#hey wouldn’t it be cool if I owned a real full length mirror again some day?

[misfiled]

Hoodie n short shorts I don’t wanna hear anything else 🔪

personality test. is it acceptable to sleep in a hoodie/sweats

[jackrrabbit]

Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, it’s not going to be so easy to get rid of him.

A/N: I could write a term paper on all of Dabi’s pathologies in this fic...I forgot how much I love writing smutty angst. Good shit 👌

I was planning on making this a ficlet so it’s kinda structured like that even though it ended up a full-length piece. Also, Dabi says some bullshit about sex work that I absolutely do not agree with or condone so please keep that in mind.

➠ see also: [homeowners association]

Tags/warnings: Dabi victimizes you, noncon/dubcon, light yandere, threats, cheating, NTR kinda?, mentions of past sex work, degradation, rough sex (breath play, impact play, crying), mild violence, very brief mentions of past child abuse in the Todoroki household, sad stuff/angst idk lol, *Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood plays in the background*

Dabi would know you anywhere.

You’re different now, which makes sense. It’s been years. Your old uniform of raggedy denim and hand-me-down leather has been replaced with a prim linen dress, designer label at the collar. You used to dye your hair religiously (it was neon pink when he saw you last) but now it’s styled back to your natural shade, a color he only saw back then when your roots grew out. You smell good, expensive. It does take him a second to recognize you without smudged pencil eyeliner drawn under your eyes like in the old days, but once he catches your gaze the realization is immediate.

It’s you. You. You.

You recognize him too, but your reaction is different—shock, then panic; you tug the arm of the man at your side, urging him to walk faster so you can pass Dabi on the sidewalk. The rejection stings for a second, but he isn’t too surprised. You did abandon him, after all.

Dabi doesn’t let it bother him. You’re not going to get away that easy. He pulls you into conversation, grinning when you reluctantly introduce him to your companion (who is, apparently, your husband) as an old friend from school. You didn’t go to school—Dabi knows that, and you know that, but your husband doesn’t. Which means your husband isn’t aware of your sordid past as a runaway.

This is going to be fun.

Once he knows you’re in town, he doesn’t have much trouble finding you. Your husband is a very wealthy man, well-known in this city now that he’s moved here. So this is what you’ve been up to all these years? Shacking up with some ugly motherfucker who’s at least 20 years your senior because he can afford to dress you up in pretty things and take you on overseas vacations? Dabi has to admit, he wouldn’t have thought it of you. Back when he knew you, you were so sincere, such an idealist, even in your darkest nights.

Then again…you always were willing to get your hands dirty in exchange for a warm meal and a place to sleep. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you think.

Dabi comes to your house in the middle of the day when your husband’s at work and you’re stuck at home because that’s what you are now, a housewife. From a cocksucking whore to a pretty housewife with a dirty little secret. He’s getting hard just thinking about it as he watches your internal debate on whether to let him in or not. Eventually guilt wins out and you usher him inside, hoping the neighbors didn’t see a known villain lurking on your doorstep.

You make Dabi coffee (and aww, you remember exactly how he likes it). He gets you to talking, and you don’t seen surprised to learn about his current line of work; when he presses you, you admit that you’ve been following him in the news. Your life, in comparison, has been wholly uninteresting: you met a man, he proposed, and you married him. Very little has happened to you since. After a long silence you timidly apologize to Dabi for leaving him behind when you two were teenagers, and he tells you he understands.

He doesn’t forgive you.

Overall, things are good, he tells you. But you know, sometimes he misses the old days. Being on the run with you, stealing food from gas stations, breaking into fancy summer homes and pretending the two of you lived there. Stitching up each other’s cuts, because one of you had always gotten in a fight in the past few days. Sometimes he still has dreams about the smell of the balm you used on his fresh burns…and your cool hands, smoothing gently across the tender skin on his face, but he doesn’t say that.

You look down into your monogrammed coffee mug and tell him you know what he means.

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then you offered to let him do yours. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did. You were older and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and heard your voice saying you trusted him, it was the first time he ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He chose twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It hadn’t been long since he got the worst burns on his face (the ones under his eyes, wrapping around his chin and down his neck) and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the ugly, wrinkled scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

…But the longer he reminisces, the more nostalgia’s going to distract him. He came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to have coffee with you and talk about the good old days. What he’s about to take from you—what he’s about to make you give—is long overdue.

You’ve still got a little fight in you. Dabi likes that. But you’ve gone soft, filling out and losing muscle in places where you used to be lean and hard from the constant running and fighting of your old lifestyle. Besides, even if you were as strong as you’d been back then, he’d still be stronger than you—he’s a man now, and it’s incredible how small and weak you seem now that he can look at you as a man.

Were your punches always this light? No way…and your wrists couldn’t have always been this delicate. It’s really no trouble at all for him to wrestle you down to the couch and pin you there so he can tear off your stupid little housewife dress and tug your panties down past your ankles.

Once he’s got you fully naked, though, you pretty much give up trying to fight him off. It’s sad, really—like you’re remembering the past, remembering all the times you let other men hold you and fuck you just so you could have enough money to take yourself and Dabi to McDonalds for a few days. And now look, you’re plenty well-fed, but Dabi’s the one holding you down against your will. Funny how things change like that.

He does appreciate your submission, since it gives him the chance to get a decent look at you. The years have been kind—you look so much healthier than you used to. No more visible ribcage stretching out your skin; no more unhealthy pallor from going outside only at night. Your hands are as soft and manicured as if you’ve never done a day’s work in your life, a far cry from the bitten nails and bloody knuckles of your youth. It’s good to see you like this, and he lingers for a second, drinking in the sight of you and committing you to memory.

Dabi’s pictured this moment for years. He used to think he’d savor it, be sweet with you, slow and gentle to show you what you were missing with the trashy guys you used to hang out with. But now, hey—he’s the trashy one, he’s the one who wants to hurt you and own you and ruin you. May as well act like it.

Your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?

You’re unbelievably tight for a former whore. Dabi can barely hold out when he first pushes into you, licking the tears off your cheeks when apparently it hurts too much for you to keep up a brave face. It takes real effort to fuck himself all the way into you, pushing past the tense squeeze of your muscles while you…well, you’re not exactly wet, but he’ll get you there. As soon as his hips are grinding up against yours, he’s hitching your legs up on his shoulders and pounding you into your stuffy antique couch so deeply that he thinks it might splinter into pieces underneath the two of you.

God, you’re so, so, tight. Dabi feels like a virgin with his cock buried inside you, biting his lip so he doesn’t cum in thirty seconds and thrusting into you with a rhythm that comes from nothing less than pure animal instinct. And you’re getting into it too. Can you tell that your pleading and begging him to get off you is turning into moaning? Can you feel your hips bucking weakly back against his, reverting to the position of the submissive bitch your body remembers even if your mind has tried to forget?

It’s perfect, right and good and perfect, everything Dabi’s been waiting for since he first knew what it was to want someone—no, not just someone. You. It’s always been you. A person never forgets their first love, right? It’s perfect, except—except you won’t look at him, you keep looking off to the side and sniffling, and that’s not going to cut it. So he slows down and wrenches your head back to center and makes you kiss him, sliding his tongue over yours and trying to see if he can feel the place where you used to have a piercing there, too. It’s kind of thrilling, actually—wondering whenever his face dips into yours if you’re going to bite him, if he’ll come back from you with blood in his mouth.

He’s only got to thumb over your clit a couple times before you’re clamping down on him, your body begging to be used and abused. Your husband hasn’t been treating you right, though Dabi doubts the old bastard can even get it up without a blue pill. Sure, you look like a sweet little doll, so darling and delicate and breakable, but Dabi knows you better than that. You’re strong, you can take it. He knows you want it rough, so that’s how he’ll give it to you—and hey, hey, he can feel your cunt quivering around him—you’re cumming, aren’t you? So you like it. You like it.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long before, but when you cum and tighten and squeal so high he thinks you could lose your voice, the tension in his abdomen rises up and he digs his fingers into your hips and—shit, you’re saying something, what are you saying? You’re pleading, begging him not to cum inside—but, ohhhhhh fuck he can’t help it, he can’t, he can’t, he’s cumming all the way deep into your tight little snatch, cockhead jutting up at your cervix, fucking his semen all the way through you until your slit is smeared white from top to bottom.

Stop crying. Dabi’s sick of hearing you cry.

You’re still pretty nimble, even though your current exercise regimen probably doesn’t extend beyond periodic jogs around your neighborhood and weekly pilates with all the other bored trophy wives. He’s kind of surprised when as soon as he lifts himself off of you, you have the strength to roll off the couch and scramble around on the floor for your clothing.

You don’t say anything, which he wasn’t expecting. You don’t scream at him, demand that he leave, or ask him how he could do this to you after everything the two of you went through together. You probably still think of yourself as an older sister when it comes to him.

When you’d first met the scarred kid trying and failing to live off the streets, you knew he wasn’t cut out for this. He’d known pain before, plenty of pain (icy-blue fire roasting the skin off his face—spiral fracture from callused hands twisting his arm behind his back—cold, aching muscles after what he thinks is the fifth hour spent locked in a closet), but he’d never known hunger. Hunger was a different kind of beast, one that would chew the kid up and spit him out and leave him broken if you didn’t take him under your wing, so you did.

It wasn’t like you had much of anything to spare, but you made it work. For a few years. He didn’t talk at first, but he took what you gave him, so you gave him what you could: food, if you had it; a place to sleep at night; the knowledge you’d gathered in your own years as a runaway on how he was supposed to survive in a world that didn’t care whether he lived or rotted away in a gutter. You cared.

Until you didn’t.

‘Going to be traveling alone for a while. Don’t wait for me. I’m sorry,’ your note had read. You left it in his backpack along with $43 in cash—not much, but he knew it was more than you could afford. It was all you had.

And now you have all of this! Don’t you feel lucky? You have the rich husband who barely looks at you, the big house with so many empty unused rooms it makes him sick, more food than you could possibly eat in one lifetime. All of that, and you also have Dabi’s semen leaking out of your cunt. It’s a real rags-to-riches story, he thinks.

Dabi picks a cigarette out of his jacket and you stop fixing up the buttons on your dress to ask him not to light it inside. How will you explain the smell to your husband? Every move you make, every syllable that comes out of your mouth, is weighed down by despair. You look like you’ve been beaten.

He lights the cigarette anyway.

///

Before he had you the first time, Dabi thought once would be enough. Pretty naive, huh?

He makes it his mission to fuck you in every room of your husband’s gluttonously enormous mansion (what with your history Dabi has a hard time thinking of the house as yours, and considering the way you tiptoe around and seem like you’re afraid to move so much as a vase, he suspects you feel the same). There’s a lot of rooms.

When he shows up at your door again you don’t even bother to hear him out, instead just trying to shut it on him, but he forces his way in. You wouldn’t want to make him mad, would you? Not when he’s got such a filthy secret hanging over your head? Will your husband keep paying for your designer shopping trips when he knows you’re a street rat who used to steal everything she wore? Will he still kiss you goodnight when Dabi tells him you used to wrap those pretty lips around strangers’ cocks for money?

If you want Dabi to keep quiet, you’re going to have to convince him the best way you know how. A cockwhore is a cockwhore. That’s not the kind of stain you get to wipe away with time and distance and expensive clothing.

In the kitchen: standing up, your back to his front and your hands barely holding you up on the counter, so hard and rough and deep that the dishes are rattling in the pantry. One of your teacups falls out of the glass china cabinet and shatters into a million fragments in a four foot radius over the tiled floor. Neither of you notice until after. Blunt red lines press themselves into the tops of your thighs where he’s shoving your body into the edge of the counter and there are bruises on your tits from how hard he’s groping you.

In the dining room: sitting on the edge of the table, one of your legs hiked up beside you and the other on a chair while Dabi kneels on the ground in front of you, his head between your thighs and his tongue flicking over your pussy. You start off thinking that you’re going to have to sanitize the entire mahogany surface before you can eat off it again and then he licks his lips and sucks on your throbbing clit and you don’t really think about anything else after that.

In your husband’s study: doggy-style on the floor in front of the fireplace, facedown, his body folded over yours, pressing you so deep into the tacky lion-skin rug that you can taste it. He sighs in your ear—actually, you’re not sure if it’s a sigh or a growl—and his hand comes up to cover yours. You feel the metal stitches and the rough burned skin scraping on your own and it reminds you that it’s him. It’s Dabi.

(A few days after his 13th birthday, the Dabi you used to know told you that he was going to dye his hair—he wanted to be unrecognizable, and you understood, so you found some old scissors and stole hair dye from the pharmacy and you spent three long hours chopping his hair into rough spikes and painting it black. When you washed the dye out of his hair in the sink, your hands were stained inky black too. When he saw, he looked worried and weaved his fingers in with yours and asked if the dye would hurt your skin if it stayed on too long.

And you looked back at this kid—small for his age then, burned by his own quirk, trying so hard to look older and tougher than any 13-year-old should have to be, and you thought to yourself, I would die for you.)

Now you hear Dabi growling out your name and squeezing your hand as he reaches his climax and you think, I would kill you if I could.

///

Dabi saves the master bedroom for last.

