-writes]

MysticTober 2024 - Day 15: Bad End: Waiting.

Rating: T (Violence) Prompt: Empty/Hurt WordCount: 2225 Summary: Saeran is saved. They've made it to the party at long last. But they didn't account for every variable, and it's going to cost them. Author's Notes: MC in this fic is named Abigail, nickname Cal, and she's the feature MC of a new full-run messenger fic I have in the works with a friend, @rogue-knifehead. If you're interested in more shenanigans with Cal, including "how did we get here" and "but what's the good ending like", stay tuned.

Saeran looked around the party venue, somewhat uncomfortable as he stood near the bar with Vanderwood. He knew what the plan was. He knew what was coming, and still, he felt like he was going to be sick.

Vanderwood quietly put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at the former agent.

“We’ve planned for this. You have to trust them to do their part, or what’s the point?”  Vanderwood was right, of course, but what Saeran was most afraid of were the parts of the savior’s plan… no, of Rika’s plan that he didn’t know about, that they couldn’t plan around. He wanted to be sure they’d be fine, but some of the pessimism that he’d steeled himself with before he left Magenta was soaking back in, despite his best efforts.  If something happened to Cal, or to Saeyoung, or heaven forbid any of these other idiots… he would never forgive himself.

Cal was busy greeting the rest of the guests as they entered, and Saeran was honestly happy to stay out of the way, out of the spotlight. Things were already tense, and he didn’t particularly want to draw the attention of the Believers he knew would be in the crowd.  They were unlikely to clock him at first glance - he was wearing a white suit, and Unknown.. Ray… they wouldn’t have been caught dead in white before they left.  White was the Savior’s Color.  But when Saeyoung had offered it to him, he knew. It was his best chance of blending in.  Sure, sure, it had pink lapels, which made the pink tips of his hair stand out more, but was that really a bad thing?  Zen had said he looked a bit like a KPop star trying to dress down, and he thought that seemed… odd, but then he knew nothing at all about music these days. Or any days, if he was being honest.

Everything he did know about Mint Eye’s infiltration plans they had a counter for. Jaehee had completely rebuilt the presentation from absolute scratch overnight, even including the graphics they’d been planning on using, given how much Saeran knew about the embedded subliminals, it was the safest choice.  Saeyoung had made new firewall algorithms to keep out hacking attempts.  Jumin had doubled the number of bodyguards, adding an equal number of plain-clothes operatives amongst the partygoers as his usual black-tie squad obviously keeping things orderly.  Vanderwood was, while a guest themselves, his very own bodyguard.  No one had even had to ask them, they appointed themselves.  It was probably because Cal was worried, but Saeran wasn’t going to turn down the friendly gesture.  The agent was part of his life at this point, no matter what else happened.

The party had gotten well underway, and nothing untoward had happened.  Everyone seemed to be relaxing, but Saeran was more and more on edge.  Something was wrong, and he knew something was wrong.  He’d moved over to stand with Cal, Vanderwood at his side as usual. He looked up, and saw something that broke the thin layer of ice holding back his panic.  Cal was holding the teal and pink sport bottle he always saw her with on the cameras, about to take a long drink of water. Only… she’d left that bottle at the apartment. 

“Cal!” He called to her, his voice choked with panic, reaching out towards her bottle.  She stopped suddenly, just as his hand reached hers, and the motion sloshed the water out of the bottle to splash at his feet. His panic spiked into abject terror as the liquid soaking into the cuffs of his tuxedo pants wasn’t white but distinctly…. mint green.  The smell of it wafted up to greet him and he clapped a hand over his mouth, his jaw locked tight against his body’s instinctive response to purge.

Cal looked at Saeran and knew she needed to get him out of there and to a bathroom where he could vomit in peace but also where she could try to rinse the teal liquid out of his cuffs.  The smell was wretched, sickly-sweet but also acrid in a way that made her hair stand on end. She almost drank that the way she drank water. She’d have had half of the bottle down her throat before she knew she had a problem.  A shiver ran down her spine, and she knew that later she was going to fall apart, but right now Saeran was in no way capable of handling the situation, and it was his turn to be not-okay. She’d worry about her own mental situation later. As usual.

“Can you take him to the bathroom? I’ll catch up.” Cal said to Vanderwood, who nodded, and started leading Saeran out of the banquet hall toward the restrooms.

She capped the bottle, turned, and caught Zen’s eye.  She’d only met the actor in person today, but he was just as insufferably narcissistic and affectionate as he had been in the messenger. Surprisingly uptight due to the internalized misogyny, but just as good a friend in person as in text. Way taller than she expected, and definitely as hot as advertised…. oh. Her focus was shot.  Apparently her look gave something away, because he came over immediately, sensing the problem, and she handed him the bottle. 

“Take this to Jaehee. Do not open it. Do not drink it. Tell her it’s evidence, and that Rika is or has been here.”  Zen nodded, and she almost couldn’t tell that he’d been shocked by what she’d said, but the slight widening of his eyes gave him away.  He turned and walked off, and Cal took a breath before turning to head out to catch up with Vanderwood and Saeran.  Sure, Vanderwood was perfectly capable of taking care of Saeran and protecting him, but the thought of leaving Saeran during all of this made her intensely uncomfortable.

Cal hurried down the hallway, grateful in that moment that she’d chosen to wear flats.  She was short enough that heels wouldn’t have made a difference in height for her the way it did for Jaehee, but the flats definitely let her move faster and more silently. She paused to take a breath when she reached the bathroom.  She knew they’d chosen the family bathroom so Saeran could have some privacy, which would also be much less awkward than her sitting in the men’s room with him. She was so caught up in her thoughts, she missed the telltale sound of heeled footsteps.

“Looks like they got a little careless, and left their new party planner all alone.” A saccharine-sweet voice said behind her, and Cal swiveled to see a blonde woman, taller than Cal but still short, with piercing green eyes. This must be Rika. She thought, considering the photos she’d seen, the woman looked sharper somehow.

“Is there something I can do for you ma’am, or someone I can find? I’m just on my way to the restroom, but—” It’d be easier to get out of this if she didn’t try to accuse Rika of anything right off the bat….. despite the sheer number of things the woman had done that were horrible, not to mention illegal.  She had to convince Rika to go back to the party, where all of the guards were, where people who knew what she looked like would spot her, where everyone would be safer.

“Oh, I’m here looking for you in particular.” Rika said, taking a step closer. “I’m surprised you managed to notice I was here before you drank your water.  This would be so much easier for you if you were cleansed, Abigail.”

Cal shivered. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her given name, but hearing it from Rika just made her incredibly uncomfortable. “Ma’am, I think you should go back to the party.” Cal said, hoping to get her to leave the area Saeran was in. “I can’t really help you with anything out here, but if you look for anyone with an RFA lanyard, I’m sure they can help you out until I return.”

“Hmm. So formal.” She stepped closer again, almost toe-to-toe with Cal, who refused to step back. She had to keep this woman from getting to Saeran or finding out where he was, no matter what.  He was safe with Vanderwood, so long as Rika couldn’t get back in his head. “That scent…”  her eyes flared hot. “You.  It’s You. You Did This.”

Cal flinched. She wanted to stand strong in the face of the suddenly angry woman in her personal space, but the fire of that anger burned so hot and fast that it overwhelmed her.

“You stole Ray from me.” Rika continued, her voice shifting manic, with a sharp laughter to it. “So, who else will you take from me? Will you take all of my believers one by one?  Will you hold all of the RFA in your tiny hands so that none of them are free to come to Paradise?”

Cal took a breath. “I have so many things I could say to you, Rika.”  She hated how airy her voice was right now, but this woman was legitimately frightening, and at this point she was just trying to buy time so that someone would come check on her.

“Lies, of course.  Would they be the same lies you told my Ray?”  Something in her tone was terrifying. All of the light had gone out of her eyes, and Cal felt herself starting to tremble from the adrenaline.

“Alright, I think we should both calm down.” Cal said, holding her palms out and taking a step back from Rika. “We’re getting agitated, and that never helped anyone.”

“Ray promised me that he would stay with me. That he would help me reach the pinnacle of our paradise together. Why would he break his promise?” 

Was she not listening to anything I just said?

“You stole Ray, and now V has also gone missing.  I created the Mint Eye and saved people… What is all that ever for, without them? You’re just the same… You’re just like those people who thrust me into darkness! I trusted them. Trusted… Believed in…  And now my light is gone. My sun. My moon.  I truly loved them, and you took them from me.  They will only come back to me when you’re gone.”

Rika lunged forward and grabbed at Cal’s collar, pulling her forward even as she sank a knife into her stomach, its blade hot and sharp.

Cal sucked in a breath through her teeth, the pain robbing her even of the voice to scream.

“I’ll finish this scene for the both of us.” Rika said darkly, plunging the knife into Cal repeatedly before pushing her away, allowing her to slump to the floor, boneless.

Saeran heard what could only be Rika’s voice raised in anger, and struggled his way out of the panic that gripped him simply at hearing her.  If Rika was here, if she was somewhere that he could hear from the bathroom, then… Cal was in danger.

“Vanderwood… Cal…”  He rasped out through the panic, and Vanderwood nodded, leaving the restroom.  

Saeran scrambled to his feet to follow the agent, making it out of the door just in time to see Cal slump to the ground.  The Savior was laughing and running the opposite direction, and Vanderwood looked at him and then at Cal, and at her attacker. The shock at seeing Cal covered in blood broke through the panic, and Saeran nodded at Vanderwood.

“Go get her, I’ve got Cal.”  He ripped his phone out of his pocket and dialed Jumin, calling for help, even as he sunk to his knees next to Cal, his suit jacket pressed against her wounds to try and keep as much blood in her body as he could.

The party had been shut down at that point, everyone sent home, and an official investigation into Cal’s attack and the cult began.  They couldn’t sit back and let it continue in quiet, not now that someone had been grievously injured by its leader.  Saeran told them everything he could, no longer afraid for his life while Cal’s hung in the balance.  