Your husband is hosting a party at your house. Dabi knows because you begged him not to come today, looking up at him with those doe-like eyes, offering things you never would have offered if it weren’t important to you that he stay away on this particular evening. But he still comes to crash it. He arrives just minutes before your husband does, and you have barely enough time to tuck him away on the dark bedroom balcony and pull the curtains closed before your husband is opening the door and greeting you.

Dabi settles himself into one of the tasteful Adirondack chairs on the balcony and listens to your voice, or at least what he can hear of it through the sliding glass door. You’re sweeter with your husband than you are with Dabi, and he should’ve known you’d be, but it still makes him hate your husband more than he already did.

On the other hand, there’s something strained and high and nervous in the way you’re speaking. Probably because your husband is standing about twenty feet away from the man you’re cheating on him with.

It takes a while for the two of you to dress for the party, but finally Dabi hears you tell your husband that you’d like to take a little longer to get ready and bid him goodbye. “Love you,” you say to the old man as he leaves the room, so casually Dabi might not have heard it if he wasn’t listening.

Then you’re opening the door and ushering him inside and telling him anxiously that he has to get out before anyone sees him. But, oh, you look nice like this, dolled up in your evening gown and makeup and diamonds, trying to pull him to the door even though you must know by now that he’s not going to leave it there. Instead of following, he backs you up onto the bed and peels down the straps of your dress and slides his hands up under the skirt, and all the while he can’t stop thinking about what you said to your husband.

You used to say that to Dabi.

The first time it was an accident—you’d mentioned it off-hand during a night when it was snowing and his unnaturally high body temperature was the only thing keeping the two of you alive. “God, I love you,” you’d said, draping your arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close to share his heat.

It had stunned him and you could probably tell. Maybe the next few times were just you taking pity on a kid who had never been told so casually and so simply that he was loved. But eventually you meant it, the little love you’s before you went to sleep or when one of you went off to do something alone for a few days—a familial love borne of mutual reliance. For the years Dabi was a runaway with you, you were the only person he could trust, and he knows the feeling was mutual.

Now he wants you to tell him you love him again.

It would be hot, wouldn’t it? You telling Dabi you love him while he forces you into a mating press on the bed you share with your husband. Isn’t that hot? You’re never going to be able to sleep on these sheets again without remembering his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, his cock filling you in ways you haven’t been filled since you were 19.

How are you gonna lay next to your husband in this sad cold bed? ‘Cause that old fuck isn’t touching you, Dabi knows that much—if he was, he’d’ve noticed by now that you’re always covered in bite marks and hickeys that he didn’t give you. How are you gonna sleep at night knowing what a nasty slut you are, telling another man you love him?

So say it. Say you love him.

Oh, you’re going to be like that, aren’t you? What did he tell you about being a fucking brat when he’s talking to you? See if you’re still so defiant when he’s got his hand stroking the length of that pretty throat and then sealing down on it, squeezing gently on the veins running up the sides of your neck, not too hard, but enough that you’re probably getting a little dizzy while he continues to fuck into you. Does it hurt? Your face is turning pink. Uh-uh-uh, don’t try to pull his hand off, or he’ll show you just how good he is with his quirk these days.

You’re trying to choke out the words but you can’t quite make them make sense. There’s something endearing about the way your whimpers vibrate through the skin of Dabi’s palm, how he can hear you as well as feeling you. Oh—could you say his name too? He knows you’re feeling all fucked-out and wet and sloppy, every moan rising and falling in time with his cock stretching your pussy open, but can’t you give it a little more effort? He’s sure you can get his name out if you really try.

And if you’re not going to cooperate, Dabi may as well just dig the heel of his knuckle into your windpipe, because you really do tighten up so deliciously when you cough and sputter like that. Fuck, if you keep doing that, he’s going to cum, gonna cum right here in your syrupy pussy and spill it all over your marriage bed—but no, he wants to hear you say it first, so when you’re gagging and turning red and your eyes are watering he finally stops choking you, loosening his grip just enough that his hand is resting on your neck in a lover’s touch. It takes you a second and your voice is so hoarse he can barely hear it, but then you’re speaking and something jumps in his chest—

“I…I love—love y-you, Touya!” you sob. “I love you! I—love you, Touya—Touya—Touya—!”

And ah fuck it’s almost exactly right, your voice saying you love him, saying his real name, a name he hasn’t heard for years because you’re the only one who really knows it anymore—but you’re crying, real heavy sobs while you gulp in frantic lungfuls of oxygen. Your ribcage is heaving underneath him and—god, fuck—your guts are clenching, sucking down on every inch of his cock, every vein—

—oh shit fuck fuck he’s cumming, and he presses his face into your neck, into your hair, kissing you and thinking I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—

—please stay, forever.

///

When he’s done, he goes for another round just to make sure you’re going to have cum dripping down your thighs when you go back to the party. No panties, unless you want him to walk through the grand foyer with all the other guests on his way out.

You don’t look at him as you fix your dress and your hair and wipe at your smeared makeup. With your eyeliner rubbed down to the bottom of your eyes, Dabi’s reminded a little of how you used to look—and the reminder is doubled when you slide your legs across the side of the bed and limp over to your vanity, walking hesitantly, your hips rocking from side to side. Damn, did he fuck you that hard?

Reminds him of the old days, you shuffling back to the hideout with that same awkward pain in your gait, purple marks around your neck, and a dim smile decorating your face—for his sake. Oh, and cash in your pockets. You’d tell him that the two of you were going out to eat that night and refuse to let him look at the injuries. God, it made him angry, it still makes him angry just thinking about it—angry at the men who bought you for treating you like that, angry at you for letting them. Angry at himself for not being old enough or strong enough or rich enough to stop them.

Anger, yes…and other things too. There had been a sick, insidious part of him that wanted to be in their position. He’d hated himself for it back then, until you left and the desire to punish you for abandoning him got twisted up with the desire to own you and keep you his. Maybe if he let himself think about it, he’d still hate himself for what he’s doing to you.

By now, you’re too good at covering up the bruises. A sweep of foundation and powder passes over each hickey he left on your throat and it’s like he never touched you. You have to push him off the bed so you can strip the sheets and replace them. When you’re done, you tell him to wait a few minutes after you leave to sneak out the back and he makes another half-joke about joining the party and introducing himself to your old man—

—and you shove him up against the wall with all the strength left in you, wrap your hand around his neck, and dig your fingernails under the line of piercings in his cheek. If he even looks at your husband, if he even thinks about it, you’ll rip his goddamn face open, you tell him in a low snarl.

It’s an empty threat (you and he both know who would win in a physical altercation) but there’s real hatred behind it. Dabi hasn’t seen that kind of fire in your eyes since he found out you became a trophy wife. It makes him want to have you again so he does, pulling your arms away from his face, standing and holding you up against the door to your bedroom, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him to keep from falling.

He’s lubed up by his own cum, and the wet squelching of your pussy just reminds him what a mess you’re going to be when you return to high society tonight. Maybe your husband will be able to smell it on you—the cum, the sex, the other man who’s been keeping his darling wife warm while he’s at work.

Well, probably not. If that stupid fucking cuckold hasn’t figured it out by now, there’s not much of a chance he’ll get it on his own. As Dabi sinks into your tight, gummy cunt again, he decides that he might just have to help the process along. A man deserves to know if his wife is being unfaithful, right?

///

Your husband’s office phone number is written on a post-it note that’s tacked to the desk of his study. It takes Dabi 40 minutes and $30 to buy a burner cell phone, leave a message on the man’s voicemail, and toss the burner in the kitchen trash at your house while you’re in the shower.

The message is short and straightforward. Dabi introduces himself as ‘the man who’s sleeping with your wife’, describes the floor plan of your husband’s house and what position he fucked you in for each room, and finally finishes it off with the evidence—the precise size and location of every hickey he’s left on your body that will still be visible by the time your husband returns from work.

Dabi almost wishes your husband had picked up the call—he’d’ve had a good time explaining in pornographic detail the way your tits look under those too-formal dresses, the way you moan when you cum in his mouth, the way you told him you loved him while he choked you out—with your husband in the house, no less. But this is fine too.

Besides, it’ll be so fucking funny if someone else at your husband’s company hears the message before he does.

///

Whore. Your husband called you a whore.

You’ve been called a whore a lot, actually. More than most people. You should be used to it by now. But it’s different when your husband says it. Your husband, the man who rescued you from a life of poverty and starvation, the man who has given you everything you own, the man who slid a ring onto your finger under a wedding arch and promised to love you in good times and in bad. The man you’ve almost convinced yourself you love back.

He called you a whore and slapped you when you tried to explain yourself and shoved you out the door and locked it. You can still hear his voice telling you the only place he wants to see your face again is in a casket.

So that’s why when Dabi comes to collect you, you’re hugging your knees to your chest on your front porch in your shiny lace-edged slip nightdress, hair in a mess around your head and your lip bleeding onto your chin. Your feet are so cold—your husband didn’t even give you time to put shoes on before he threw you out.

The night is cool and dark but the porch light buzzes on for half a minute when Dabi climbs up the steps to come crouch next to you on the doorstep. You try not to look at him, but he tilts your face toward his, electric-blue eyes skimming over the red mark and blue-black discoloration blossoming across your cheekbone; the blood drying on your split lip.

Dabi asks calmly if your husband hit you, and you nod.

Good, he tells you, and his body lights up blue in a roiling cloud of flames. He’s been waiting for an excuse to kill that old fuck.

The fire is like lightning, bright and ghostly in the darkness. The crackling of the flame eats away at the heavy silence of the night and you crawl back from the dry heat of it, sure you can feel your eyebrows singeing from being near. Dabi looks different backed by the inferno—bigger, crueler. Frightening. He reaches at the door but you shout at him to stop.

Why? Don’t you think he should suffer, after what he did to you?

But your fists clench by your sides and you set your teeth and you tell Dabi that if he’s going to kill your husband, he may as well set himself on fire too, because it’s his fault in the first place. And he’s done a lot worse to you than one slap.

Dabi waits a moment, searching your alarmed expression for something, but whatever he’s hoping for you don’t give him and the flames go out. The air smells like smoke and his hands are hot—not burning, but uncomfortably hot—when he kneels in front of you and rubs a thumb over your bruised cheek.

“(Y/N)—” Dabi starts, and then he can’t find a way to finish. So he just gathers you up in his arms and carries you bridal-style down into the lawn and to the driveway, where he’s got a car waiting to take you guys back to his place. You don’t resist, which surprises him again. He thought you’d push away at him, scream, get angry—he thought he’d have to convince you. Or force you, like he usually does. But you just let him deposit you in the seat next to the driver’s.

Before he gets in, he asks you if you need anything from your house. He can go get it for you. See if any balding motherfucker in his forties can stop him. But you just shake your head.

“There’s nothing,” you say blankly. “I have nothing. I…have nothing.”

Just like back then.

“Not nothing,” Dabi tells you, turning forward to the road so you can’t see the look on his face. “You have me.”

///

In the end, he does understand. He understood it the second he held that goodbye note in his hands and knew you were lost to him.

You were 17 when you met him and 19 when you left—hardly older than a child yourself. You barely had enough to provide for your own needs, much less a teenage boy’s. By the time you left, Dabi was more than capable of surviving on his own and already falling into ugly crowds, gangs and syndicates who saw money in his quirk, people you’d sacrificed a lot to keep him away from. He no longer needed you, and it was time for you two to go your separate ways. Dabi understands that.

But now you need him. Just like you needed him when you were fucking strangers for food money; like you needed him when you ran away; like you needed him when you got trapped in this mundane, sparkling-clean life, a life that was never going to fit you. Only this time—this time, Dabi’s old enough for you. He’s not a kid anymore, he’s a man. He’s got an apartment and a good job (well, kind of) and he’s got money. He can provide for you the way you’ve always needed him to.

Dabi’s going to take care of you, and you’re never, ever going to leave.

[melancholymetropolis]

No Idea

Pairings: Athlete!Kirishima x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: College AU The reader is Kirishima's History tutor and they kinda have a crush on each other. It takes an afterparty filled with horny guys and a skin-tight dress for Kiri to realize he wants them all to himself.

Warning: Do I even need to say it at this point? It's smut, obvi. Kinda unedited. The reader and her best friend are black. Kirishima is a football player; he's VERY possessive over the reader. Her best friend is a little gay for her as well.

Author's Note: This was a commission!!!!! The client gave me this insane prompt and I had no choice but to go over the word limit. If you want to commission me, click here! Your support really means the world to me. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5,300

“You’re back early!” My roommate, Liza, yelled from the other side of the apartment-style dorm room. The sound of her chair scraping the floor followed shortly after, along with the light footsteps of her sock-clad feet. “I left you a plate in the microwave, in case you were hungry. I could heat it up, if you’re too tired— why the long face? What happened?”

“He didn’t show up,” I sighed as I dropped my books on the table and sank into a chair.

“How can he not show up?” Liza fumed crossing her arms. “His GPA is already in the gutter from all the other quizzes he seemed to fail before the semester even started.”

“I know,” I replied in a bored tone.

“He’s on academic probation—”

“I know.”

“One more hiccup and he’ll be off the football team—”

“I know.”

“Not to mention how you practically have to bend backward to make time for him—”

“Mhm.”

“Just for him to flake on you for the third time! I just—”

“Liza, please,” I rose from my seat and stood in front of her. “You don’t have to be angry with me. It’s truly okay.”

“No! It’s not okay!” She stormed to the microwave and pulled the cover plate from the inside. She removed the foil and pushed it back into the device, before pressing the start button four times. She turns to face me and forces an angered sigh from her lips. “He likes you, you know that right?”

I lifted my books from the table and walked to our shared room. I took in the words that she threw at me with each step and digested them. Kirishima liked me. It wasn’t as though I didn’t have an inkling that he may be, sorta found me attractive. Although I wore glasses, I wasn’t blind. At least with them on. I saw the way he looked at me when we were less than a foot apart. Shoulders practically touching as we slouched over the Advanced American History textbook. Our hands brushing against each other’s ever so often. The sparkle in his eye when he looked at me longer than a few seconds; the blush on his cheeks when I smiled at his corny jokes. His persistent tendency to walk me home, although most times, we finished our study sessions just before dusk. The way he stayed glued to my side during the journey to my dorm. How he’d carry my books on the way. I noticed it all and practically welcomed it, since I too found him attractive. The spiky redhead just had a way of making everyone swoon over him. Kirishima was genuinely a nice person, not because there was something in it for him, but just because.

The beeping from the microwave brought me back to reality. I placed the textbooks on the designated space on the shelf and fixed my scattered stationery from that morning. Liza shuffled in with a bowl of baked fetta pasta, and a piece of toasted garlic bread a few minutes later. She placed the bowl on the desk, with a fork, a can of sparkling soda, and my favorite metal straw.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I said with a tired smile.

“Helped me pass ‘Text and Ideas’ with an A-,” Liza smiled back and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Oh right,” I took a seat at the desk and forked the starchy dish in my mouth. “This is heaven-sent.”

“I knew you’d like it!” She deemed walking to her own desk. “I got the recipe from tiktok.”

I hum in response and continued to stuff my face. After a few minutes of silence, I grab the phone from my back pocket and unlocked it. A new message from Kirishima was the newest notification from many and it said:

Hey, I am sorry for not showing up. My teammate got shitfaced and decided to take a dive into the fountain. It took three of us to pull him out. It sucks because I was really looking forward to seeing you.

Since my mouth had already filled to its brink with pasta, I opted for a tight-lipped smirk instead of a toothy one. Kirishima all but admitted that he missed me. My hunch was right: the feelings are mutual. I swallowed the pasta and swiveled around in my chair to look at Liza. Her eyes were glued to her phone, but she snapped her head up to laugh at the content on her screen. Once she was down laughing, I picked my phone up and pointed it in her general direction. Reaching forward, she grasped the device and quickly read the message.

“Don’t respond to him,” she said, handing the phone back to me.

“Why? I thought you were shipping us together?” I asked whilst forking more pasta in my mouth.

“That’s why I’m telling you what I am telling you!” Liza rose to her feet and in a split second, she stood in front of me with a sickening smile.

“I am afraid to ask,” I said with a sigh.

“You don’t have to; I’m gonna tell you anyway,” she squats between my legs and widens her smile. “That boy is already wrapped around your finger, all you need to do is pull away. Just a tiny bit and he’ll come running.”

“Liza. . .”

“Hear me out!” She rose to her feet again and walked to the closet. “Remember when I went thrift shopping last week and I picked up that cute bodycon dress?”

“Yeah. . . ?”

“Well, I washed it and realized that it didn’t have the BODY to fill it out properly.” She pulls the dress from the closet and turns back to me. “And since the Homecoming Afterparty is at the Quarterback's house tomorrow night, I thought it would be the perfect time for you to wear it.”

I eye the dress, taking in its extremely short length and strappy detailing on the front. One wrong move and my breasts would spill right out of it. But, one right move would have them fall onto Kiri’s lap. I tried my best to list the pros and cons of the situation. Pondering what I could get out of the ordeal going to the lion’s den dressed as a gazelle. Yet, all I could imagine was me twerking on someone’s son and taking him home afterward.

💘🖤💘🖤

The dress fit like a glove: perfectly tight, almost like a second skin, but very breathable. I paired it with some hoop earrings, a few bangles on each wrist, and 3-inch kitten heels. My goal was to dress to impress, not nurse my aching arches by the end of the night. The entire ride over to the nicer part of town was nerve-wracking, for one, the Uber driver wouldn’t stop staring at my cleavage from the driver’s mirror. And, secondly, Liza practically had phone sex with her boyfriend, who was going to meet us at the party. I stared down at my phone the whole time, rereading Kiri’s message and the ones he sent afterward. It was true, he was wrapped around my finger. He didn’t double text; Kirishima sent five messages in a row.

Hey, are you free tomorrow? I wanted to talk about yesterday.

I’ll buy you that weird thing you like from Starbucks.

The drink you said that tastes like the moon.`

And I’ll get you those cake pop things.

My heart couldn’t help but flutter; I didn’t know he was paying that much attention to me. I only mentioned that Starbucks drink once in his presence, quite a while ago. It had to be a little over a month ago, yet he still remembered.

The car stopped and Liza popped right out. Her 34 inch Brazilian, straight swaying behind her as she closes the door. Still chatting with her boyfriend, she motions me out of the car with an eager smile. Reluctantly, I detach myself from the cool leather and tug on my dress as I closed the door behind me. I looked up toward the mansion before me, white paint and overwhelming size almost frightened me. But, when I saw a familiar, spiky-haired, redhead, all my potential fear left my body and warmth replaced it.

Kirishima’s back was to me; he was having an intense conversation with his best friend, Bakugo, one of the team’s Linebackers. The blond was so close to popping a fuse but Kiri was struggling to keep from laughing directly in his face. I approach the porch, slow and sensual, my eyes glued to him the entire walk over. Kirishima briefly turns around to address a comer of the group, Sero, an offensive player, when his eyes come up the steps. The humorous expression on his face drops and is replaced with awe. The other two boys look in the direction of his eyesight and replicate his reaction.

“Hi—” I lifted my hand to wave, but it never made it past my abdomen. Liza appeared right in front of me and captured my wrist.

“Girl, it’s our song! Hurry up!” She said as she proceeded to drag me into the house.

“Bye—! Wait, damn!”

Liza pulled me to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room of the home. She starts to bop side to side, swaying her hips in place. It takes me a few seconds to register that “34+35” was blasting the speakers. Liza twirls around me in a fit of giggles and continues to bop along to the music.

“I thought you liked “positions” better than this track?” I questioned as I matched her rhythm.

“I do! I just had to get you out of there,” Liza answered as she swayed her head back and forth. Which made her hair move in an angelic wave behind her bandeau top and pencil skirt. “Those three guys looked like they wanted to run a train on you.”

“ELIZABETH!!!!” I screamed with a shocked smile.

“What?! I’m not lying!” She gives me a bashful smirk. “You look so good, mamas! Shit, you're making me rethink my relationship with Shinso.”

“Oh my god!” I laughed. “I can’t take your ass anywhere, for real!”

The song began to fade out and bleed into “Pussy Talk” with the infamous City Girls. Liza’s soft bops began to move into full booty bouncing. Soon her hands are on her knees and she’s throwing her ass back on my lap. I press my hand flat on her back and lift my other hand in the air. She whines her waist and looks back at me as her inner hot girl is threatening to make an appearance. Shortly after the first verse, Liza straightens her back and dances around me as I bop to the side, bouncing my ass to the music. A smile comes to my lips as my favorite part plays on full blast.

“Pussy talented, it do cartwheels,” Liza and I screamed in unison. “And he pay ‘cause he like how that part feel.”

“Pussy give speeches, heartfelt,” I continued, popping my back against my friend.

“Yuh,” Liza ad-libbed.

“Said the pussy really talk like it Garfield,” I rapped as I felt Liza’s hands glide up my sides.

“It do!”

We danced around each other for the rest of the song and pulled away from the floor, desperately needing to hydrate. We practically stumbled toward the makeshift bar across the living room. We reached into the cooler and pulled out two bottles of water. We chugged the water and tossed the empty bottles in the trash.

“Only water, ladies?” Mineta asked as we turned back towards the dance floor. “You don’t want something a little. . . stronger?”

“Get lost, grape juice,” a familiar voice suddenly came out of nowhere.

Just a few feet behind the purple blob stood Kirishima and Shinso. If looks could kill, Mineta’s body parts would be staining the marble floors and messing up my fresh pedicure. The poor excuse for a human scurried away as both football players approached us. Shinso instantly wrapped his arms around Liza and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Having fun, baby girl?” His low voice sounded sensual against the harsh music.

A seductive smile falls on Liza’s face. “I would’ve had even more fun if you actually danced with me for once.”

“You know I don’t like—”

“Too bad!” She pulled Shinso to the dance floor.

Leaving me alone with Kirishima. I turned to look at him and offered him an awkward smile. “How was your diving lesson?”

The redhead returned my smile and scratched the back of his neck. “So you did read me my texts? I was starting to think you were mad at me or something.”

“Not at you, per se,” I replied thinking of my words carefully.

“Then who were you mad at?” Kirishima closes the distance between us and puts a finger under my chin. He redirects my attention to his face and gives me a smirk.

He looked good and he knew it. He wore a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. But, he paired it with a burgundy leather jacket and a Cuban link silver chain. He had a gold wristwatch on his left wrist and a simple chain on his right. And his cologne. . . it danced in my nostrils. It wasn’t too heavy or suffocating; you simply had to be close to him to smell it.

Kirishima was playing a dangerous game and he knew it.

“At the people that take you away from me,” I looked at him with doughy eyes and slightly parted lips. A look of innocence was written all over my face.

Kirishima clenched his jaw and briefly looked away. A blush starting to form on his cheeks. “Well, I—. Shit.” He remained silent for a few seconds, gathering his words, before saying “You don’t know what you do to me, Y/N.”

“And what’s that?” I asked while removing his hand from my chin and bringing it to my lips. I gently kiss his bruised knuckles, never breaking eye contact while doing so.

The redhead opens his mouth to speak but is rudely interrupted by a yelling Liza.

“GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, BITCH!!!! THEY’RE PLAYING OUR SONG!!!!”

While I was talking to Kirishima, the music seemed to slip away. I had no idea what was playing until I refocused my attention on the blaring speakers. “Come on, Kiri. Duty calls.” I drag him to the dance floor.

Liza unlatches herself from Shinso and twirls around me. “I’m not shy, I’ll say it. I’ve been picturing you naked.”

“I’m a little faded, you look like a fucking painting,” I continue the verse as I glide my hands along my body. “Big doe eyes, amazin’. She’s everything I’ve been prayin’.”

Liza walked up to Kirishima and glided her hand along his chest. “Me and your girlfriend playin’ dress-up house.” She pressed two fingers against her lips and poked her tongue out. “I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch.”

Kirishima blushes a bright red, nearly matching his hair. It takes everything in me not to laugh.

I look back at Shinso and he’s just shaking his head with a smile on his face.

“Go get your girlfriend, before she devours your teammate,” I said giggly quietly.

“Go get your best friend before she kills your loverboy,” Shinso counters looking down at me with a smirk.

“He looks like he's gonna pass out,” I replied, struggling to contain my laughter.

“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen him when you were twerking on Liza,” Shinso jested while leaning closer to me. “Eijiro looked like he came in his pants.”

I smacked his arm and leaned against his chest. “You’re lying!” Laughter overcame my body; tears were gathering in the corners of my eyes.

“I swear to god,” Shinso struggled to say while laughing. “Then, when Bakugo called you hot. . . Eiji almost went feral.”

“Stop. . . I can’t breathe. . .”

“You better fuck him like the world is ending. . . I can’t keep stopping him from. . . fighting the entire team over you.”

“You and Liza. . . perfect for each other. . . I cannot. . .”

The song swiftly faded out into another. Yet another one of Liza’s favorites: Buss it by Erika Banks.

The young woman peeled herself from Kirishima and began walking to her boyfriend. I distanced myself from Shinso and walked over to Kirishima. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. “Are you okay, Kiri?” A smile painted my lips.

His eyes darkened and he gripped my waist firmly. “I want you. . . so bad right now.”

“How about we get outta here?” I suggested with a raised eyebrow.

“Go say goodbye to your friends, I’ll bring the car around,” Kirishima asserted with a smirk. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before detaching himself from me and walking out of the living room.

I turned back to Shinso and Liza, who were seconds away from eating each other’s face off. I tapped the loving couple and cleared my throat. They both pulled away and stared at me.

"We're leaving," I said simply.

"About fucking time," Liza replied with a smirk. "You better come back to the dorm in a goddamn wheelchair, if not, I'm sending you back to his place."

"You have like zero chill," I shook my head and waved goodbye.

"Don't forget to use protection!" Liza yelled after me.

A chuckle fell from my lips as I walked out of the front door. I found Kirishima exactly where he said he'd be: parked in front of the massive house, within a bright red mustang. He exited the car and walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He opened my door and helped me get in. Kirishima made sure I was buckled in and comfortable before entering the car on the driver's side.

He starts the vehicle, and places his right hand on my thigh. He gives the plush fresh a securing squeeze before pulling away from the curb.

The drive was short and sweet, averaging around ten minutes. We parked across the street from the boys’ dorm hall and exited the car. Kirishima opened my door and helped me out of the vehicle.