Surgery to repair her injuries took hours. Long hours under the knife, and so so much blood.  Even after the doctors proclaimed her stable, she didn’t wake.  They said this could happen, with her body under so much stress, she’d slipped into a comatose state.  She could wake up anytime… or never.

“Saeran, you need to get some rest. Go home, shower, rest.  Take a few days for  yourself. I swear to you that we will call the instant something changes.” Jaehee was worried, of course, about him. And for Cal.

He looked up from his vigil next to Cal’s bed and shook his head. “She could wake up.  I need to be here when she wakes up. She needs to know that I’m fine. That everything is going to be alright.”

Jaehee sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to win this argument. They’d had it countless times in the past three weeks.  She’d saved him, all of him, so many times.  Waiting for her was the least he could do.

Wake up, Cal, I need you. We need you.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

David Smith at The Guardian:

The party was buzzing, the confidence was surging and Kenneth Stewart was riding the Trump train. “He’s masculine,” explained Stewart, an African American man from Chicago. “He brings a lot of energy. He talks about things that we can understand. He talks about building. He talks about the auto industry. He talks about a lot of stuff that people in the Rust belt care about.” Stewart was a guest at Donald Trump’s election watch event in West Palm Beach, Florida, on Tuesday night and celebrated his victory over Democratic vice-president Kamala Harris. The result said much about gender, race and the new media landscape. It also represented a populist backlash against America’s perceived elites. In the aftermath of the coronavirus pandemic, millions felt a distrust of authorities that ordered them to wear masks, close schools and go into lockdown. They felt frustrated by post-pandemic inflation that pushed up the prices of groceries and petrol. They felt they would never be able to buy a house, that the American dream was slipping away. They were looking for someone to blame – and for a champion who could fix it.

They believed they’d found him in Trump and, despite his two impeachments and 34 criminal convictions, returned him to power. He made gains among nearly every demographic group. In part, he was riding a wave of anti-incumbency fervour that has swept through major democracies, battering the left and the right in the aftershocks of the pandemic.

That will provide little comfort to Democrats, who raised a billion dollars yet lost the national popular vote. They have come to be seen as the party of the highly educated who earn more than $100,000 a year and live in big cities such as New York and Washington. They are perceived as out of tune with people who work with their hands and shower after work instead of before. Stewart said on Tuesday night: “The other side, they’re only talking about feelings. They’re talking about Trump’s bad. But come to me with tangibles. A lot of Black men just want tangibles. We just want jobs. We want to see what our fathers had. We want to see what our grandfathers had, especially in the Rust belt.”

America is a nation of cavernous inequality with few safety nets. The last populist convulsion came 15 years ago after the Great Recession. On the left, it spawned Occupy Wall Street, a response to economic inequality, corporate greed and the influence of money in politics. On the right, it gave rise to the Tea Party, fuelled by rage against elites, distrust in government and racial hostility toward President Barack Obama. The Democratic and Republican parties each absorbed these movements into their political DNA. They manifested in the 2016 presidential election when the harmful effects of globalisation, trade and de-industrialisation took centre stage. Leftwing senator Bernie Sanders drew huge crowds in the Democratic primary but lost, while non-politician Trump drew huge crowds in the Republican primary and won.

The pandemic, and subsequent inflation, provided another trigger moment. Trump, a Manhattan billionaire, tapped into anti-establishment sentiment and bad economic vibes to style himself as an unlikely hero of the working class. He promised sweeping tariffs on foreign goods and the protection of manufacturing jobs inside the US. The pitch was infused with race-baiting, scapegoating and xenophobia: Trump claimed that undocumented immigrants were draining resources, causing crime and destroying communities. His demagoguery extended to an entirely fictitious claim that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, were eating pet cats and dogs. The former president painted Democrats as an elite out of touch with the affordability and cost-of-living crises facing those further down the economic ladder. Harris proposed a federal ban on price-gouging but it was too little too late. She did not help her cause during their debate by citing investment bank Goldman Sachs’ support for her financial plans as a reason to vote for her.

Claire McCaskill, a former Democratic senator for Missouri, told MSNBC that Trump “knew our country better than we did”. She recalled: “I grew up in a party where we were for the underdog. We were for the little guy. We are now the elite. We are no longer seen as the party for the little guy. “He was seen as the party for the little guy. He was seen as the ultimate disrupter and yes, the edges were very rough but in everyone’s own minds they sanded them down to the point of acceptability and, as it turns out, there’s a lot of craving in America for fear and anger – driven by lies.” America’s political class divide has been growing for years. In the 2016 election, Trump won 2,584 counties nationwide while Hillary Clinton carried only 472. But Clinton’s counties accounted for nearly two-thirds of America’s economic output, the Brookings Institution thinktank found.

The split finds expression in the way people dress, the TV shows they watch and the ways they interact (or don’t). In 2016, Trump won 76% of counties that contained a Cracker Barrel, a restaurant offering southern homestyle cooking on interstate highways, and just 22% of counties with Whole Foods, an organic national supermarket chain. The Cook Report noted the 54% gap compared with a 19% difference in the 1992 election. On the eve of the 2024 election, Trump held a campaign rally in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where some supporters wore miners’ helmets. Among the speakers was rightwing media personality Megyn Kelly, who told the crowd that Trump will look out for “our forgotten boys and our forgotten men, guys like you, guys like these guys who’ve got the calluses on their hands, who work for a living, the beards and the tats, maybe have a beer after work, and don’t want to be judged by people like Oprah and Beyoncé, who will never have to face the consequences of her disastrous economic policies. These guys will. He gets it. President Trump gets it. He will not look at our boys like they are second-class citizens.”

An exit poll on Tuesday showed Trump winning voters whose household incomes are between $30,000 and $100,000. His sense of grievance struck a chord with people who feel left behind and sneered at as “deplorables” or “garbage” by Democratic leaders, journalists and Hollywood celebrities. Joe Walsh, a former Republican representative and Tea Party activist who campaigned for Harris, said by phone: “The perception is that these people are elites. That’s what these folks have told me for the last five years. Many of them acknowledge Trump’s an asshole but they say: ‘Look, the Democrats are looking down on me.’ I heard that all the time.”

How did Don The Con win? He rode on backlash to elitism (even though Trump is an elitist himself).

[matchamilkislover]

In The Darkest Corners, 9.

pairing: vi x fem!oc (reader with a name)

warnings: mature themes, just an overall minors beware, violence, just general arcane-ness.

word count: 1,835

synopsis: more good stuff! this couldn’t mean anything bad, right guys? guys?

author’s note: hehe :)

don’t forget to read the other parts first!!

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Time had passed too quickly for Olive and Caitlyn, and soon Olive forced herself to retire to the guest room so that they could both get some sleep. When she opened the door, Olive expected to see Vi sleeping on the bed or doing something similar. But the room was empty. Her heart sped up instinctively with anxiety.

“Vi?” she called out timidly. The door to the en-suite bathroom suddenly opened.

“Need something, cupcake?” Now leaning on the door frame was a clearly just-showered Vi, wearing only a white towel wrapped tightly around her. Her wet hair was a mess against her head. Olive wasn’t sure where to look. She cleared her throat nervously, catching herself staring and quickly averting her eyes to look around the room. Vi smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

“No, I, uh…I just um, I just…you weren’t in the room, so I…” Olive trailed off awkwardly, internally cursing herself.

“Mmm. I see,” Vi said, her eyes trained on Olive. “Well, the bathroom is all yours now. The hot water feels great,” she continued slyly as she walked past Olive into the open room. Olive could feel her face burning with an intense blush.

“Sounds, uhhhh…sounds great,” she replied, failing to have a casual tone. Without another word, she shot into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Cringing at herself, she held her head in her hands and slid down to the floor against the door. Fuck.

When she could breathe again, Olive stood and forced to give herself a long shower, even though she felt bone-tired. She hadn’t realized how much she needed it until she let herself stand, finally clean, under the hot water and just think. She stayed there until the water started to feel too hot, at which point she gently turned it off and finally got out. She took her time drying her body and her hair, savoring the fluffy towels and clean mirrors.

When Olive finally came out of the bathroom, she saw Vi already laying on the bed, seemingly already passed out. Something about the sight made her smile. As quietly as she could, Olive crept over to the bed and laid down on the opposite side, facing Vi. She looked so peaceful — something Olive never really saw. Without thinking, she gently reached her hand out to stroke it against Vi’s face. To her shock, Vi’s eyes gently opened. Olive gasped quietly and went to pull her hand away, but Vi had already grasped it in her own hand. Without a word, the magenta haired girl closed her eyes again, still holding Olive’s hand in her own. Olive drifted off to sleep only moments later.

—

When Olive awoke, the first thing she noticed was how warm and comfortable she was. Moments later, she realized that was because she was gently wrapped in Vi’s arms, who held her from behind and was clearly still asleep. Olive slowly began trying to get up so that she could find Caitlyn, but when she was halfway up, Vi’s grip suddenly tightened and she pulled Olive back forcefully. Her muscular arms wrapped tighter around Olive so it was harder for her to get up again.

“Vi, I have to-“

“Shhh, I’m still sleeping,” Vi murmured, interrupting her before she could give an excuse. Well, Olive couldn’t argue with that — or at least she didn’t want to. She let herself sink into Vi’s body, and there they lay until they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Ol? Are you awake yet?” Caitlyn called. Olive sighed, knowing she needed to get up and deal with life when she wished she could just forget about it all and lay there with Vi forever.

“I’ll be up in a minute!” Olive called back. Wordlessly, Vi let her go and the two of them began to get up. They needed to be ready.

The three of them ate breakfast together in Caitlyn’s room, with her mainly watching Olive and Vi eat while she picked at her own food. The two of them seemed absolutely famished, Vi even more so than Olive. But it was Olive’s hunger that made Caitlyn truly sad. She needed to change the subject.

“So, the next council meeting is tomorrow. Before then, you two will need to come up with a strategy to convince them about — what was his name? — Silco. I expect you’ll need my help seeing as my mother is a council member.”

Olive nodded and swallowed her large mouthful of food before speaking. “You’re right. We won’t get anywhere without a plan, or your help. But first…there’s somewhere I need to go. Just for some closure,” Olive said, looking at Caitlyn like she was begging that she wouldn’t make her explain any further. Not right now. Thankfully, the latter nodded with silent understanding.

“Whatever you need.”

As soon as they had stepped beyond the Kiramman’s gate, Vi slowed to a stop and leant against a post. “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is it a surprise?” She smirked, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Olive looked down nervously. “Unfortunately, it’s nothing pleasant.” She sighed and looked up, right into Vi’s eyes. “We’re going home. To my home.” Vi instantly dropped her persona. Her demeanor softened.

“Oh.” Her face looked heartbroken and conflicted, like she wasn’t sure what to do. “If you want to go alone, I can-“

“No. I want you to come with me. Please.” Olive’s eyes were pleading — she couldn’t do it alone. Vi nodded. Olive took a breath and continued. “Luckily, we don’t have far to go. I lived right next door.”

As they walked up to the gate that preceded Olive’s once-home, it became clear that the neighborhood had been dedicated enough to their own looks to keep the house looking normal from the outside. But from what Cait had told her, nobody had actually bought the house or moved it. Not that anyone would want to, after what happened. Vi grabbed Olive’s hand in silent understanding and squeezed it. Olive looked at her, and Vi gave a small smile of encouragement. With a deep breath, Olive raised her free hand and pushed open the familiar gate. Her home was smaller and less grand than the Kiramman’s, but it still held the stature and upper-class expectations of Piltover. The front door opened easily in Olive’s hand, and when she saw what had become of her home for the first time, she had to fight the urge to simply crumple to the ground and sob. All that came out was a harrowed gasp.

“Ol, if it’s too much, we can always leave,” Vi soothed, but Olive shook her head.

“No. I need to know. I need to see,” she said, swallowing back the emotion that threatened to overcome her. She took her time taking everything in, from the wrecked overturned furniture to the decorations and memorabilia smashed on the floor. Traveling up the stairs, she could still see clearly the marks left by enforcers’ boots as they had trampled through her home. She peered down the hall, and noticed something strange. The self portraits that her parents had forced her to sit for each year of her life lay untouched. They must have been deemed unimportant from their high, secured place on the wall. Vi seemed entranced as she gazed at them.

“These are…all you. Your entire life, right here,” she murmured, transfixed. The more she looked at them, the more Vi noticed one specific detail. Each year, Olive’s hair grew longer, sometimes unrestrained, sometimes confined in a braid or long ponytail. In what was clearly the most recent portrait, her hair was a loose, thick wave that almost floated around her being. Vi stared at this for a few moments, then turned and gazed at Olive’s now cropped hair. It barely reached past her chin, and a lot of the time it was mostly tied up or pulled back. Vi contemplated this, wondering why she had left this behind with her own life. Olive noticed this and cleared her throat.

“I do miss it, sometimes. The hair. Living the kind of life where I can maintain something like that. But after I left, I…it was too much. Instead of being something I could appreciate, it was always in the way, always dirty or hard to manage. It was the last thing I had to leave behind.” Olive had to force herself to turn away from her portrait. From the smiling girl that sat straight and clean. “It’s just hair, anyways,” she said, turning away and heading towards her bedroom. Her final destination. Vi wanted to stop her, to say something, but she wasn’t sure what to say. What to do. Silently, she followed Olive.

Surprisingly, Olive’s room was just as she left it. Destroyed, of course, but at least it was her own doing. Her clothes haphazardly pulled out of her wardrobe and thrown wherever if she couldn’t bring it. Other belongings searched through and abandoned before she could have second thoughts. Her bed, dusty and messed about from her urgent bolting from her sleep. But there was one thing actually untouched. Her piano. Olive beelined for the grand instrument, sliding onto the bench like she always had. Her fingers ghosted over the keys, pressing random ones and watching the fingerprints she left in the dust. She could feel Vi standing adjacent to her, watching, but her focus stayed on the piano. Even her favorite piece was still open on the music stand.

“Through everything, this was something my mother and I could always have. Together,” she said, talking to Vi without turning. “One of us would play, and the other would sing. Sometimes we would do both.” A smile danced across her face as memories played in her mind. With a stretch of her fingers, Olive allowed muscle memory to kick in — and she began to play. The piano was slightly out of tune from being neglected for an entire year, but she didn’t care. She let herself be lost in the music, forgetting her own trials and misery. The mistakes she had made and the mystery she had yet to solve. As the song came to an end, her finger lingered on the last key, letting it fade out as long as it could. Olive stood slowly and turned back towards Vi, but as soon as her hands left the keys she dissolved into wracking sobs, crumpling to the ground like a piece of paper. Her hand reached out to the piano to hold herself instinctively, but all that resulted was a slamming of a discordant mash of keys. Vi moved quickly and caught her as she fell before she was able to hit the cold ground. Olive sank into her arms as her sobs continued, unrelenting. She didn’t feel the way Vi’s jaw clenched, or how she resisted her hands tightening to enraged fists behind Olive’s back.

[2plottwist]

The Dragon's Heir - Chapter Three

Pairing: Astarion x Female!OC(Edrys)

Characters: The Albrecht Family

Warnings: Death, injury

Setting: Baldur's Gate, right before the events of BG3

Author: Emma:)

Word Count: 3.0k (woah Nelly!)

Series Masterlist

That evening, as she was being dressed by her maids, Edrys was lucky to have a lovely view of the moon from the gardens outside of her room. It had hung low in the city, casting silvery light across the well-kept flora.

The air always crackled with anticipation when Edrys and her family prepared to meet with visitors. Her mother most likely spent the day making sure everything was in pristine shape, including her husband. 

Travelers were constantly in and out of their main parlor for business, and it was the same song and dance every time Edrys was invited to join in. Curtsy when greeting them, smile constantly, and laugh when prompted to. The routine was almost as part of her as her magic was. 

Her mother and two brothers gathered around the polished oak table that took up the majority of the parlor as her father waited by the manor’s doors. A fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the richly decorated walls. Alaric and Aldous stood near the windows, postures relaxed but eyes sharp as they scanned the darkening grounds outside. 

The travelers visiting tonight had requested an audience with their family, though the exact nature of the meeting was rather vague. Lady Albrecht, ever the picture of elegance, sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression the same serenity it always was. But Edrys, who knew her mother well, could sense the undercurrent of unease in the way she held herself, the slight tension in her shoulders. 

“This seems an unusual hour for a meeting, doesn’t it?” Aldous murmured, breaking the silence. His voice was low, but the concern in it was unmistakable.

“It is,” Lady Albrecht replied calmly, though her gaze remained fixed on the fire. “But sometimes business can’t wait until daylight.”

Aldous flicked his gaze to Edrys. “What do we know about these guests?” he asked her. “I don’t like surprises, and this feels like a bad one.”

Edrys shook her head. “Not much. Father didn’t mention anything specific, only that they were important.”

“We’ll hear what they have to say, and then we’ll decide how to proceed,” her mother said.

Edrys glanced at Alaric, who nodded in agreement. “Worry not, brother. We’ll be careful,” he added, his hand resting casually on the hilt of the sword at his side. “If anything seems amiss, we’ll act.”

A distant sound of hooves on cobblestone drew their attention, and Alaric moved to the window, peering into the night. “They’re here,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Edrys straightened, the air in the room thickening. Moments later, she could hear her father’s warm voice welcoming the visitors. As the voices drew nearer, the heavy wooden doors of the parlor creaked open, and a butler entered, bowing slightly as he announced their guests. 

“Lady Albrecht, Nightwarden Minthara Baenre, accompanied by Rhog The Proud and Bhomzaz The Barren.”

Edrys watched as three figures entered the room, their presence immediately unsettling. They were cloaked in dark, travel-worn garments, the hoods pulled low over their faces, obscuring the majority of their features. The one she assumed to be Minthara removed her hood, revealing a white-haired drow. 

“Albrecht family, thank you for receiving us,” Minthara said, her voice raspy and low. 

“Welcome, Nightwarden Minthara,” Edrys’ mother greeted them, her voice composed. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

The figures moved forward silently, their armored boots clanging against the polished floor. As they drew closer, Edrys felt a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, a deep instinct warning her that something was wrong. Her brothers, too, were on edge- she could see Aldous’ hand tightening around the arm of his chair and Alaric’s gaze narrowing in suspicion. 

The two figures flanking Minthara sat after she did but did not remove their hoods, which struck Edrys as odd. In her family’s home, such behavior was rude. But this took on a more unsettling tone. Who were these people who sought to hide their identities so blatantly?

Edrys’ father found his seat at the head of the table and inclined his head, though Edrys could tell he was wary. “Now that we are settled, may I ask the nature of your visit?”

“We come with an offer, Lord Albrecht. One that your family might find… advantageous,” Minthara answered Edrys’ father but never took her eyes off her. “But first, we must discuss matters of importance. Matters that are best kept private between us and Lady Edrys.”

Edrys’ eyes widened with shock. “Me?” she questioned, glancing from the drow to her father, who looked equally as surprised. Alaric pushed his chair back and stood, eager to protect her. “Anything you wish to discuss with our sister, you can discuss with us present.”

Minthara turned slightly, as if acknowledging Alaric’s presence for the first time. “You misunderstand,” she said, her tone smooth but lacking any warmth. “We have no intention of dividing your family. On the contrary, we seek to… strengthen it.”

Clearly there was a hidden threat in the nightwarden’s words, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. Her mother’s eyes flickered with recognition of the same unease, though her face remained impassive. 

“Strengthen it.. How?” Lady Albrecht asked.

Minthara didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she motioned for one of the cloaked figures to reach inside their cloak. They pulled out a small, ornate box, made of dark wood intricately carved with symbols that seemed to shift and write in the flickering candlelight. They held it out to Lady Albrecht with a green hand. “This is intended to be a gift from our Master to Lady Edrys, but… perhaps this will help you understand.”