"If you don't want this, I could always take you home," he said as he shut my door. "I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"I want this more than you know," I responded while gripping his hand. "But, if I ever feel uncomfortable, I'll let you know."

Kirishima nods and smiles. "Good girl. Now let's go."

The moment his dorm's door closed, his body was pressed against mine and his hand glued to my waist. His lips massaged against my own, slow and sensually. I moaned against the kiss, and pressed my body closer to his. He felt so good attached to me, almost like he was meant to be against me. His searing hot kisses inched down my jawline and to my neck. Kirishima's hands slid up my abdomen and to my shoulders, he slipped the straps from the curved surface and pulled away just enough just to allow me to remove them from my arms.

He kissed the other side of my neck, leaving little bites here and there. The redhead ran his tongue against my collarbones and I swear a flood rushed to my nether regions. Kirishima kissed down and left my breast, gathering the anticipation that swirled through my body before latching his lips on my nipple. A throat my moan fell from my mouth and my legs jolted slightly. My mind continued to fog as he nestled against the sensitive bud, while happily moaning against the soft flesh. I pressed one hand against the front door and another in his hair.

Pants left my lips as I began to squirm underneath his body. "Take me to the bed, please," I begged while looking down at him. " I want you so bad, Kiri."

The redhead detached himself from my breast and gripped my chin. "Say my name, baby." His red eyes stared deeply into my brown ones, taking in every little detail of my expression.

"Eijiro," I said breathlessly.

"Say it again," he broke eye contact and gripped my waist.

"Eijiro."

His hands slipped down the curve of my rear and to my legs. He lifted limbs from off the ground and wrapped them around his waist. I wrapped my arms around his leg immediately afterward and giggled.

He walked further into the dorm room and passed through another dorm. He sits me on the extra-long twin bed and falls to his knees between my legs. Kiri unlatches my strappy heel and tosses it to the other side of the room. While he does the other foot, a smirk presses against his lips.

"What?" I asked while looking down at him.

"I'm just thinking about how this started," he said while smiling. "How my shifty grades gave me the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Stop it," I counter with a blush on my face. "You're exaggerating."

"Baby, I mean it with every fiber of my being when I say this," he leaned forward. "I've wanted to be with you for a while now, I just didn't know if you'd like me back. And I was kinda ashamed of taking so long to say something because you're so sweet and you really helped me a lot with Advanced American History. I didn’t want you to think I was using you for information or anything."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips on his forehead. "I liked you even before I officially knew you. When you beat the shit out of that guy that tried to home a drunk girl."

"I don't even remember that."

"It was during a Halloween party last year, that was when I first saw you. And I thought, "wow I wish more men like him existed in this world"."

"I can't believe you remember that."

"How could I not? You basically saved that girl's life and dignity. You were the only human being in a room full of predators. That's when I knew I wanted you for myself."

Kirishima laughs. "Greedy, little Y/N."

I shrugged.

"Come here."

I gathered the football player into my arms and pressed my lips onto his. Taking in every ounce of his kiss. Sucking on his bottom lip. Slipping my tongue within his mouth. Tugging against his collar to close the distance between us. After a few seconds, Kirishima kissed down my body again until he was face to face with my heated center. He scrunched the dress around my waist and pulled my panties off my legs before spreading my legs wide open.

"Oh… look how wet you are, baby," he kissed the soft skin in between my thighs. "All for me."

Kirishima dipped his head between my legs and took a long swipe at the sticky mess between them. A shiver ran along my spine, Arching my back, I released a soft whimper and spread my legs further apart. He dipped his tongue into the smooth canal repeatedly, bobbing his head as he completed the action. His calloused hands slid up my legs once more and hooked around my thighs. Kiri moved his hot mouth from the very bottom of my womanhood to the top, leaving a long string of spit along the way. The redhead sucked on the protruding bud tenderly; with hollowed cheeks, he looked up from my heat and stared into my eyes. I bit my lip and moaned loudly.

“Fuck, you feel good,” I arched my back against his mouth and bucked my hips slowly.

Kirishima released my bud with a silent “pop” and began lapping the rosy, pink button in great haste. My legs jolted at the new source of stimulation and a throaty whine fell from my lips. Squeezing my eyes shut, I squirmed underneath his mouth, desperately wanting to add more friction. Kiri noticed my slutty movements and began to move his tongue even faster.

“Ah. . . just like that, don’t stop,” my fingers gathered my bosoms and gave them a firm squeeze. The walls of my slick cave began to clench and release themselves at a faster pace. Tingles rose up my body, swirling against my lower abdomen, almost numbing my lower half entirely. Then, a searing sensation ripped through me, causing my hips to raise from the bed and my knees to shake. A low scream left my mouth as I felt the throbbing of my bud increase tremendously.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” My hips fell on the bed again and my legs shook violently. Kirishima steadied them as much as he could before a whole another wave hit my body and my entire being went still.

“Ah! Eijiro!” I screamed as the pleasure shot through my body for the last time. Pants left my throat and short spurts, just as sweat dripped from my forehead. I looked down at Kirishima, who had just pulled away from my spasming cunny. He had a look of astonishment on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked down at my wrecked body, taking in the shaking limbs, the thin layer of sweat upon it, and the scrunched-up dress at the waist.

“You sounded so hot screaming my name,” he finally said after a few seconds of silence. “No one has ever made it sound so good as you.”

“Well, grab a condom and I’ll scream your name for the rest of the night,” I replied with a smirk. “If you can last that long.”

“Oh, baby,” Kiri’s smile widened. “You have no idea.”

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a box of condoms from the top drawer. He ripped one off the sleeve and walked back over to me. I pulled the scrunched-up dress over my head and tossed it to the side. I looked over at Kiri and he’d already stripped himself of his T-shirt. He was currently unbuckling his belt with the condom packet in his mouth. His massive bulge immediately caught my eye and I moaned in anticipation. Kirishima rips the packet open with his teeth and rolls latex down his throbbing shaft. My walls clench at the delicious sight and I could feel my nipple begin to stiffen

“If you’re still tired, we can wait a little—” Kirishima begins to say before I cut him off.

“Eijiro, stop being nice and fuck me like a slut.”

His lips were on mine within the next heartbeat. His hands roamed every crevice of my body, taking in the soft tissue and stretchmarks lovingly. His throbbing member slowly slid into me with little to no friction. He made sure to thumb my clitoris while inserting himself, just so he wouldn’t hurt me. And I swear, I was seconds away from asking him to marry me. He gently moved his hips backward, and then pushed forward again. Highlighting his first stroke. He looked at the crimson hue on my face and leaned down to kiss me.

“You are so pretty, princess,” Kiri groaned softly, as he moved his hips at a gentle pace. “So, so pretty.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him again. Our tongues danced together as his member tenderly kissed my sensitive walls with each thrust. Kirishima moaned against my lips, as he took in every part of that union. He hiked up one of my legs and hooked it around his waist while he cradled the back of my neck with the other. He looked into my eyes as he increased the pressure of his strokes and their depth. My mouth hung open, and drool poured from the side of it as he kept up the sickening pace. My eyes began to roll back as throat moans rose from the depth of my body.

“Oh God. . .” I slurred as the pleasure increased within my body.

“Aww look at my pretty baby,” Kiri grunted as he rested his hand on my neck. He pressed his thumb between my lips.

I sucked on the digit and looked into his eyes. He moved his hips faster and my lips separated from around the finger. Pants fell from my lips as I felt his member sensually assault my cervix. After a few minutes, Kirishima suddenly pauses and hikes one of my legs up to his shoulders. He readjusts his body, leaving his hand on my neck and placing his hand on my clit. Kiri began to rock his hips in a powerful, but steady motion. He rubs the throbbing bud in a gentle motion, slowly gathering every ounce of pleasure within my body. The pace of my breathing increased rapidly, as the pool in my stomach began to inflate. Whimpers fell from my lips as I gripped the sheets underneath me.

“I’m so close. . .” I whispered through tight lips. “Please don’t stop. . .”

“You’re squeezing me so deliciously tight, baby,” Kirishima grunts as a droplet of sweat drops from his brow. “Milking my cock for everything it’s worth. What a greedy little cunny you have.”

“Eijiro. . . I wanna cum so bad,” I whimpered through pants. “Please let me cum, baby.”

Kirishima curses under his breath and releases his hand from my throbbing bud. He places both hands onto my neck, thumbs pressing against my jaw. He eases his body forward and keeps his sickening pace. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

I sucked in a breath and wrapped my hands around his forearms. I furrow my brows and pant with my mouth open. “You make me feel so good, Eiji. So fucking good!”

“You’re mine, you hear me?” He drops his hands from my neck and presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t get to fuck anyone else. . . . .You don’t get to be with anyone else. . . .My name will be the only name you moan for the rest of your life, do you understand?”

I nod. “I understand.”

“You’re mine and no one else's.”

He pulls me into a searing hot kiss. Drinking in all the love and energy throughout my body. I hook my arms around his neck and moan against his lips. Suddenly, I felt an intense rush of adrenaline pass through my body and everything seemed to go silent. A low ringing noise sounded in my ear as my mouth fell open. I dug my arms into his back and clung to his body. Every fiber of my being tensed and my mind went completely blank for several seconds. Then, slowly, my body released itself and collapsed onto the bed. I opened my eyes lazily to see Kirishima’s eyes tightly closed and his hips slightly shaking. Once he finished his ride, his body relaxed and he lowered my leg from his shoulder. He pulled me into an embrace and pressed another kiss onto my lips.

I pulled away from the kiss and looked into his crimson eyes. “Were you serious about calling me yours?”

“Ugh. . . yes?” He replied hesitantly. Then, he added “If that’s okay with you! I don’t wanna force you—”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I cut him off with a smirk.

“Oh, I was worried for a second.”

“The only thing you should be worried about is your Advanced American History grade.”

“Oh, right. . .”

“You miss another one of my sessions, I’ll ignore you again.”

“Please don’t! I will be present at every session.”

“Good. And you have to be Starbucks.”

“The drink that tastes like the moon?”

“Matcha latte with 2 pumps of chai. Yup.”

“And two chocolate cake pops.”

“Mhm. You know me so well.”

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Prompt My Own Damn Self # :He’s Not the Guy You Marry, But He Is The Guy You [REDACTED] in the Night Club Bathroom at Two O’Clock in the Morning, Which is Also Important

Summary: Literally what it says in the title, except we find out what [REDACTED] means, which is very fun and exciting. That’s right, everybody, we’re 👏 going 👏 there 👏

Warnings: ‼️18+‼️ Extremely Explicit Sexual Content. Do NOT be uncool and read it if you’re not of age. Otherwise, there’s alcohol involved here (wow what a surprise 🙄), like one mention of drugs, and smoking. Aside from that, it’s pretty straightforward.

Genre: Mediocre Smut

Pairing: Hatter/Fem!Reader

Notes: There are two types of people in this world: people who are very attracted to the weird sexy hat guy who started a death-game pyramid scheme, and LIARS.

Real talk, though: this is pretty explicit. More explicit than I’ve gone in a very long time, so I’m a little rusty. It veers into “hate sex” territory, which was kind of fun to write, honestly. I live for the banter. (Also, the “you” character in this is kind of great? I like her.)

HEY! Just another reminder! This is 18+ so if you’re not of legal age, do yourself a solid and ditch this little thing, okay? Okay.

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It starts with tequila shots.

Salt licked. From your wrist. His chest. The hollow of your throat.

Lime bitten. Held between your fingers. Between his teeth. Between your pushed-together breasts.

Music pulses. Lights flash. He’s got a hand on your ass. You’ve got your lips on his neck.

“Wanna go somewhere?”

“Yes.”

And he leads you, hand on the small of your back, away from the bar. People stare. You like it.

‘Somewhere’ is, apparently, a two-stall women’s restroom, tucked away in a narrow little hallway which runs to the left of the bar. A place for shooting up drugs. A place for scribbling on the walls with permanent marker.

A place for sex. Hot, sweaty, anonymous sex.

...Well, semi-anonymous, anyways. It’s impossible to live at the Beach and not know who the man in red is, the man who sells a shot at salvation for nothing more than a few playing cards.

You lean against the tastefully cream-colored counter which hosts, among other things: a sink stained pink with cheap soap; three forgotten tubes of lipstick; a small mirror, holding an abandoned credit card and two small lines of cocaine; a crumpled up hand towel; a half-finished bottle of Asahi beer; and what was probably once a wedding ring.

“Great ambiance,” you murmur flatly. The harsh light of fluoresent bulbs burn your eyes, diverting your gaze to the white floor, “Been ages since I got fucked in a classy place like this.”

“Ages?” Hatter flicks the lock on the door with a low thunk.

“Hours,” you answer, mournful tone betrayed by a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, “Had you not come along, my dry spell might’ve gone on through the morning.”

“Perish the thought.”

And he does not so much approach you as he descends upon you, mouth sucking at your collarbone and leg pushing between your thighs.

“Tell me,” he pants into you ear, breath hot and fingers deft as he unties the strings of your bikini top, “How do you want me?”

“Now,” you hiss back, “Don’t care how, just—fuck, just give it to me.”

“Then, if you would be so kind?” He holds a condom between his index and middle fingers.