Edrys furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Her mother hesitated before accepting the box, her fingers brushing against the cold metal as she opened it, the lid creaking. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark velvet, was a small, silver amulet, the center of which was a polished, black stone that seemed to absorb the light around it. The moment she laid eyes on it, Edrys got the dizzying feeling that she had seen it before. Then, it clicked.

“My trances,” she whispered, the realization slipping from her lips before she could stop it. Minthara looked at her with a knowing smile. 

Edrys shook her head. “I’ve seen this. This ties to my trances.” She looked at her mother, panicked. “Mother, they’ve come to take me with them!”

Minthara’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she stepped closer, her presence looming over Edrys and her family. “You are correct, child. The Absolute has called for you and demands your return. You belong to us, Edrys Albrecht, and it is time for you to fulfill your true purpose.”

Lady Albrecht’s hand tightened around the box, her eyes narrowing in defiance. “She belongs to no one but this family. Whatever claim you think you have over her is a lie.”

Minthara’s smile faded, her expression hardening. “You are mistaken, Lady Albrecht. Your daughter’s fate is sealed, and there is nothing you can do to change it.”

Edrys felt a surge of panic rising in her chest. She couldn’t let them take her, couldn’t let them control her like they had in the past life she was only just beginning to remember. “I won’t go with you!” she declared, stepping back as her magic flared to life, crackling in the air around her. “I am not a pawn of the Absolute, and I refuse to be your prisoner!”

The room seemed to darken, the shadows growing longer as the tension reached a breaking point. Alaric and Aldous were at their sister’s side in an instant, their weapons drawn, ready to defend her with their lives. Lady Albrecht’s expression hardened into one of steely resolve, her own magic simmering beneath the surface as she prepared to protect her daughter.

Minthara’s eyes narrowed, and with a swift motion, she signaled to the two figures behind her. “So be it,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “If you will not come willingly, then we will take you by force.”

The two cloaked figures lunged forward, and the room erupted into chaos.

Alaric moved first, his sword clashing with the blade of the closest attacker. Sparks flew as the two men exchanged blows, their movements a blur of steel and fury. Aldous spun toward the other figure, his dagger flashing as he parried a strike aimed at Edrys.

The room was filled with the sounds of battle, the clash of weapons and the crackle of magic as Lady Albrecht unleashed a torrent of arcane energy at Minthara.

But the Nightwarden was prepared. With a flick of her wrist, she deflected Lady Albrecht’s spell, the force of the counterattack sending Lady Albrecht stumbling backward. Edrys watched in horror as Minthara advanced on her mother, her dark magic swirling ominously in the air.

“Mother!” Edrys screamed, but she was intercepted by one of the cloaked figures, a brute of a man whose strength far outmatched hers. She summoned her magic, the familiar sensation of power surging through her veins as she unleashed a blast of fire at him. He grunted in pain, but before she could press the attack, she felt a sudden, searing pain in her side as a second figure struck her with a spell.

The pain brought her to her knees, her vision blurring as she struggled to stay conscious. She could hear her brothers shouting, the clash of weapons ringing in her ears, and her brother's dagger clutched between her fingers- but everything seemed distant, like a fading echo. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was Minthara standing over Lady Albrecht, her mother’s body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap.

“No…” Edrys whispered, her voice weak and broken as the world around her faded to black.

When she awoke, it was aboard an alien ship hurtling through the hells. She was trapped within the confines of a flesh-like pod, her senses dulled and her movements restricted. She attempted to struggle against the tentacles holding her in place when she froze. An insidious presence loomed over an acidic-looking pool in front of her. A mind flayer, she realized, recalling one of her dad’s monster stories.

It carefully plucked what looked to be a tadpole, or leech, she couldn’t tell, out of the abscess and floated close to her. Slowly, her pod opened, revealing a horrid stench and another ten enclosures around hers.

The mind flayer stretched out its long, gray arm, dangling the worm close to her face. Rows of teeth bared, the creature lunged towards her face, eager to strike. Before she had time to struggle, the leech jumped into her eye and crawled comfortably behind it. She hissed in pain, grabbing at her face as the pod closed again. 

Suddenly, a loud roar erupted from outside the nautiloid, shaking it to its core. Edrys yelped as she saw the source of the noise glide by the opening on the flesh-like wall- a red dragon, ridden by an iron-clad warrior. 

A githyanki, she realized, relying on her knowledge from her studies. Mindflayers were their mortal enemies, and if they were after the nautiloid- she would certainly die aboard the alien ship. She cried out to her magic for help and began to feel its fiery tendrils surround her body. With a yell, she released a large ball of fire, shooting through the front of her pod and catching the pool of tadpoles aflame.

Edrys collapsed out of the pod and was met with the cold wetness of the floor. It almost squelched below her as she rose to her feet.  Before she had time to gather her bearings, the ship took a steep nosedive and began plummeting towards the ground. 

Hells, she thought. This is truly the end. The nautiloid jolted suddenly to the right, causing Edrys to lose her grip on the smoldering tentacle she was bracing herself against. Her body cascaded against various objects before being flung out of the side of the ship and into the inky black sky. 

She screamed, then. A bloodcurdling scream. But not out of fear- no, she was enraged. Angry at the unknown. Where was she? Why her family? She had always tried to do good, be good- why was this how she would die? 

Edrys realized she was fastly approaching a beach, where her body would surely feed local wildlife for several days. She refused to die in a foul mood- her mother certainly wouldn’t approve. She closed her eyes and calmed her mind, thinking about her brothers. Her parents. Her magic.

Seconds away from hitting the ground, a sudden force gripped her, halting her fall mid-air. Instead of the harsh impact she had braced for, she found herself suspended, cradled by an invisible presence that cushioned her descent. 

The relief washed over her in a tidal wave, stealing her breath away. She looked around in a daze, searching for the source of the magic that had saved her. Had the very forces of fate intervened? But in that moment, all thoughts of who or what had saved her were overshadowed by the overwhelming weight of grief crashing down on her.

As she floated momentarily, a powerful memory surged to the forefront of her mind:her family. What had happened to the others? Were they still fighting? Had they met the same fate as her mother? Tears streamed down her face as she felt the ache of their absence, a deep sorrow that threatened to consume her.

Edrys's heart clenched painfully at the thought of her mother lying lifeless, the way Alaric and Aldous had fought valiantly to defend her, and how their sacrifices had all been in vain. The darkness of despair wrapped around her like a shroud, stifling any semblance of hope. She had no idea where she was, but she knew that she was alone now, bereft of the love and support that had always surrounded her.

As the invisible force gently lowered her to the ground, she landed softly on a patch of grass, the damp earth cool against her skin. It was then that the weight of her loss settled in her chest like a stone.

Edrys knelt on the damp earth, the weight of her grief pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket, but amid the pain, something stirred within her. It was a familiar sensation, the ebb and flow of magic coursing through her veins. In the depths of her sorrow, she felt it awaken, a raw power that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.

With each breath she took, the magic intensified, swirling around her like a tempest. It was as if her emotions had tapped into a wellspring of energy that had long lain dormant, igniting within her. The air crackled with electricity, and the ground beneath her began to tremble softly in response to her turmoil.

Edrys clenched her fists, feeling the heat rising within her, fueled by the pain of her loss. The magic responded to her grief, wrapping around her like a cloak, whispering promises of vengeance and power. Her vision blurred with tears, but in that moment, she felt more alive than she had in days, a fierce energy igniting a spark of hope amid her despair.

She could sense the world around her shifting, responding to her emotions. The grass beneath her seemed to hum with her magic, the leaves of nearby trees rustling as if encouraging her to unleash the force building inside her. Edrys could feel the magic pushing at her boundaries, urging her to channel her grief into something tangible, something powerful.

In her mind’s eye, she saw flashes of fire, arcs of lightning, and the glimmer of ancient spells long forgotten. The memories of her training with her mother and brothers surged forth, the lessons they had taught her coming to life. She recalled the way her mother had smiled as she guided her through the art of sorcery, the gentle encouragement that had always fueled her passion for magic.

And now, in her darkest moment, that magic surged forth, a response to the pain of her heart. With a deep breath, Edrys focused, allowing her emotions to flow into her magic. She felt the warmth awaken her. The air around her crackled and shimmered, and she felt a flicker of control.

With a wave of her hand, she conjured a small flame, its flickering light casting shadows on the trees around her. It danced to her will, a reflection of her fury and determination, illuminating the path forward. As the flame grew brighter, she thought once again about her mother. She would want her to transform her grief into strength. 

Edrys stood with a newfound resolve in her heart. Magic surged within her, mingling with her sorrow, forging a powerful bond that she would not allow to be extinguished.As far as she had lost everything, and gained some sort of worm wriggling about in her skull, but she would not lose herself. The Absolute would pay for their cruelty, and she would harness her magic to carve a new path in the darkness.

As she wiped the tears from her cheeks, she felt the magic settle around her like an embrace, a reminder of her heritage and her purpose. She was no ordinary sorceress; she was the last of her kind, a high elf of draconic descent, and her journey was only just beginning. 

A lucky girl indeed. 

[kidflashimpulse]

Do you think Johns downplayed Bart and Kon's friendship and focused on Tim and Kon's friendship to the point it was worth addressing in DC YJ or did YJ 2019 already re-establish their bond and got rid of that notion.

major apologies for putting off this ask for so long! i was planning on rereading his comics to properly answer the questions (because u knw sometimes specific issues during runs r by guest writers or others etc) but i just don’t have the time so i’m just gonna answer from the top of my head because it’s such a good question and i don’t think it’s fair of me to delay it any further !

i really can’t remember at all which run is specifically his (like at all, i’m sorry i’ve mentioned this in previous posts but i’m so bad at recalling authors) so i’ll just roughly base it on Teen Titans onwards but i do remember generally being annoyed at him in the context of bart’s development.