In truth, you’re glad for it—you’d rather not deal with the mess after all is said and done—but there’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of a ‘thank you.’

“Fine,” you huff, snatching the foil square from his grasp, “Don’t suppose you have anything better to—oh!”

Hands on your hips spin you around so you’re facing the mirror. You grip the edge of the counter, knuckles straining, and watch as he reaches around to palm your breast.

“Apologies,” he makes eye contact with you in the mirror, “but I seem to have my hands full at the moment.”

And that’s when you feel fingertips slipping beneath the seam of your bikini bottoms, an insistent press against the slick of your slit.

You spit a curse and fumble with the condom, desperation setting in as his hands continued to dance across your flesh. After some moments (too many for your liking), you’re successful in your endeavor, and pass the unwrapped nuisance over your shoulder.

“Much obliged,” he thanks, removing his hands to sort himself out, “You know, I appreciate—“

“I didn’t come here to talk,” you snap. He laughs in response.

“Ooh, you’re mean!”

And he’s sliding the crotch of your swimsuit bottoms to the side, exposing only what is necessary and lining himself up—and, okay, that’s the kind of semi-impractical hotness you were looking for from this particular encounter. Your muscles clench involuntarily around nothing and you cant your hips back to get him to move it along...but nothing happens.

God, what is this guy’s problem?!

“But, I wonder,” he whispers into your ear, “are you desperate enough to say ‘please?”

Of all the guys to pull for a quick fuck, of course you get the one who’s a total tease. So smug, arrogance blooming as he presses a soft kiss to your left shoulder. There’s no way you’re giving in to this asshole, so you glare at him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Fuck you,” you spit, teeth bared and mouth formed into a malicious smile.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Close enough.”

You both cry out when he fills you with a single, fluid thrust. And—fuck, fuck, fuck!—that is good. One of his hands curls around the jut of your hip, while the other splays across your collarbone, thumb and forefinger framing the base of your throat in a firm but gentle touch.

Otherwise, he remains still—perhaps he’s being gentlemanly and allowing you time to adjust? No, no, he’s definitely being a tease again.

Seriously, what is his goddamn deal?

Since he seems content to take his merry time, you take matters into your own hands, moving against him in a somewhat-awkward but still satisfying rhythm.

“You,” he says between heavy breaths, “seem eager.”

There’s something in his voice that seems amused, as if he finds your candor endearing. You lean forward a bit, angling your hips so his length is able to sink deeper and, oh, that’s much better.

“Want something done right,” you pant, “gotta do it yourself.”

“You don’t think I’d do it right?”

“Sweetie,” you coo with a condescending smile, “I know you wouldn’t.”

And you’re lucky that guys like him are all the same—arrogant, showy, desperate to prove their sexual prowess—because he finally (finally!) decides to get his sorry ass into gear and make something happen.

The hand that was around your neck gropes at your breasts, the cool metal of that stupid-ugly-tacky ring catching on your skin in an annoyingly tantalizing way. The other shoves its way between you and the edge of the countertop, deft fingertips circling your clitoris in a way that makes your toes curl in your sandals. You bite your lip to keep from crying out as he fucks into you, hips snapping hard but steady against the plush of your ass.

“You know, the people I fuck usually try to be nice to me,” he says, “nicer than you, anyways.”

The hand on your breast pinches your nipple, earning him a sharp gasp.

“Why be nice?” You clench around him, causing his rhythm to falter, “You’re just the means to an end.”

“And here I thought we were making love.”

Teeth scrape down the length of your neck, and fuck—you’re getting close. Your arms are shaking. Your heart is racing. You hate to admit it, but he’s good at this.

“Darling,” he growls into your ear, “I do believe you’re about to come.”

“Shut up,” you snap, trying desperately to sound cool and unaffected despite the fact that your composure is about to shatter and there is not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

“Well, go on then. After all,” he hisses, “I don’t have all night.”

What starts as anger is quickly overtaken by pleasure—white-hot and blinding, enough to make your knees shake and your eyes spring with tears. It’s exactly what you were looking for, exactly what you had been expecting from the most notorious sex fiend at this God-forsaken place.

Apparently, he must’ve come too, because he’s pulling out with a surprising tenderness—gentlemanly in one way, at least. He even makes sure to right your bikini bottoms, making sure that they’re once again covering you completely before turning his attention to himself.

“You know, I didn’t know people could glare their way through an orgasm, but you made it happen.”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

Before you choose to look in the mirror, you fix the rest of your bathing suit with a tremble in your fingers. You can feel him watching you, and honestly, you’re not sure how you feel about that. Good, mostly, but tinged a bit orange with annoyance. You try not to think about that too much and, with a deep breath, look at your reflection.

The first thing you do to assess the damage of your little liaison is check your makeup—your eyeliner is a bit smudged, but that’s easily fixed with a few swipes of your littlest finger. Your hair, however, is another story, so you set to fixing it with a dissatisfied huff.

You hear the snick of a lighter behind you and the scent of fresh-burning nicotine hits your senses. You turn around to see him leaning against the tile wall with a cigarette between his lips and smoke curling in wisps towards the ceiling.

He raises an eyebrow when you approach him, then chuckles when you snatch the cigarette right out of his mouth and take a long, deep drag. It’s almost as good as the sex.

“You know,” he says, “I think you might be a bit in love with me after my spectacular performance.”

That makes you choke, your lungs switching from laughter to coughing and back again.

“Spectacular?” You quell your sputtering with a gulp, “You were passable. At best.”

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re getting awfully close to giving me a compliment.”

You take a step closer to him, shoulders squared, fingers ashing the cigarette onto the floor.

“Not your sweetheart,” you say, taking one last drag and blowing the smoke directly into his face. You smile when he flinches.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you say, pressing the mostly-smoked cigarette between his lips, “I have somewhere to be.”

You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, making sure to sway your hips just so as you do. There’s no way his eyes aren’t glued to your ass, and the thought makes you smile triumphantly.

“Until next time, then,” he calls—and it’s cute that he sounds so sure that you’ll come crawling back to him.

You exit the bathroom with a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying the thought of him lighting another cigarette and trying not to chase after you.

Three days, tops. That’s how long it’ll take for him to beg.

You can’t wait.

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also just in case you were wondering, he DID leave the sunglasses on—BUT they were on his head kinda holding his hair back because I truly believe he would do that. also the kimono has pockets and he thinks it’s very cool to carry around all his stuff in there (for example he keeps a granola bar on his person at all times because sometimes you just get hungry yknow?)

[semperintrepida]

The Sellout, chapter six

six: the not date

Two hours before Kassandra was supposed to meet Kyra downtown, she paced beside the wall of windows in her condo and tried to keep her eyes away from her old nemesis, the clock. This wasn't the unforgiving squeeze of pressure in the final seconds of a basketball game or the relentless climb of lap times at the track. This was time moving at a glacial scale.

She paced, and wondered how many steps it would take to wear a groove into the concrete floor. She paced, and tried not to think of the ways Kyra's presence had filled this room so completely, or how Kyra had stood by this window and sat in that chair. She paced, because if she stopped, her footsteps would fade and she'd have to admit how fucking quiet it was in here.

Her tank top stuck to her skin as she moved, and she realized she was sweating. The room was too hot, but the numbers on the climate control were the same as they'd always been. Her heartbeat was up, her breathing fast and shallow. With some effort, she diverted her steps away from the windows to the wet bar, and when she picked up a glass and a bottle of bourbon, her hands were trembling slightly.

She tipped a healthy pour into the glass, along with an ice cube, and as she lifted the drink, it slipped from her hand and shattered on the granite bar top.

Motherfucker. At least it wasn't from the bottle of antique single barrel.

She dug out a bar towel and a trash bin, and swept the shards and liquid into the bin along with the towel for good measure. She dug out another towel for the floor. On her knees mopping up broken glass and now all her muscles were jittery, not just her hands.

Try again. Another pour — this time it was the antique single barrel to make up for how well her evening had been going so far. Careful now. The bourbon hit her like a caramel bomb, and it sat back and fumed vanilla while the taste of fruit and honey danced on her tongue for several seconds. Nearly 130 proof and it went down smooth as cream.

The drink wrapped around her like a cashmere bathrobe as she savored it and watched the sun's rays slant across the river. After a while, her muscles were steady again, but her heart was still a whirring motor forced to idle on the dragstrip, waiting for that green light to go.

She carried her drink with her into her bedroom, threw open the doors to her closet, and surveyed her wardrobe. Time to do battle with Portland's sartorial lawlessness.

Individuality ruled this place, and nothing was ever cool if anyone else did it too. It was the opposite of L.A., which never met a trend it didn't want to chase. Portland was reflexively anti-trend, and even those with money had changed their ways to compensate, trying to downplay their net worths through their choice of clothes.

In this town, the penalty for overdressing wasn't embarrassment — it was distrust.

Kyra had that antiauthoritarian streak too. Kassandra had never met someone so repulsed by her money. Most were the opposite, wanting to get real close to her real fast. She'd learned early on that people were best kept at arm's length.

She was eight years old the first time her mother spoke to her directly about money, old enough to understand that a private boarding school in upstate New York was not how most kids grew up. Most kids saw their parents more often than birthdays and Christmas — even her classmates, most of whom belonged to the Northeastern elites. She'd been a bargaining chip in a divorce between an American father and a Greek mother, and New York was where she'd landed in the settlement. She never saw her father, even though he lived in New York City and was the one paying her tuition. He was too busy becoming a billionaire. Her mother lived in London then, working as a diplomatic attaché in the Greek embassy. Kassandra had quickly learned not to miss either of them. On rare occasions, her mother would fly in for a few days to visit her. They'd spend most of their time together in awkward silence, or muddling through stilted conversations like near-strangers. In one of them, she'd complained about a schoolmate, one of the day-goers who lived in the town nearby, who kept asking her for things, like pens, or notebooks, or erasers; who'd treat her sweetly as long as she handed them over but cruelly whenever she refused. Her mother had looked at her with her opaque diplomat's gaze and said, You are a child of two families of wealth and power, Kassandra. Some recognize the resources you have, and want it only for themselves. They will try to take it from you. And Kassandra had nodded as if she understood.

Pens and notebooks became pocket money became real money soon enough. She didn't truly understand her mother's warning until she arrived at Stanford, but by then she'd learned there were benefits to having all those resources, too.

She could have damn near any woman she wanted, and she did, quite often. And when she was done, she put them back where she'd found them. She had no idea how big her cumulative hotel bill was from all those indulgences around the world, but it was probably enough to buy another home to go with the apartment in New York City, the flats in London and Athens, the house in Seattle, and the condo in San Francisco.

She sipped her bourbon and ran her hand along her collection of bespoke suits. Then she heard her mother's voice again, from some other memory in their distant past. The way we present ourselves to the world is a message, and a single glance will tell a stranger your taste, your means, and your confidence.

Odd, all these thoughts about her mother. She was back in Athens now, the Cabinet Minister of Economy and Development in the new government. Kassandra hadn't seen her in years. But she'd been right about the message a wardrobe could send, and as Kassandra pulled hangers off the rack, she wondered what message Kyra might be composing.

She set her drink aside and pulled on a pair of sand-colored trousers cut from fine English twill, a lightweight denim shirt in a medium wash, and a linen sport jacket the golden brown of a Cuban cigar. Would Kyra wear a flannel shirt to a fundraising gala? She'd probably get away with it if she did. Maybe she'd wear the lumberjack one and lean full tilt into Portland's "Stumptown" persona.

Kassandra frowned as she adjusted her collar in the mirror. A tie would be too formal for this audience, but to go without was unappealing. She browsed her drawers of neckties and accessories until she found a navy blue neckerchief and a matching pocket square. Perfect.

She imagined Kyra the lumberjack smirking into her own mirror at home. Hell, maybe she already had someone there to show off for, someone to ask, How do I look?

Then Kassandra fought back a sigh and lifted her wrist to unbuckle her watch, and in her bedroom's cavernous silence, she could hear the watch's mechanical movement tick-tick-ticking away.

.oOo.

Five minutes past seven o'clock, she was strolling up Alder Street in search of the right address when she heard a "Hey!" from a passing car, and looked over just in time to see Kyra emerge from the back seat of a taxi.

She'd guessed wrong. Kyra had left the flannel at home. Instead, she wore black on black on black: a long-sleeve button-down tucked into tight jeans cuffed at mid-calf over combat boots. She wasn't here to be charming; she was here to kick ass.

Kyra raked her with a glance. "You look... nice," she said, and it was hard to tell what flavor of nice she really meant.

Style lived and died by details, and Kassandra could take in all of Kyra's details now that she was standing up close. Kyra's shirt was fine linen, embroidered with small dots of charcoal grey thread in a pattern reminiscent of Dotted Swiss fabric. It gave the shirt texture and interest. Kassandra had never seen her without mascara and eyeliner on, but now she'd added red lipstick, a dash of color mirrored at the cuffs of her jeans, where the rolled fabric revealed red stitching.

And she'd pulled her hair up into an artfully messy bun, exposing the lines of her neck along with a silver necklace and circular pendant. All together, it was a bold, confident variation of what Kassandra was learning was her signature style. The only thing missing was her tattoos, hidden under long sleeves.

Kassandra swallowed into a suddenly dry mouth. "So do you." She meant it.