Not so much on his friendship with Kon though, sure there was probably more focus on Kon and Tim but i never particularly strongly felt that Bart was explicitly put to the side in either of their friendships with him. But maybe that’s because I didn’t focus enough idk lol I do think the fandom (shippers specifically) focus on a lot of moments that ends up with them themselves sidelining Barts friendship with Kon and Tim (everytime they mentioned tim cloning kon im like, did y’all miss the literal bart clone tube right next door??)

so for that purpose, i thought what YJ 2019 did was great, it was very sweet to see his friendship with Bart being addressed and is one of the main reasons why i like it so much.

So to answer ur question, i don’t think it was necessary for YJ DC to have addressed it bcause of YJ 2019, BUT if anything, YJ DC has MASSIVELY reversed good development (tbh that’s an understatement, it was basically pure slander if u ask me lol) of Kon and Barts friendship which is ridiculous, focusing on issues that weren’t even issues to begin with. So frustrating lol.

[lovesick-rambles]

No One Messes with Mikey's Girl

commission for: @fleur-ships

summary: Michael is surprised at himself for agreeing to go on a double date with his girlfriend Fleur and their friends, Natalie and Trevor. The whole thing has left him feeling anxious.

word count: 2.3k

content warnings: blood mention, very mide sexual language

author's note: AHH thank you so much for commissioning me, Jules! I loved writing this so much! Thank you also for letting me insert myself and Trevor in it! It made me so happy! :)

banner credit: cafekitsune

Michael let out a long, heavy sigh, “Are you sure that this is a good idea?”

“For the tenth time, yes!” Fleur rolled her eyes, “Come on, we’ve been talking about this for like a week now. You’ve had time to prepare!”

“Yeah, and I’m still not.” His hands gripped the steering wheel, “Why am I so masochistic?”

“You are so dramatic! It’s not like I’m dragging you to go get a lobotomy!” She couldn’t help but laugh at his pitiful face, “It’s just a double date. A double date that you agreed to, might I add.”

“With a man who not-so-secretly wants me fucking dead!” Michael winced at the thought of his old friend publicly murdering him during this date.

“And my best friend!” Fleur chirped, ignoring the statement he just made.

“And your best friend.” He replied, “Whom I’m a little more fond of. Even if her taste is…questionable.”

She swatted his arm, “Hey! Be nice! You could say the same thing about me being with you.”

Michael scoffed, “Hey, at least I’ve never made chili out of human flesh.”

“Sure, but didn’t you fake your death?” Fleur questioned, smirking while she asked.

“Jesus, Fleur, that was fuckin’ years ago!” He groaned, “Man, I get that enough from Trevor so now I have to hear it from you, too?”

She sniggered and lovingly placed a hand on his thigh, “I’m just teasing, baby. You don’t need to be nervous. It’s just our friends, we’ll have fun! I promise.”

“If you say so.” The car slowly came to a halt as Michael parked it, “Let’s just pray that Trevor doesn’t gouge my eyes out with the goddamn spork.”

“He won’t!” Fleur stepped out of the car and gave him another smirk, “He’s much more likely to use the steak knife.”

“Gee, thanks. You know how to make a man feel better.” He glared at her and placed a hand on the small of her back. They entered the unfamiliar restaurant and walked up to the host stand, “Yeah, uh, reservation for De Santa?”

The hostess scanned the reservation list, quietly mouthing the names she read, “Yep! Here you are! We have two guests waiting for you, already.”

“Wonderful. Thanks.” Michael said dryly, giving Fleur a pained look. She hit his chest with the back of her hand and shushed him before following the hostess. He trailed behind slowly, contemplating if anyone would notice if he hightailed it to his car or not. But, he decided against it. Only because he didn’t want to leave Fleur here alone. He spotted their double date, Natalie and Trevor in the distance and felt his heart sink. He likes them, well, he liked Natalie, but he just felt nervous about the whole thing. He hasn’t been on a cutesy date like this since his teenage years, so it was a little odd to be here again as a 48 year old. Natalie saw them approach and her face lit up, waving at them. She hopped out of her seat to swallow Fleur in a hug, rocking the two of them back and forth.

“I’m so happy to see you!” Natalie laughed, a huge smile plastered on her face.

“Well, well, Mikey.” Trevor leaned his face against his hand and glared at Michael, “Awful nice of you to finally fuckin’ show up. You have a knack for bad timing.”

“Jesus, T. Seriously? I just got here.” Michael took a seat at the booth.

“It just ain’t nice to keep a lady waitin’.” He looked over to Natalie and gave her a smile.

“Oh, yeah? And what do you know about manners, Trevor?” He rolled his eyes, “Your idea of romance was stealing a man’s wife and hiding her away in your trailer.”

“Really? Fuckin’ bringing up a fling I had in front of my girl? That’s low, Mikey. But you’ve been lower. Six feet lower, actually.” Trevor sneered, his lip curling a little.

“Oh, shush you two!” Fleur scoffed, “You two are bickering like an old married couple! Let’s order some drinks and food and just have fun!”

“Yeah, I agree.” Natalie peered at Trevor from over her glasses, “Besides, you promised you’d be well behaved for once, T.”

Trevor sighed and looked back at Natalie, “You’re right, I did promise. I’ll be good, darlin’, I swear. Wanna take a bet to see if Mikey will behave, though?” He pointed at Michael and chuckled, “You’ll lose right away.”

“Oh, yeah, because I’m the one with behavioral issues.” Michael looked at Fleur, who was scowling at him, “I mean, uh, how have you two been?”

“Oh, you know. Keepin’ busy.” Natalie shrugged, “T.P.I is still going strong, my shop still pulls in dumb tourists, we’re living together, life is fine. Nothing too crazy. How about you guys?”

“Yeah, same here. This is actually the first time we’ve been able to go out in a while!” Fleur beamed, “Things get so boring at the Vanilla Unicorn sometimes. It’s always the same three creeps who want the same drinks asking for my number or one of the stripper’s.”

“I hear you. It’s been a while since we’ve gone out like this, too.” Natalie elbowed Trevor gently, “This fucker gets to have wild days whenever he wants. Guns, blood, glory, you have it. Me? I sit behind a counter waiting for someone to just pick a fucking towel already.”

“Jesus, don’t make me sound like an asshole!” Trevor laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“You don’t need Natalie to do that.” Michael muttered, earning another glare from Fleur.

“Wanna run that by me again, Mikey?” Trevor cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly getting agitated.

“Okay, let’s order something!” Natalie interrupted, waving her hands, “I’m fucking starving.”

“And I could use a drink.” Michael agreed.

“I think we all do.” Fleur awkwardly giggled, “So yes! Let’s get something!”

That seemed to ease the tension a little bit. They all relaxed a little and scanned the menus, each picking out something they wanted. Michael was stiff. He forgot what it was like to be on dates. Actual, cliche, romantic dates. He didn’t know what to do, completely forgetting how to act. He’d give Fleur a small smile every now and then before going back to taking a sip of his drink, but he felt that it wasn’t enough. Finally, he sighed and copied Trevor by draping his arm over her shoulders.

“Hey,” She said, locking her fingers with his, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” He shrugged, “Just a little stiff. This date stuff, it reminds me of being a kid, you know? I’m rusty. Out of practice.”

“Well, guess that means we should do this more often.” Fleur suggested, batting her eyelashes at him. 

He chuckled at her, his heart fluttering a little because of her, “I guess so. I have to admit, this isn’t half bad. I’m actually enjoying it a little, I think.”

“Aw, well, would ya look at that?” Trevor chimed in, “Michael admitted a feeling! We gotta alert the news!” He started clapping loudly, turning a few heads.

“On second thought, maybe I hate this.” He replied dryly, flipping Trevor off.

“No, no, don't say that!” Natalie jokingly pleaded, “Please, I’m having so much fun! We don’t get to see you often. He’s just a bastard.”

“Same here with this guy.” Fleur pointed at Michael, “This is fun! Sadly, I think our men have some allergy to fun and have to argue like school children.”

“Squabbling must be a side effect of this allergy.” Natalie joked, side eyeing Trevor. He laughed awkwardly, feeling a little sheepish. Michael also felt embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. 

“You remember when we used to hang like this when we were younger, T?” Michael asked, moving on from what just happened. Trevor furrowed his eyebrows and nodded hesitantly. Michael snickered softly and continued, “Man, we used to drive the bartenders nuts. We would drink them out of house and home or until they’d force us out.”

Trevor shook his head, a grin slowly spreading across his face, “They fuckin’ hated us. Every goddamn bar in town shuddered at the names ‘Michael Townley’ and ‘Trevor Philips’. Good times.”

“Yeah, good times.” Michael trailed off, thinking for a bit, “Hey, why don’t we do that anymore?”

Trevor shrugged, “I dunno. Guess we both never think of it.”

“Well, maybe we should.” He suggested, “Uh, you know, do more of these double dates the girls like so much. But also maybe just us, like old times.”

Trevor looked at Michael, confused at first but he quickly became pleased, “I’d like that.”

Fleur and Natalie exchanged a look of relief. As funny as their bickering was sometimes, it got tiring. It was nice to have them get along like actual friends for a change. They were happy that the mood had shifted to something happier for the four of them. Natalie held up her drink and initiated a cheers that they all took part in. Things were looking up. 

In the middle of their meal, a strange man suddenly appeared and leaned against the table near Fleur, “Well, it isn’t often you find a pretty girl here in Plastic City, let alone two. Come here often?” Both women cringed at the cliche and stared at the stranger uncomfortably. He leaned in closer to Fleur, making intense eye contact, “Say, what’s your name? Let’s get to know each other.”

Michael was frozen, his eyes not moving from this guy. Trevor noticed his posture and cleared his throat, “Can’t you see she ain’t interested? She’s already got a man. Beat it if you like them teeth of yours.”

The man tore his gaze away from Fleur for the first time and locked eyes with Michael, “This guy? He looks a little jaded for someone like you. Come on, don’t you want someone with a little bit of action?”