The smallest hint of color crept into Kyra's cheeks. "So," she said before the pause grew awkward. "Who am I supposed to be tonight? A friend, or..."

"A friend would be fine." More than that would be dangerous for Kassandra. She'd have to be satisfied seeing Kyra struggle to hide how much she despised her.

Kassandra gestured towards the massive wooden door behind them. "Shall we?" A carved wooden sign was affixed to the wall beside the door that read, Multnomah Whiskey Library, Members Only.

She pulled the door open and let Kyra pass through first.

"So this is the infamous Whiskey Library," Kyra said once inside.

"Ever been here before?"

Kyra snorted. "Fuck no. I'm not paying for the privilege of paying for drinks I could easily make at home." She peered into a glass display case as she passed. "Okay maybe I don't have any twelve hundred dollar bottles of bourbon. But I could make you a damn good cocktail, so good you wouldn't even miss it."

I could make you a damn good cocktail. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Make me a cocktail sometime."

She shrugged. "Maybe. You're a decent tipper. That's earned you some points."

"You'd actually make me pay for it?"

"We're not friends yet," she said breezily. "And I don't work for free."

The doorway to the greatroom beckoned. Kassandra leaned close to Kyra and whispered in her ear. "We're supposed to be. Tonight." Close enough to catch Kyra's scent: a faint hint of coffee, and the spice of some aromatic wood. Cedar maybe, ancient and heady, wafting from the sun-warmed deck of a Kyprian trireme as it cleaved the clear blue waves of the Aegean...

The pleasant image dissipated when Kyra came to an abrupt halt just inside the greatroom. She craned her neck, taking in the sight of heavy oak beams and crystal chandeliers hanging high over brick walls paneled with mahogany. The entire back of the room was dominated by the bar, an imposing structure made of even more mahogany, crowned by shelves packed with bottles. The bartenders wore waistcoats and ties with their shirts, and used an antique library ladder to reach the bottles on the upper tiers.

"I hope you aren't expecting me to hop over that bar to fix you something right now."

Kassandra laughed. "No. However, I am expecting you to have a nice time." And to have a chat with her target. If her hunch proved true, he'd find Kyra very intriguing indeed.

"I'll drink to that," Kyra said drily.

The room was filling up. They moved through the throng, pausing here and there as Kassandra greeted those she knew, until they reached the bar.

Kyra wandered off to order, while Kassandra recognized a man standing nearby as one of the Multnomah County commissioners.

"Chuck Meeran?" She offered her hand. "Kassandra Agiadis. So wonderful to finally meet you."

His handshake was as carefully modulated as any politicians' and he had to tilt his head up to look in her eyes. She could see the wheels turning as he tried to place her name, then the slight widening of recognition. "Ms. Agiadis. It's a pleasure." Only a fractional stumble over the unfamiliar pronunciation of her name. Not bad. He flashed her a friendly smile. "I take it you're not here on coffee business?"

She smiled to match his own. "I'm just a civilian tonight," she said. She glanced at the drink in his hand and pulled on an air of confused helplessness. "I've never been here before, is there a drink you'd recommend?" Men never relaxed around her until they felt themselves superior in some way. Sometimes it paid to speed the process along.

"First time at the Library, really?"

She leaned closer and whispered, "Don't tell anyone, but I just moved here from Seattle." A wink and a smile. Maybe a donation to his re-election campaign later. Greasing the wheels, for the day when one of her companies needed a zoning change, or a variance.

"Ahh yes. As a Timbers fan, I'll try not to hold it against you," he said generously. "Now let's see, if you like a lot of rye..."

She half-listened as he incorrected himself, while sneaking glances up the bar at Kyra, who was leaning conspiratorially in conversation with one of the bartenders — a stocky woman, tidy in her wool waistcoat and polka-dot pocket square. Kassandra felt her eyes narrow, and only after some effort did she manage to wrangle her face back to neutral as the Commissioner blathered on.

It took a few minutes, but Kassandra extracted herself from the conversation with a promise to schedule lunch "very soon" and a glass of some unremarkable bourbon in her hand.

Kyra and the bartender were chuckling over some shared joke. "Seriously," she said, rolling her eyes as the bartender chuckled some more and moved away to take another order.

Kyra leaned back against the bar as Kassandra approached. "Jesus, you weren't kidding about all the Patagucci vests."

"It's a thing," Kassandra said. Even trend-hating Portland wasn't immune to the plague of finance and tech bros who'd decided that fleece vests were the pinnacle of style. "I don't understand it myself."

The area around the bar was starting to get crowded. Kyra pushed herself away from it to let a laughing couple move past. She sipped her drink and studied the assembled guests. "Why am I here tonight, Kassandra?"

Kassandra led her to a slightly more quiet corner of the room. "I want you to meet someone."

"Are they here yet?"

Was she that anxious to leave already? Kassandra hoped not, because her target seemed to be missing. She scanned the crowd again just to be sure, using her height to full advantage. No sign of him. "No, not yet."

Kyra's gaze settled upon her. "I bet you go to shit like this all the time."

"More than I'd like to."

After that, silence. Maybe Kyra had run out of things to say, because supposed to be friends wasn't at all like they actually were.

Closed or open. Those were Kassandra's options. Stay closed, and stand in awkward silence or chat about small, safe subjects. Or she could open up, reveal a little of herself and hope that Kyra might follow. "I spend hours and hours a day talking to people. Sometimes I just want to sit with a book and a glass of bourbon."

Kyra nodded. "I get that. Sometimes it's like... if I have to listen to one more story about someone's day, I'm gonna go mad. Maybe I'd like someone to ask me about my day for once."

"People want a side of therapy with their latte."

"All for four bucks," she said. "But don't get me wrong. Customer service is my gig, and I like it well enough, it's just..."

"Too much of anything will kill you," Kassandra said agreeably.

Kyra eyed her over the edge of her glass. "What about you? If you didn't have to be here, what hot book would you be on a date with?"

To Kassandra's surprise, Kyra's voice held none of her usual mocking tone. She thought of the half-finished translation of Sappho she'd been working on. Kyra would probably roll her eyes and think it horrifically pretentious.

Kyra made Kassandra want to edit herself to impress her. "I've... been reading a lot of poetry lately." A bad answer, but it would give her time to wrack her brain for a good one.

"Oh? Like what?"

A commotion at the front of the room saved her. She looked up, saw a man posing dramatically within the frame of the greatroom's doorway, and smiled.

He strolled into the room: blonde and beautiful as a Greek god. He wasn't Aphrodite emerging from the waves, but a man named Alkibiades, known more for his wit and insatiable appetite for hedonism than his generosity. And if Kassandra was going to win this evening, she'd need to convince him to change his ways, if only for a little while.

Kyra's attention followed Kassandra's lead, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of him. "You want me to talk to Alki Henriksen? Climbing Magazine coverboy Alki Henriksen?"

Kassandra grinned. "Yeah."

"What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and chat him up?"

"Of course not. I'll make an introduction." Or she would, if she knew Kyra's last name. God damn it. How had she overlooked that important detail?

"You know him?" Kyra was saying, between incredulous head shakes. "Of course you do."

She'd never seen Kyra this... flustered. It was delightful. "Don't tell me you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," she said a little too quickly. She knocked back the rest of her drink and handed the empty glass to a passing waiter. "Well, what's the plan?"

First, the matter of Kyra's name. "Do you have a business card?"

Kyra shot her a suspicious look, but didn't argue, just reached into her back pocket and pulled out a stack of cards, sliding one off the top and handing it over.

Cliffhanger Coffee Kyra Delianos, Proprietor

No way. Kyra was a fellow Greek. Kassandra's mind flooded with questions. Did she speak Greek? How did she end up in Portland of all places? But now wasn't the time to ask. She shoved her curiosity into her pocket along with the card.

One last thing. She reached for Kyra's wrist, but stopped before making contact. "May I?"

"Okay..." Kyra's brows wrinkled. "Wait, why?" she asked, but she didn't pull away when Kassandra gently lifted her arm and began rolling up her shirtsleeve.

"You have more credibility than anyone else in this room. You own a business here, but you're also a part of this community," Kassandra said as she folded the fabric, her heart jumping every time her fingers brushed Kyra's skin. "And you very clearly don't look like someone who lives in Lake Oswego or West Linn." Stepford, cookie-cutter suburbs, filled with what passed for the wealthy in this part of the country. "It's worth emphasizing that you're a patron and constituent. To this particular audience, that carries weight." She finished the cuff, then moved on to the second sleeve.

Kyra looked skeptical but didn't say anything, just dropped her eyes to watch Kassandra's hands work the fabric of her shirt.

Kassandra smoothed the cuff just above Kyra's elbow, then ran a fingertip down the delicately shaded lines of the tattoo she'd revealed. "Besides, I think they're beautiful." And with that, she turned and stepped into the crowd.

Time to go fishing.

She cast her line easily enough, edging through the crowd that had gathered around Alkibiades and hooking him with a simple, "Walk with me?" They weren't exactly friends, but their history was such that it was enough to get him to join her without question.

Kyra, to her credit, hadn't moved from where Kassandra had left her, and she greeted their arrival with a casual ease. No sign of the nervous fluster of before.

"Now Alki," Kassandra said. "I know you get so bored talking to the same stale people at these things, and you know I can't tell a cam from a carabiner, so I brought you someone who does." She turned her gaze to Kyra. "Kyra, this is Alkibiades Henriksen. Alki, this is Kyra Delianos."

They shook hands. "Alki's short for Alkibiades?" she asked.

He grinned. "My mother had a flair for the dramatic."

"Kyra owns a coffee shop here in town," Kassandra said. "Cliffhanger, off of Belmont."

"Cliffhanger, you say? I like you already."

Kyra's eyes flicked over her and back. "I'm so glad Kassandra introduced us, because I owe you a thank you."

"Oh?"

"One of your ropes saved my life once."

Kassandra had chosen wisely. Kyra knew how to work a conversation, balancing her compliments with questions to get him to talk about himself and his company, and soon enough they were discussing things like the hand feel of synthetic fibers and dynamic versus static elongation and Kassandra took that as her cue to step back and get out of the way.

A tall, trim man in a sport jacket wandered past her elbow. "Merritt!" she said with a smile as she joined him. He owned the top tier men's and women's teams in this soccer-obsessed city. "How nice to see you. And how are your Timbers and Thorns..."

.oOo.

For the next half hour, Kassandra worked the room with a smile, a firm handshake, and a stack of business cards. She spoke with a tipsy neurologist from OHSU; a partner at some law firm with a comically long name she'd already forgotten; and a creative director at Wieden+Kennedy, who was all too happy to tell her how they'd picked the locations to animate in this year's anime-inspired advert for the Oregon tourism board.

Alki caught up to her as she finished her circuit of the room. "Kassandra! I really must thank you."

"For?"

"That introduction." He nodded over the crowd towards Kyra, who was off in a corner chatting with a few other guests. "She's exquisite. Like a wild tigress. Is she yours?"

"No. And she'd better not hear you say that or you'll end up wearing your balls for a necklace."

"So not yet."

"She can barely stand to be in the same room with me." What the fuck was she doing, letting that slip? There was something about him that disarmed her in the most inconvenient times.

His face lit up. "She's fair game, then?"

Careful, Kassandra. She smiled at him while taking a slow and measured breath through her nose. "You'd have to ask her."

He dropped his mouth open and pressed his hand against his chest. "Tamping down your anger on my behalf? Are you trying to turn me on?" Then he laughed. "I never thought I'd see the mighty Kassandra sell herself short. Your tigress only has eyes for you, darling."

Kassandra found herself meeting Kyra's gaze across the room, but before she could nod, or smile, or do anything at all, Kyra looked away abruptly.

"I know carnal interest when I see it," he said sagely.

"It'll never happen."

"Why not? Did you kick her puppy or something? No, don't give me that look. I know you're no puppy kicker. Stealing her puppy for yourself would be more your style."

She ignored him. "Have you forgotten who I work for?"

His eyes widened as he connected the dots. "Oh dear, that is awkward." He paused, considering. "But look at you, still trying anyway. I admire your persistence in the face of adversity."

"You're speaking to me like you know me well."

"Oh, but it's true. Like recognizing like. It's what we do, you and I: float high above it all to keep everyone from coming too close. But sometimes one of those pesky mortals becomes too captivating to resist." He lifted a brow over clear grey eyes and fine, androgynous features. "Is she worth coming down from Olympus for?"

She found herself gritting her teeth. "You don't know a fucking thing about me."

"Come now, Kassandra. All this sexual tension's making you mean."

To hell with him and his money. She was this close to writing off the bet she'd made and telling him something she'd regret. But then she'd be wasting all of Kyra's efforts, and setting back the Library's fundraising as well. She took a breath, then laughed a laugh that said Let's change the subject. "We've been talking far too much about me," she said. "So, what magazine cover did you land this quarter?"

He was all too happy to tell her about his latest climbing adventure, to Peru this time, and then the conversation shifted as it always did to his ambitions for Vertus, the climbing gear company he'd founded.

"Then Kyra flat-out told me that Vertus had no reputation other than making 'bombproof' gear."

That did sound Kyra-esque.

"And then she said if I wanted to be Yvon Chouinard, I'd have to start acting like him."

Yvon Chouinard, the founder of Patagonia, Inc., known for his activism and philanthropic efforts. "She's got a point, and she's not shy about stabbing people with it."

"Is she that candid with you?" he asked, smiling as Kassandra nodded. "Oh to have a front row seat in the theatre when that happens." He paused in thought. "Well. Between the two of you, I've had a wonderfully enlightening time this evening. But I'm sure you invited me here for a reason, Kassandra."

Her smile was small and knowing and there was no need for her to say more.

"I'd love to see my name at the top of the generosity leaderboard tonight," he said. "How many digits do you think it would take?"

"Six."

"For you darling, my wallet's wide, wide open."

.oOo.

A short while later, Kassandra was camped near the bar with a well-deserved victory drink in hand. No way she was losing this bet now. She couldn't wait to see the look on—

"So that was Alki Henriksen."

Kassandra turned and found Kyra walking up to join her. "It sure was."

"Did you get what you wanted?" she asked. "Scratch that, I can already tell. You're just reeking of smug satisfaction."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome." There was humor in her voice. "He said the two of you met at a Blazers game."

"We did, yeah."

"He also said you used to play, once." She gave Kassandra an appraising look. "Were you any good?"

Kassandra shrugged, her edges still raw from her earlier conversation with him. "I was all right."

A voice spoke from behind her. "'All right'? She was the best player in the country three years in a row."

Kassandra turned with a grin. "Hello, Roxana."

They embraced, briefly, as Kyra watched them with thinly-veiled curiosity. Roxana squeezed Kassandra's hands and stepped back to study her. "'course I'll never fucking forgive you for knocking us out of the Final Four."

Stanford versus Cal, that never-ending Bay Area rivalry. They'd split their regular season games that year and traded spots in the rankings back and forth until tournament time, and then everything came down to one game, win or go home, Stanford down one point and only two seconds left on the clock...

"You were guarding me so close it took a fucking circus shot to win that game," Kassandra said.

"Only you would have taken that shot — and only you could have made it."

They grinned at each other until Kassandra remembered her manners. "Roxana, this is Kyra. Kyra, Roxana." The two of them shook hands like two leopards meeting: an instant sizing up of the other, shoulders pulling back, spines straightening.

"Nice to meet you," Kyra said.

"The pleasure's mine." Roxana shifted her gaze between Kyra and Kassandra and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I interrupted you two, but this was my first chance to say hello all evening."

"It's been what, five years since we've seen each other?"

"Near enough."

"How are the kids?"

"Kiana's on a good travel team and thinks she's going to play for Stanford. I don't know if I'm going to survive wearing your colors for four years."

"She's got plenty of time to change her mind."

Kyra lifted her empty glass. "Excuse me a moment," she said.

She cut through the crowd with a feline grace. Kassandra turned back to Roxana to find her smiling curiously. "A friend of yours?"

"Something like that."

"I'm not sure what I think of this new humble, evasive you."

Damn, it was good to see her. She'd always been beautiful, and over the years, she'd found contentment in a balance of family and career that had only deepened her beauty. Roxana wasn't the one who got away, but a vision of what might have been.

What might have been, if they'd been able to make a long-distance relationship work while Roxana was playing ball in Russia and trying to catch on to a WNBA roster. What might have been, if Kassandra had never gotten into the back of that towncar with her father, not knowing that she was about to be driven straight into a car wreck that would tear her and her life to shreds.

Roxana had tried — she'd tried harder than anyone else — but when Kassandra finally got out of the hospital, she was too far gone, too into her anger, too busy pushing everyone away while she tried to figure out what the hell she was going to do with her life now that basketball had been canceled from her equation.

"It's good to see you," she told Roxana. "And I'm going to win our bet, just so you know."

"Now there's the Kassandra I know and love."

"Nike still running you ragged?"

"I flew in from Boston last night. We're going all in with Eliud — if anyone's going to run a sub-two-hour marathon, it's going to be him."

"I can't think of anyone better to lead that charge," she said, smiling as Roxana wrestled with the compliment. "So what have I missed in five years?" she asked, but as she listened to Roxana tell her of what might have been, her eyes kept drifting to the crowd, looking for Kyra and the possibility of what might be.

.oOo.

It wasn't until the fundraiser was winding down that Kyra found her at the bar.

She'd left Kyra alone to mingle without distraction, and every time she'd caught a glimpse of Kyra in the crowd, she'd been deep in conversation with someone new. Good. Let her build that network.

"They're saying Alki pledged half a million tonight," she said without preamble. "No one else came close."

Kassandra smiled into the last of her drink and finished it off. "Mmmhmm."

"That's a lot of money," she said. Then she gave Kassandra a sideways glance and added, "Not for you, I'm sure, but..."

Any answer from Kassandra's mouth would be wrong. That topic had too many dangerous currents, was too perilous to their friendly façade. "Did you have a nice time tonight, at least?" Safer waters.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Nearly ten o'clock. She'd overstayed her deadline by an hour.

"But not for long."

That confused her, but then she followed Kassandra's eyes to the area behind bar, where the bartenders were moving racks of glassware and wiping down the bartop, cleaning up after the fundraiser and getting ready to reopen for the bar's private clientele.

They got the hint, and headed for the exit.

"This carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin. Or a speakeasy," Kyra said. Then she gave herself a self-deprecating snort. "That was a terrible metaphor. It's not even close to midnight."

On the sidewalk outside, they stopped and looked at each other, both trying to figure out something to say.

Kyra beat her to it. "I did have a really nice time," she said, and there was an ember of warmth to her that hadn't been there before.

Kassandra wanted more of it. "Would you like to grab a—"

"Kassandra! You weren't going to leave without gloating over your victory, were you?"

Fuck. She turned to Roxana in time to be enveloped in a bear hug. "Actually, I was—"

"Alki Henriksen opening his wallet. Unbelievable. I thought I had you beat for sure after I got Tim and Merritt to sign on."

At the edge of her vision, she could see Kyra's features freeze over. Fuckfuckfuck.

Roxana smiled at her fondly. "You should join me on the Library board, you know. We could use you."

It took Kassandra a moment to regain her wits. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long to say yes." She checked her phone. "There's my Uber, I've got to run. Lunch sometime? Soon."

"Yes, for sure."

Then Roxana disappeared into the back of her ride. She'd left Kassandra on the sidewalk and taken all the air on the street with her.

Kassandra turned slowly. "Kyra, I—"

"You used me."

"To raise more money than I could have on my own."

"So you could win a bet. That's all this was to you. Another chance for you to lift some trophy in your own mind," she said, her voice as sharp as a blade. Then she turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Where are you going?"

She didn't stop, didn't turn around. "On a walk."

"At this time of night?"

She ignored the question, putting more and more distance between them.

"Fuck," Kassandra muttered, then hurried in pursuit, falling into step beside Kyra, close enough to be caught in the splash zone of Kyra's seething anger.

Kyra kept her eyes straight ahead. "What are you doing?"

"Walking with you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"I don't care," Kassandra said. "You want to go somewhere? I'll see you there safely. You want to walk around, aimlessly? We'll walk around, aim—"

Kyra took two quick steps and pulled ahead, then whirled around and stopped square in Kassandra's path, somehow filling the entire sidewalk with her immovable presence. "Stop it," she said, raising both hands in front of her. "Just... stop." Her eyes searched Kassandra's face. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

Sudden pain was something Kassandra knew. A lowered shoulder bashing into her chest hard enough to crack ribs. A highside flinging her from her dirtbike onto the rocks. And now she had another entry for the list: a few simple words in the shape of a question. "If that's what you want, say it, and you won't see me again."

Kyra stared at her, and Kassandra felt herself standing up straighter, her spine and ribs tightening as if pulled by a great winch; her body closing the gates and readying the defenses.

Then Kyra laughed, the sound as thin and brittle as the shards from a broken window, and just as dangerously sharp. "I want a fucking drink."

She walked away, and Kassandra followed helplessly after her. One block up, another block over, and then Kyra headed straight for a hole in the wall with the discouraging name of "Scooter McQuades" printed on a boxy sign that flickered fluorescently into the night.

If the Oxford English Dictionary had an entry for "dive bar," it couldn't do any better than a description of this place: a dimly lit snapshot of the early nineties, where the music was abrasive and loud, and decades of grime stained the walls.

The woman behind the bar looked over at them and smiled. "Kyra! I'll be damned."

It was interesting, how quickly Kyra could relax in the right circumstances. Like a light switch flipping.

"Ann! I didn't think you'd be working tonight." She smiled apologetically. "It's been too long, I know."

"You're busy. I'm busy. It's all good." The bartender was older, maybe in her fifties, dark hair streaked with grey and faded tattoos on her forearms. Cotton-candy pinks and blues. But her movements behind the bar were as clean and purposeful as a scalpel and her eyes were lively with humor. She quirked an eyebrow just long enough to give Kassandra an appraising gaze, then turned back to Kyra.

"What are ya hankerin' for, love?"

"PBR and tots."

Then it was Kassandra's turn. "What'll it be for you?"

Kyra interrupted before she could open her mouth. "She'll have a PBR, too."

"How do you like them tots?"

"Cajun."

"Won't take but a minute, I promise." She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "Well, don't just stand there, have a seat, both of you. Booth, bar, pick your poison."

Kyra chose a booth near the windows. The cracked vinyl seats had once been emerald green, but time had faded them to a dull moss, and someone had patched the worst of the wear with strips of black tape. At least the top of the table seemed clean.

Kyra leaned back against the vinyl and stared at her.

Kassandra had been grilled by hostile lawyers in the courtroom and shouted at by C-level blowhards in the boardroom, but nothing compared to the withering scrutiny she was getting in this dive bar — and Kyra hadn't even said a fucking word.

The drinks came, along with a steaming basket of tater tots, and in moments the booth smelled of beer and fried potatoes. Kyra tossed a soggy cardboard coaster emblazoned with "Kilkenny" in front of her, then placed a pint of PBR upon it.

"Drink it."

She did. It was better than she thought. Better than she remembered, during those beer-soaked college days when she played hard and partied harder, a different sorority girl in her bed every night.

Kyra sipped her own beer and nodded at the bottles of Jameson lined up at the end of the bar. "I want that bottle of whiskey. But I know I shouldn't have it." She popped a tater tot into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully. Reached across the table for the bottle of ketchup. Shook it forcefully and tapped out a puddle onto a paper-lined corner of the basket.

Kassandra couldn't remember the last time she'd had a tater tot. College, maybe? She picked one out and ate it. Spicy heat. Paprika and cayenne and plenty of MSG, probably, the flavors floating on a raft of grease and fluffy potato. It was good, and as comforting as a warm blanket.

She glanced at the ketchup bottle. Not Heinz, something local. Organic, artisanal ketchup in a dive bar, reminding her that she was still in Portland after all.

Ann bustled by with a tray full of pints destined for another table.

Kyra nodded in her direction. "She's owned this place something like twenty-five years," she said. "That's what I want. I want my shop to last." She pushed the corner of her beer coaster with a fingertip. "But I don't think that's going to happen."

She moved her finger in a slow arc, spinning the coaster. Her glass spun with it, leaving a wet trail behind on the tabletop.

"I don't have a safety net, Kassandra. I don't have any family left, and my money's tied up in my shop. If I fuck up, it's all on me." Her hand stilled. "And I think about that every single time I have to make a decision about the shop or about money. It's always there in the back of my mind. Always."

She pushed the coaster hard enough for the beer in the glass to slosh from side to side.

"I'm not telling you this because I want your pity. I chose this business. It's just... I have a lot to lose, but my everything wouldn't even be a blip on your radar."

"I understand."

Her smile was patient. "No you don't, but that's okay."

She tipped a tater tot into the pool of ketchup. Fished it out. Ate it.

"My lease is up this fall, and judging by that look on your face, you know exactly what that means for me. I'll get to play the negotiation game with my landlord, trying to get to a place where the rent increase won't crush me."

Kassandra thought of the shiny new furniture store next door to the coffee shop. The deck was stacked against Kyra; all that outside money pouring into the neighborhood was there for one purpose: to raise rents.

"So I'm still thinking about your offer, because I'd be a fool not to."

"There's no universe in which I'd ever mistake you for a fool."

Silence, then. Maybe she'd killed the conversation. Maybe Kyra just wanted to sit in peace and drink her beer and eat some tater tots, and forget for a moment that she was the only one holding up the weight of her world.

The world revolved around money. Kassandra saw the windows of the coffee shop going dark, the bar and chairs and tables vanishing, a FOR LEASE sign pasted up against the glass. Outside money. Kyra's problem was the kind of problem she could solve.

One tater tot left. Kyra's brow arched in silent question, and Kassandra shook her head in a take it motion.

Kassandra finished her beer, and watched the remnants of foam slide down the walls of the glass. After a while, she cleared her throat, looked at Kyra, and said, "So, how was your day?"

Kyra blinked, but then a slow smile spread across her lips. "It was interesting," she said. "I had the day off, so I climbed all morning and spent the afternoon figuring out what the hell I was going to wear tonight." Then she laughed, more from disbelief than humor. "And then I go to this fundraiser with no idea what to expect, and end up talking to Alki fucking Henriksen, the god of climbing. He wants to meet about doing a collab with my shop. I never would have dreamed of that being a possibility. Never. Though I'm sure he's just trying to get in my pants."