“Oh, I’ll show you action!” Michael reached across the table and grabbed the man’s collar, practically crawling over Fleur to get out of the booth. He dragged the man out by his collar, not even caring about all the looks he was getting. 

“Michael?” Fleur called out, but it was no use. He was out of ear shot and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t stop for anybody. All Michael cared about was showing this punk a lesson.

“This is the Michael I remember!” Trevor cackled, getting out of his seat. He quickly turned to Natalie and grabbed her shoulders, planting a kiss on her forehead, “Sit pretty for me, yeah? It’ll only be a second. M, wait up!” With that, he cracked his knuckles loudly and followed Michael out, the sound of his steel toed boots getting quieter with each step. Fleur and Natalie looked at each other, not exactly knowing how to react. A few moments passed before they both silently got up and followed the men out, not having to search too hard since the three of them were in the middle of the parking lot. Trevor had his arms hooked under the stranger’s armpits, securing him in place. Michael alternated between punching his face and torso. It wasn’t a pretty sight. In fact, it was attracting some attention. But, Natalie and Fleur were only focused on what was unfolding in front of them. The guy who was flirting with Fleur was unrecognizable at this point, his nose bleeding profusely and his eye was squinting because it was bruised. Michael wasn’t focused on anything else besides pummeling this guy into a bloody pulp and Trevor had this crazed, cat-like look as he helped keep their victim in place. 

“How about this for a little bit of action, huh?” Michael sneered, curling his fist, “How’s this action feel, huh buddy?” His fist made direct contact with the guy’s stomach, making him cry out in pain. Michael continued taunting him, saying how someone with that small of a dick could never get a girl like Fleur, how he has more man in his pinky toe than he has in his whole body, how no one smart enough knows not to mess with Mikey’s girl, and so on. 

Trevor had a huge, toothy grin plastered on his face and he showed it to Natalie, “Didn’t I tell ya to wait, sugar?”

Natalie winced at the violence, “Well, who refuses to have a show with dinner?”

“Good point!” He yelled before turning back to encouraging Michael and insulting the man nestled tightly in his arms.

Fleur’s eyes never left Michael. It all happened so fast. Sure, seeing this guy be turned into minced meat before her wasn’t a pretty sight, but her chest swelled with how quickly he wanted to defend her. Frankly, she found it very attractive. 

“Okay, boys.” Natalie said hesitantly, “I think you made your point clear. The poor fucker ain’t getting any bloodier. The police were also called so uh, T? Wanna grab dessert?”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Trevor pushed the man down, getting one kick in before returning to Natalie, “Let’s do this double date night thing again soon!”

“I agree!” Michael panted, wiping his bloodied knuckles on his jacket, “Fleur, baby, we should make plans with these two again very, very soon.”

Fleur chuckled and wrapped an arm around his waist, “Did you enjoy it that much?”

“Fuck yeah I did!” He smiled and kissed her on the cheek. The couples said goodbye to each other quickly before Natalie and Trevor sped off in his truck, hearing police sirens in the distance.

“Thank you, baby.” She looked at him, lovestruck, “Thank you for taking care of that creep.”

“Anytime, hon.” He replied, opening the car door for her, “I love you. No one messes with my girl. No one.”

[dollycas]

Sunday Salon / Sunday Post – A Week in the Life of Dollycas – Weekly Rewind – New Arrivals

The Sunday Salon is a Facebook group that has become an informal week-in-review gathering place for bloggers. It is also a place to share our thoughts about things of a bookish nature. You can also link up weekly on Readerbuzz. The Sunday Post is a weekly meme hosted by Kimberly @ Caffeinated Book Reviewer ~ It’s a chance to share news~ A post to recap the past week on your blog, showcase books and things we have received, and share news about what is coming up on our blog for the week ahead. HAPPY SUNDAY EVERYONE! Last Saturday night a huge thunderstorm system rolled through our area. Some people had trees down and a lot of damage. We didn't lose power this time and suffered no real exterior damage but the ground couldn't handle all the rainwater. Reports said we received between 8 to 12 inches of rain in a very short time. Streets and basements were flooded including ours. Thankfully we did a major clean-up in our basement a couple of months ago and most things have been stored in plastic totes with covers. It is days like these I am thankful we are renting our home because the water was coming in so fast that by the time the landlord got here there was more than 3 feet of water down there and some of the totes were tipped over or floating. Surprisingly, none of them popped open. Our landlord is much younger and more agile than us and he knew where a release valve was and a good old plumber's wrench opened that baby up and the water started to go down immediately. He has returned almost every day since then to remove any lingering water and to relight the water heater and the furnace.  He brought in fans to dry it out and will be replacing the dehumidifier that didn't survive its plunge. I would have hated for Mr. Dollycas to handle all this on his own. Tuesday was a mostly cloudy day and we had a little rain but we were able to travel to watch our granddaughter Natalie play a softball doubleheader. She pitched the first couple of innings and did a fantastic job. They tied the first game 7 - 7 and won the second 15 - 9. Then on Wednesday, we had just a short drive to watch Remi's baseball game. I think I have mentioned this is his 1st year playing and he is now pitching too. According to Mr. Dollycas, he has a perfect batting stance. I think he has played every position except catcher. Again the teams started evenly matched but soon Remi and his teammates started making incredible hits. We heard a lot of pings as the bats hit the balls. In his league, they have to play a minimum of 4 innings but the game was out of hand. Our coaches held the boys to one base at a time and then the other team had the bottom of the 4th inning to try to catch up. That didn't happen. Our kids were thrilled to win 16 - 2, but everyone felt bad for the players and coaches on the other team. They had an off night, and we were on fire. The weather was great too. The rest of the week we stuck around home doing our normal work, reading, watching television, repeat. It was much cooler all week too, so we could turn off the air conditioners and breathe some fresh air. How was your week? Weekly Rewind - June 24 - 29, 2024 Monday - My Reading Itinerary Monday! – Week #26 – 2024 Tuesday - Special Guest Marla A. White – Author of Framed For Murder (A Pine Cove Mystery) #Author Interview / #Giveaway – Great Escapes Book Tour Plus - Breach: A Terrifying Summer Adventure by Holly S. Roberts #Review / #Giveaway – Great Escapes Book Tour @hollysrobertsauthor This book received my Paradise Rating. Wednesday - Book Blast – Audio Book – Double Scoop of Murder: Coffee & Cream Café Mysteries by Lena Gregory – Read by Eleanor McCormick @lenagregory Plus - Cozy Wednesday featuring Torn Asunder (A Maine Clambake Mystery) by Barbara Ross #Review / #Giveaway @KensingtonBooks @barbross Thursday - Special Guest Jeannette de Beauvoir – Author of The Honeymoon Homicides: A Provincetown Mystery (Sydney Riley Series) #GuestPost / #Giveaway @jeannettedebeauvoir – Great Escapes Book Tour Friday - #FlashbackFriday – Murder at the Blueberry Festival (A Beacon Bakeshop Mystery) by Darci Hannah #Review / #ARC Giveaway @KensingtonBooks @AuthorDarciHannah Plus - Lori Roberts Herbst Saturday - Special Guest – Dave Dobson- Author of What Grows From the Dead #AuthorInterview / #Giveaway – Great Escapes Book Tour @GCDaveDobs @davedobsonfromiowaon @frosthelmbooks Plus - Death By Betrayal: A Josiah Reynolds Mystery by Abigail Keam #Spotlight / #Giveaway – Great Escapes Book Tour @abigailkeamauthor @author.abigailkeam What Grows From the Dead is free right now for Kindle on Amazon. Happy Reading Everyone!!! Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent Read the full article

[catdemontraphouse]

So lately I’m like shit I need to build a new pc but idk anyone local who can help me put the thing together! So a friend/colleague of my mom’s former coworker happens to teach game dev and is “building a pc” for said coworker’s nephew? so I was like hey could I talk to him? And she’s like yah I’ll set up a time and u can even sit in on his game dev class. So I’m like ok that’s cool maybe I’ll learn something even tho it’s younger kids like, I’m pretty low lvl so 🤷‍♀️

I get there and she drags me around to introduce me to the whole school, which ok fine. She keeps pestering me “ohhh we need subs u should sub!”Im like” no no Im not good with kids I don’t wanna teach etc. let’s just go hang with ur comp sci buddy so I can pick his brain abt pc stuff like we talked about.” But every now and then she still bugged me about it tf

But then we get further into this “adventure” and I was forced to listen to Dr Phil’s clone in the mechanics dept rant abt his life for like an hour of agony in a windowless workshop, then I meet the computer guy and he fucking says “oh im not very good at building pcs either”

so im like oh god then why tf am I here?? but then he tells me he’s certified teaching unity game engine and shit im like ok cool I can get some tips abt that and while the kids work we can talk or I can listen to what he’s teaching them, this is still good!

WE PLAYeD “SUPER UNO” the whole time…yes the card game, with paper cards we didn’t touch a PC at all. I says to the woman who lined this meeting up “when we doing game dev?? Wats going on?”

“Oh we’re not.” Bitch what???? “Maybe at lunch” well this was at 10:00 and I got there at 7 so I was like helll nah I ain’t sticking around here no more

She also hated the kids even tho they were rly good kids and very nice and she kept antagonizing them to the point one kid farted on her lmao. She was triggered the girl was on her phone and so decided to be a total arsehole about it and then pick on her?? I tried to like tell her hey cmon, I feel bad for them poor kids she goes “oh I don’t” fuck off Karen! Poor kids wanna play games too and we’re fuckin stuck with this Uno bullshit?? In the “game dev” camp class? Wtf!! So I fucking left as soon as I found out there would be no computer stuff… in the game dev class…. but I’d been playing super uno for an hour already waiting to get to the computer stuff so I could chat this professor up ykno??

What a day. I woke up early in the morning for that… yEAH. Those poor children. That one kid should fart on her again lmao

[hawaiifiveoh]

full circle | steve mcgarrett

Gif originally posted by tissueoflies

masterlist

Danny tries to set Steve and you up on a date, but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

steve mcgarrett x reader

Author’s note:  Idk about this, but I love Danno & his irritable good heart.

2.8k words | ♫ Playlist: maybe you (good night remix) - say lou lou

______________________

Danny Williams contorted his face in the way that was reserved for his disgust with some aspect of current humanity and it made you burst out laughing. You had agreed with the sentiment, but you could never take your sudden emotions and outwardly form them to be so entertaining. He turned to you with that look on his face that said ‘What is so amusing, babe? It’s the truth.’

The air was sweet in your lungs. It was a really lovely evening. The music playing was a great playlist, the karaoke goers weren't annoying, and the overall energy and ambiance in the place was sparkling, like a pretty firework you wanted to watch float down. You were having a good time, free from the things you still had to do, and anything else that could distract you from the present moment. Something still felt missing, though. Because someone was... McGarrett.

A faint vacantness was always around when he wasn’t. You tried not to think about it much, because you knew that overthinking things never yielded much of anything good. The longer his presence infiltrated and somehow contaminated your life, though, every time you happened to re-check in on that vague idea you avoided, it had managed to become more detailed and more difficult to push away. It was practically a sinkhole now, waiting to collapse and pull you in.

You saw the tiger man’s gait, through the crowd of people casually chatting and meandering about. It stuck out, it always did, like a predator in a forrest’s clearing. McGarrett always had a tenacity with each step. Like he had the most efficient path, straight to you and no one could stop or deviate him from getting there. If you were a bad guy, it was very bad news. But if you weren’t, it was reassuring in a way. Relief was filling in those dug out places in your heart. Suddenly, however, the safety you found burst like a C-4 charge just detonated. There was another person walking beside him. She had glowing skin, a cool dress that fit well, and openly gazed at the commander in a way that made you feel sick to witness.

It stung, the pain surprising even you. It was if you unexpectedly ran into a wall and got multiple fractures. But bones weren't the thing that were broken in this case. You swallowed the ache running up from your ribcage, realizing that you had fallen into what you purposefully had cordoned off. You couldn’t get out of the idea-- the idea that you could’ve been the one beside Steve, dressed all nice together, some picture perfect scene from a romcom. You couldn’t deny it anymore, acceptance had beaten you and won. This newfound understanding wasn’t freeing, though, it had trapped you. These feelings were stuck pulling at you with other new ones sprouting up, like quick climbing vines with thorns. There was nothing you could do about it. You cut open yourself, and hollowed everything out, shifting into damage control, as you plastered on a fake smile.

“What took you so long, brah?” Kamekona asked, “Being on time demonstrates to all those around you, you value theirs.”

“There was traffic, and I was meeting up with someone beforehand,” Steve explained as he gestured an introduction, working hard for the audience who hadn’t expected this part of the show, “Everyone, this is Lynn.”

The table gave a general welcome, with supervised yet still kind hellos and smiles. You didn’t think anyone else was as bothered by this surprise guest as you had been. But little did you know...

Danny had arranged this get together at the Sheraton, his second favored locale for controlled social settings aside from the Hilton. But, there was no new girlfriend for him, or new "friend" of Grace's, or anyone else that required mingling in a group. This was just supposed to be drinks, dinner, and maybe some karaoke. For the detective, this was merely subterfuge to finally get two of his friends to admit what they refused to ever address out loud. Though, the subtext in both of your staring said plenty, Danny was trying to enact some good will in lieu of his standard complaining. Annoyance took up a lot of minutes in William’s typical day, but tonight, he was aggravated. Aggravated because his idiot of a best friend brought a date. A date?! The schmuck who ignored him every other time he had suggested getting back out there before. A suggestion, Danny had stopped suggesting, ever since you joined the team. The detective knew him long enough to know how past derailed hurts left a deep wound despite Steve not talking about it. But Danny noticed how that wound slowly started to close up and heal after you entered the picture. Steven, however, was being a moron about this or in total denial. Probably both, Daniel ascertained to himself as he smoothed his hair back, hoping it’d magically work on his nerves too.

“Why don’t I get everyone some drinks, huh? Steve, come help me.” Danny ordered, giving McGarrett a look that on the surface seemed innocent enough, as he got up from the table.

“Steven, please,” the Jersey cop warned, and when he specifically started using formalities and manners, it was well known that underneath the pinstriped dress shirt, the detective 's heart was pumping enough oxygen to effectively yet calmly disfigure someone if they disobeyed.

Steve got up slowly, and a few steps away, Williams started pulling at the man’s rolled shirt sleeves, encouraging the SEAL to pick up the pace to chat in a less busy area of the bar, like an impatient parent embarrassed by their kid acting out in public.

“I,” the blonde man said, pointing to himself for emphasis, “Invited you to this outing– solely you,” then there was another now reversed point, “Why did you bring a plus one?”

McGarrett eyed him, forming a confused reply with his own expression lines, as to why Danny was immediately giving him a hard time doing exactly what he harped on for so long.

“You’re being serious right now? This isn't some fancy RSVP'd dinner reception, Danny. It's drinks at Rumfire. What's the big deal?”

“Actually, it was an RSVP, because I asked you earlier this week, and you responded. And you responded without telling me that you were bringing a date. Then I re-asked, and you didn’t tell me then either.”

“And you think I have control issues?”

“You do have control issues,” Danny calmly and instantly retorted, but his friend was now busy ordering at the bar.

Steve turned back around, “Just relax. Don’t make this a big deal,” he reassured, as his eyes darted away from your silhouette he found first at the table. McGarrett distracted himself again by gathering most of the beers. He nudged the ornery shorter man on the shoulder, “Get the other drinks you wanted me to help you with, alright?”

Danny sighed fairly loudly through his teeth, chomping down on the inside of his own lip, before ushering himself back to the table. When he sat down his face grew concerned at how easily the mai tai was flowing from your glass less than a minute later.

The strong liquid was just a distraction, a consolation prize for you being pissed off. You took a heavy swig of the drink again, bordering on some non-assuming villain plotting and stewing as things went on. Soon Lynn joyfully got up to try some karaoke alone, unbothered at her failed attempt to get Steve to join her. She seemed genuinely nice, which made it all the more worse. There wasn’t even an excuse to dislike her.

“So, am I supposed to be leaving still or what?” Kamekona asked Danny, trying to be subtle but failing to be.

Your eyebrow arched, at the same time Steve’s raised. Danny had a mild aneurysm, mumbling, “What? No, no,” over and over.

“Nah, hoalohas, I think I’m still gonna leave.”

Danny jumped up and left the table, trying to reel back the shrimp truck magnate of the North Shore to save face. Now, it was only you and McGarrett… watching Lynn pick her song on stage to sing. Except, Steven’s eyes were somewhere else.

You heard his voice, undeviating, cutting through everything, “How’s the mai tai?,” his tone resembling when he egged Danny about something.

“Good.” You said curtly, still not looking at Steve.

He was surprised at your reaction, “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You immediately replied again, finishing off what was left in your glass.

McGarrett didn’t answer, taking a sip of his own beer.

“This your first date with her?” You nodded in the direction of Lynn, who was now starting to sing, pretty well too, some old song you knew but you couldn't remember the title of.

“Second.” Steve corrected, quickly shifting his gaze back to you again.

You barely held back the sharp laugh that escaped your lips, mocking the reality you stupidly never asked about or thought could exist, “Cool,” you deadpanned.

“Are you jealous?” McGarrett abruptly asked, a smug smile faintly forming on his lips.

You scoffed, trying to overtly paralyze the nerve he hit, and the pain that went with it, as you went back to your drink forgetting it was now empty, “Why are you even asking me that?”

“Why don’t you just answer the question?” You could hear the stubborn amusement in his pauses, like he found a hold of something and wouldn’t let it go unless he won.

“Why don’t you?” You pushed back, turning to face him, a milder form of rage rising in your throat.

The hot air froze between you, everything else echoing out and away from the epicenter of you two. Your pairs of eyes were deadlocked, their dimly lit hues burning bright into one another's, setting off a fuse and the dejected unanswered what ifs behind them. Fears were smoldering, alongside the tension and boldness. The aggravation quickly melted away on your end. The anger and fading tipsiness unable to hide all the sadness you gathered in the loss you had now learned. Steve’s own eyes suddenly softened at the afflictions he saw surfacing in yours. You and McGarrett were still this weakening standoff, oblivious to what was happening around you. A certain bystander, however, couldn’t completely disregard the sight of your stares boring into each other's souls as she returned.

“How’d I do?” Lynn asked out loud.

“Huh, what?” Steve asked, confused, re-remembering his surroundings.

“You weren’t watching were you?” She gently questioned, already knowing the truth.

Steve awkwardly shifted in his seat, “I was, you uh, were really good! That’s a great song to pick!”

“What song was it?”

You got up from your seat, murmuring about grabbing another drink, your face hot from secondhand embarrassment as Lynn reluctantly sat back down next to McGarrett. On the way to the bar you ran into Danny who had been observing the whole exchange, and was now currently on route to intervene, more anxiousness flooding his hand movements.

“Where-- where are you going, Y/N?” Danny asked as you passed him. He turned on his heel to catch up to you.

“Daniel, don’t.” You sternly warned, trying to find a space in the crowding line at the bar.

“Hold on, wait,” Danny pleaded, catching your arm, “Talk to me, babe, please.”

You stopped and looked at your friend’s sincere eyes, and fretting forehead lines. You knew you didn’t need another drink. The onslaught of emotions was messing with you. Everything was brewing inside your head, like a rainstorm off the coast during monsoon season. You didn’t want to get stuck in the flood. You sighed, letting Danny be the voice of reason and pull you away to the outside patio.

You felt the cool breeze flow through your hair, tonight’s air no longer sweet, your throat still slightly burning. You didn’t say anything, crossing your arms, as you selected words in your head to prepare for the argument that stated you were fine.

“I can tell this surprise guest was sort of a shock to you too.” Danny quietly commented, fingers fidgeting against the railing as he spoke, “You wanna talk about it? I mean not that there’s something to talk about, but--”

“Danny,” you interrupted him, defeated, “I know you only wanted everyone to have a good time. I appreciate that. I appreciate you care. I’m just being weird about it.”

“Someone else is being stupid about it,” Danny blurted out under his breath, the irked truth disappearing into his sigh. He shook his head to himself.

“Hey, what happened to you guys?” Steve’s voice finding where you were. 

“So, are we gonna order dinner now?” Steve asked as he approached, gesturing back towards inside. His nonchalant demeanor, especially in this case, was grating to both you and Daniel.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t start gnawing on the table legs. We’ll be there in a second,” Danny said with another parentified hand wave. He turned and knowingly shrugged to you when Steve turned back around to leave. You nodded to Danny and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, waiting for you to move first. After a deep breath, you gave in, and headed back inside, Danny following beside you.

“Wait, what happened to Lynn?” Danny asked, processing the shift, and his increased blood pressure again, certain some blood vessel going to burst at this point.

“She, uh,” McGarrett scratched his chin, “decided to head home early,” he gradually admitted, his hand awkwardly illustrating the direction of her exit, before he crossed his own arms, inhaling a loud sniff through his nose. 

“You’re a complete idiot, you know that right?,” Danny retorted after a quick beat, reaching his limit of exasperation at human interactions and having overall concern.

“For what?” McGarrett innocently questioned.

“Everything,” Danny said and shook his head again, hands gripping the back of the empty chair in front of him for some form of strength. He leaned forward and took a breath. 

His voice was calm as he focused back to you and Steve, “I’m tired and done with this. Thank God everyone didn’t show up tonight or already left. And you, you’re paying the bill,” he pointed to McGarrett, before giving you a brief side hug, “I need to get away from here. Maybe I’ll run out into traffic. I don’t know. Goodnight to you insufferable people.” 

“Aww, come on Danny,” Steve called out as the man left, “There’s still appetizers!”

His arms fell to his sides, before turning back to face you. You, like Danny, were still in some mode of processing everything that happened, just in a less dramatic or vocal way than the detective. You eyed Steve in his dark shirt, and jeans, how the fiery orange indoor lighting made his eyes a deeper green and his skin an even warmer shade. The next words from his lips as distinct as the five o’clock shadow on his jawline,

“I’m sorry.” 

His voice was soft as he spoke the sentence, yet it maintained its brutality of honesty. You waited for him to continue.

“And, it’s not like I’d tell Danny this, but he’s right. I am an idiot.”

“For what?” You mirrored his prior phrase, your own voice uncertain with the feelings you were still trying to tie down.

“Well for starters, tonight,” he paused, before adding, “And for not asking this sooner, would you like to have dinner with me?” His lips formed a cautious smile.

“Yes,” you replied, your lips unable to hide your own grin, before continuing, “What else?”

Steve chuckled as he pulled out a chair for you to sit down. You took a seat, then he sat next to you. His body was more relaxed, no longer concerned with any camouflage. You two ordered your dinner, but you weren't going to let it go that easily.

“I’m still waiting for an answer.” You noted, intrigued, propping your elbows atop the table to rest your chin. You tilted your head at Steve, as you waited for his response, confidently and earnestly looking at the commander without hesitation or pretense.

A dorky yet completely charming smile spread across Steve’s face, as he raised his eyebrows, thinking, the warrior man’s eyes glinting in a way you hadn’t seen all night.

“For not doing this a long time ago,” he said, before he swiftly ducked his head and gently pressed his lips to yours. An unanticipated dreamy haze hitting you like a wave, despite the simple kiss. The restaurant busyness and room noise drifted away. You slowly opened your eyes, McGarrett’s ardent and proud expression encircling you. Reality filling in for what a related idea’s gaping hole had left you with. You could care less who was even around. The previous mess inside your chest was gone. Damn that tenacity, it carried through everything.

[lovelytsunoda]

dasher // nyck de vries

summary: its christmas in the netherlands, and nyck thought it would be a wonderful idea to bring y/n home to meet his family and feel what a small town winter is like. too bad she never told nyck that she didn’t know how to ice skate.

pairing: nyck de vries x female! reader

warnings: reader doesn't know how to ice skate, just general winter fluff :) minor mention of anxiety, especially over meeting nyck's parents for the first time, but it's barely there! small mention of blood.

author's note: i'm so excited to bring you guys the christmas collection !! holiday themed fluff (some minor angst by way of my mick schumacher fic), me wishing i had a boyfriend and my favourite holiday songs. i have fics planned for zhou, mick, george, pierre, daniel, charles, alex and lance. hope you guys enjoy : )

friesland, the netherlands.

the snow fell down in flakes as she sat on the windowledge, still dressed in her flannel pajamas and clutching a mug of hot chocolate in her hands as she rested her head against the window. her breath fogged up the glass as she breathed, and she found herself grinning as she drew a small christmas tree in the haze.

there was a knock on the bedroom door, followed by the creak of the hinges to indicate that the door had been opened.

"hey, baby." nyck smiled from the doorway, fully dressed and hair still damp from the shower. "i wondered if you might have been hiding up here."

"hiding from your parents? me? no, of course not." she remarked sarcastically, getting up from her window seat and crossing the guest bedroom to kiss her boyfriend softly. "it's just harder to win your parents over than i thought. my anxiety isn't being super friendly to me this morning."

"i'm sorry, darling. is there anything i can do?"

"a distraction might be nice."

nyck raised his eyebrows. " a distraction, you say?"

"not the kind of distraction that you're thinking of, casanova." y/n laughs, resting her forehead against his, trying to steal as much of the driver's body heat as she could. "i just want to spend some time with you. i feel like we haven't done too much of that since we got here."

"then today is going to be all about me and you. seychelle and my parents are going to the winter market. we were invited, but we can go out and do something else, or we can stay in if that's what you want."

"let's go outside and do something. i've barely seen the village."

nyck smiled kissing her on the forehead. "i've got a great idea. let me run downstairs and put some stuff together. dress warm, you'll need it out there."

she kissed him gently, whispering her affections to the driver as he ducked out of the room, leaving her to get dressed.

it was hard for the imposter syndrome not to set in. he was the hendrik johannes nicasius de vries, formula two and formula e champion. she hadn't even known that nyck was famous until their fourth date, when a group of fans accosted them in the streets. and as much as nyck reassured her that she was the one for him, every so often she wondered if he could do better than her.

coming back home to the netherlands with nyck felt like a nail in the coffin. it was a small village with an impossible name, and less than one thousand people. it was the kind of place where everybody knew everybody else.

and they sure as hell all knew who nyck de vries was.

she reminded herself to breathe, lacing strands of her hair into a fishtail braid before pulling a fair isle patterned sweater overtop of her tight, white turtleneck.

she grabbed her mug, exiting the room and jogging downstairs, anxiety spiking at the thought of running into nyck's mother, or even worse, his dad.

she exhaled when she realized that the kitchen was empty, save for nyck, who was filling a thermos with his mother's homemade hot chocolate.

"my parents just left, they're outside warming up the car." nyck said, passing her a covered breakfast plate. "my mom made you breakfast. she's a little worried about you. she likes you more than you think she does."

"i'm sure i'm just overreacting." y/n agreed, sitting down at the kitchen table and taking a bite out of the crispy bacon strip on her plate.

"it's okay, really. don't beat yourself up about it. i get it. meeting family is terrifying." nyck soothed, sitting next to her at the table. "now, i've got us a whole day planned."

true to his word, the whole morning with nyck had been a dream: homemade pastries in the town square, hot chocolate and a relaxing walk down main street, boots crunching over the snow. a disposable camera roll full of pictures of the two of them that she would get developed as soon as they were back in monaco.

with her hand in his, nyck and y/n walked in a cloud of love, laughter and smiles as the dutchman lead them to the final destination of the afternoon.

in the middle of the village, a large pond had frozen over, pairs and small groups of people ice skating with hands intertwined, dressed in thick mittens and hats with pom-poms on top.

"oh, nyck." y/n said softly. "this was such a sweet idea, but i need to tell you something."

nyck's face fell. "is everything all right, love?"

she laughed softly. "i can't skate, nyck. i never learned."

"that's it?" nyck laughed. "right, let's get you some skates. lucky for you, i'm a great teacher."

the wind kissed their skin, cheeks and noses bleached pink from the cold as the couple strapped on the rented ice skates. y/n was wobbly on her feet as she gripped nyck's arm, blades crunching over the frozen ground as the duo slowly stepped onto the ice.

she felt her foot slide forward, her mind instantly filling with panicked images of wiping out, breaking bones, blood splattered on ice.

"you're okay." nyck said softly, his breath warm against her skin. "just hang on to me."

"okay."

"just put one foot in front of the other, darling."

at first, everything went smoothly. so long as y/n held on to nyck, her anxiety subsided. she just kept putting one foot in front of the other, blades skimming the ice and creating soft scratches on the pond's surface.

"see, it's not that hard. muscle memory, babe. once you figure it out, you'll never forget it."

the couple just kept moving in the large oval, circling around with the rest of the patrons, with y/n becoming more and more confident in herself with every move she made, slowly releasing her hold on nyck.

nyck let go of her hand, confident that now she could skate at least a few feet forwards on her own two feet.

but once she felt nyck's hand let go of hers, she faltered, stomach sinking as she felt the blades on the bottom of the skates lose contact with the ice, unable to stop herself from falling backwards and landing on her tailbone.

"shit!" she shouted, garnering looks from mothers now covering the ears of their small children.

nyck laughed, reaching out his hands to help her back to her feet.

"you're a goddamn liar, de vries." she laughed. "i guess i'll jsut have to hold on to you forever now."

nyck smiled, gently kissing her forehead. "that sounds like a plan to me."

_____

tags: @sidcrosbyspuck @flannel-cures @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @magnummagnussen @daydreamingleclerc