"He wants both. Business and pleasure." Like recognizing like.

"It's tempting; he is a beautiful man."

They'd make a striking couple. The thought of it was vertiginous. She kept her face blank and her mouth shut as she studied the worn formica next to her glass.

"But I already have enough of a distraction on my plate."

Kassandra nodded. "I know." Everything kept circling back to the same place.

Silence for several seconds, then Kyra spoke again. "I wish our circumstances were different."

That made Kassandra look up. "So do I."

"Do you? Would you even notice me if I was some rando on the street, I wonder." Then she waved one hand dismissively while tipping back her head to drain her beer with the other. The glass hit the table with a bang, and she slid it aside. "No, don't answer that. I've got to open the shop early tomorrow."

Kassandra grabbed the check before Kyra's glass came to a stop. She dropped cash on the table, then picked up the pen and receipt and wrote her number at the bottom.

"What's this?" Kyra said as Kassandra pushed it in front of her.

"My phone number, if you ever need it. Or if your opinion about our circumstances ever changes."

For a moment, she thought Kyra might not take it. But Kyra did, her fingers gracefully folding the paper before slipping it into her front pocket. And then they were standing, and Kyra was saying goodbye to Ann, and they were walking outside to stand face-to-face on the sidewalk. Déjà vu.

They stared at each other.

In the backwash of fluorescent light, Kyra's eyes were sheened with black opal. "I was kinda hoping I'd have a horrible time tonight," she said, and she reached out and tucked a stray lock of Kassandra's hair back behind her ear, and then her fingers drifted down to the lapel of Kassandra's jacket, and over to the knot on Kassandra's neckerchief, and she gave it a gentle tug, and smoothed its tails so they hung neatly. "I really was."

She stepped back, and her eyes said something in a language Kassandra hadn't yet learned how to read.

"Will you text me?" Kassandra asked.

"I don't know." Her gaze moved past Kassandra's shoulder. "Oh, I want that taxi."

Three long strides and Kassandra was in the street, flagging it down, opening the door.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," she said as Kyra settled into the back seat.

"Wait, how are you getting home?"

"Walking. It's not far." Then she closed the door, flashed a smirk and a wave as Kyra rolled her eyes and the taxi pulled away.

Chapter six of The Sellout.

[raleighcarrera]

catch up

platinum | raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian)

it’s been eight months since the breakup. they have a lot to catch up on.

~6k words, M (18+ only)

songs mentioned are gorgeous | no more sad songs | touch (acoustic)

he’d been wondering who would get around to dropping their album first. from the looks of the current trending topics on twitter, cadence had won. it looked like she’d even chosen to jack his style -- dropping her album in full with no announcement, no promotion, no warning... nothing.

color him impressed.

no more sad songs was number one on trending. just below it was the word touch. related topics: cadence dorian, raleigh carrera. 

he told himself it was just his own narcissism that made him click. that, and morbid curiosity. it’d been so long since he’d last tortured himself, after all. 

a long list of tweets stared innocently back at him. GOD touch is the sexiest song anyone has EVER WRITTEN I’M SCREAMING, said the first one. make it a single queen!!!! you deserve the hottie they will cast for that music video and more!!!!!

he scrolled down. sooooooooo are we going to talk about how touch is obviously about raleigh carrera giving that good dick or nah

his eyebrows shot up. well, now he had to listen to it. 

he pulled up spotify; of course she was on the home page. with just a few taps, the song started to play. an impressive piano melody filled the room. she must have beep practicing. as her voice filtered in, he turned up the volume.

cadence sounded... soft and sad, and, the masses on twitter were right: sexy. god did her breathless, yearning voice sound sexy. despite himself, he could actually feel his face flush as he listened to the words. so won't you take it, i feel like for the first time i am not faking... fingers on my buttons and now you're playing. master of anticipation, don't you keep it all to yourself.

it took everything in him not to be consumed by the memories that were threatening, but the last thing he needed was to fall down that rabbit hole. he’d gone so long without thinking about her, after all. it was almost up to a full two days at this point, before something would inevitably remind him of her and he would spiral again.

the rest of her album stared back at him from his laptop screen. he studied the cover art as her voice filled the empty room. it was a photo of cadence, of course, a wide full-body shot against a brick wall. she looked powerful, in the sharp black outfit she was wearing, her skirt just short enough to make her legs look a few hundred miles long. 

inhaling sharply, raleigh forcibly redirected his gaze to the track list, scanning the rest of the titles. his lips curved up into a smirk as he read them off, one by one. motorcycle boy. hollywood. tattoos and bad news. subtlety was never her strong point.

then again, he mused, as he considered his own journal and the songs inside it -- kaleidoscope dress. ferris wheel. lady liberty. sex at the moda. -- he really wasn’t one to talk. not that his label would ever let him get away with that last one. it was just a working title, anyway. 

he navigated back to twitter and tapped the moment about her album, no more sad songs. the first tweet he saw said omgggg i love the energy of cadence building raleigh up in ‘gorgeous’ and then tearing him down in ‘shout out to my ex’ so much kdhfgksjfhdg HER MIND this album is everything

it looked like he had some listening to do. but first... 

he strolled over to the far wall of his bedroom and pulled off his shirt, sidling up to the floor length mirror by the window to take a selfie. his free hand pushed his hair back from his face, and he stuck his tongue out at his reflection as he snapped the picture. 

it was just trolling, he told himself as he uploaded the photo to his pictagram, already laughing at his own joke while he typed out the caption. it wasn’t like he was trying to get anyone’s attention -- he just couldn’t resist giving the fans and the internet something to talk about.

raleigh smirked at his phone as the photo finished uploading and stared back at him from his feed. photograph with no t-shirt on. well, there was no taking it back now. if cadence was allowed to write about him, he was allowed to enjoy it, right?

five minutes later, his phone rang. it was avery. he took care to pause cadence’s album before he picked up the phone. “helloooooooo?”

“you know you broke the internet, right?” she asked, aprops of a greeting. 

a shit-eating grin appeared on his face. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“you’re such a dick,” she laughed, “you just couldn’t let her have one day, could you? you could congratulate her, you know. she worked really hard on that thing.”

“um, i basically gave her a number one album,” he remarked, his bravado a mask as always. “without me she would’ve had, like, one track on that thing. or she wouldda had to write about you. so you’re welcome, too.”

raleigh pulled his phone away from his face to squint down at his pictagram notifications. stream no more sad songs!! said the last ten comments. omg shout out to my ex is right

“besides, i’m getting trolled. like, a lot. i doubt she cares what i post.”

“i wouldn’t be so sure about that,” avery remarked cryptically. before he had a chance to wonder what that meant, she said, “hey, she’s playing a surprise show tonight at webster hall before the album release party. you should stop by.”

“i think if she wanted me to come to her party she would’ve invited me.” it might’ve been nice to hear from her -- especially given the intimate details about their relationship he was now being forced to listen to, along with millions of other people. 

you’re not being fair, he reminded himself, thinking again of sex at the moda. he hardly intended to give her a heads-up about that one. though he doubted she would care.

not that he cared. she could write about whatever she wanted. she could turn her life into art -- if that was what she wanted. she could tell... whoever, about what had happened between them. about what he’d made her feel.

she never told him, but, whatever. that was fine. that was her prerogative.

“earth to raleigh,” avery said on the line, snapping him out of his thoughts. “i said, she didn’t tell anyone about the party. the album was a secret, yeah? you should at least come to the show. i think your support would mean a lot to her.”

“well, i guess you’ll just have to support her enough for the both of us,” he said, meaner than he felt. raleigh shut his eyes, sighing as he rubbed at his forehead. “sorry. i’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“don’t sweat it.” avery always let him off the hook so easily, “i know it just comes naturally to you. seriously, the show starts at 7. think about it, okay? if you do decide to come, text me when you get there and i’ll let you in the back.”

he put the album back on as soon as they hung up. without a distraction, there was nothing to stop him from looking at cadence’s twitter account. she’d last posted just a few minutes ago:

surprise! i’ll be playing no more sad songs in its entirety tonight at webster hall’s marlin room. doors open at 6 for the first 600 in line. see you there? you never know who might drop by...

fuck it. he turned the volume up on her album and headed towards the shower. he’d avoided her for long enough, and tonight was as good a night for him to get over himself as any. maybe after this he could stop looking over his shoulder at every party he went to, terrified he’d have to see her. 

that didn’t mean that it didn’t feel like a mistake, to get dressed and make his way to the village. it felt like a bad decision every step of the way, even as he ducked around the back of the venue at 7:05 to see avery’s smiling face, holding the backstage door wide open. it was too late to go home, now. 

“took you long enough,” she grinned, squealing as she jumped into his arms. “i almost thought you weren’t going to show.”

“yeah, yeah. did she go on yet?”

avery led him inside, closing the door firmly behind them both. she nodded as they stepped up to the side of the stage. the screams from the crowd were deafening. “she just went out there. i think she’s about to start --”

raleigh heard the strum of a guitar and peeked around to see cadence standing center stage. “this is a really good looking crowd,” she said, grinning when the sound of the cheers rose exponentially. “thanks so much for coming out. are you guys cool if i play some tunes? yeah? okay, then. this first one is about a guy i used to date, it’s called ‘gorgeous.’”

he folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall behind them. he was shameless in the way he looked her up and down, staring as she strutted across the stage. he was proud of her -- she’d come a long way since the first time he saw her perform, so long ago. cadence had real stage presence, now -- she’d come into her own. she acted like a woman, sang like a woman, dressed like a woman. she was confident. 

“whiskey on ice, sunset and vine. you’ve ruined my life by not being mine.” an elbow in his side made raleigh tear his eyes from her. he looked over at avery, rubbing at his ribs. “ow. what was that for?”

“you know everyone thinks this one is about you, right?” she asked, smirking. 

“you make me so happy it turns back to sad, there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have.” 

“aren’t they all about me?” raleigh asked, still hiding behind his attitude. avery only rolled her eyes, and eventually the crowd’s screams drowned out anything else they might’ve wanted to say. 

she played a few more songs before finally sitting down at the piano off to the side of the stage. now that she was closer, raleigh could see her better, and he stared as she brushed her hand across her forehead, pushing her hair off her face. she drank deeply from a water bottle and then set it on the piano’s ledge. raleigh was close enough to watch her swallow, but she still didn’t see him. it was probably the stage lights -- a single spotlight illuminated her at the piano as she adjusted the mic to pull it closer to her lips.

“we’re gonna slow it down for just one song,” cadence said, “i hope you don’t mind.” the cheers from the crowd proved that they didn’t. “i saw ya’ll talking about this one on twitter earlier.” he could see her grin perfectly from where he was standing; it was blinding. “i’m glad you like it. even if you don’t post thirst traps to it.”

the crowd went wild. even raleigh barked out a laugh; he hardly thought she had it in her. okay. point one, cadence.

“put your flashlights in the air for this one, okay? you and i and nobody else... feeling feelings i never felt...”

she was beautiful, of course -- always, every day, but never more than in this moment, with her eyes closed and her expression haunted, her hands moving along the piano keys. it probably said something dangerous about his ego that he found her the most stunning when she was singing about him. 

as the last few notes died, he sighed, digging his fingernails into the fabric of his jacket over his arms where they were folded on his chest. suddenly, it felt like he shouldn’t be there. or maybe he was the only one who should be there. either way, he hardly wanted to think about it. 

her moment of silent reflection as the song ended was gone in a flash. he watched her take a breath to steady herself, and then cadence was back in her stage persona, hopping off the piano bench to grab her guitar again. “thank you so much, new york city. you’ve been amazing. i’m so glad i could share this album with you -- it’s one of the most personal things i’ve ever written, and it means so much to me to play it for you all like this.” 

“this is the last song i have for you tonight -- it’s the title track, no more sad songs. it’s the last song i wrote for the album. this song is about trying to get over someone you can’t help but think about by any means necessary. it’s about the point in a breakup where you’re tired of wallowing and you’ll do anything you can to make yourself feel better -- i like to think it’s about the acceptance stage of grief. anyway, it felt right to keep it last... to name the album after it. i’m finally at a place in my life where i can put this chapter behind me. and it took a lot to get there, and i’m so proud of that. so, with that being said...” 

the crowd cheered as she strummed the first few notes. “thank you guys again so fucking much. sing along if you know the words already, okay?”

it was the second time that day he’d heard the song. it still made him feel the same way he’d felt when he first heard it -- angry and surprised and unsettled... and guilty. why hadn’t she ever told him she felt that way? why hadn’t she called him, and more importantly, why had he never called her, again?

his gaze hardened as she stopped at the front of the stage for the bridge. the same single spotlight illuminated her again. 

“uh, why do you have that murdery look?” avery asked from beside him. he said nothing, watching the melody build around cadence as she approached the crowd.

“still got you on my mind, starting to realize... no matter what i do, i will only harm myself tryn’a hurt you, and if i turn the music loud just to drown you out --”

her head tipped back with the powerful crescendo. she looked like an angel under the spotlight, more beautiful than he even knew how to explain. his chest seized painfully. 

abruptly, he turned around and headed back towards the backstage door. he knew he only had moments until the last song ended and cadence rushed backstage, and he needed to get out of there before that happened.

“raleigh!” avery called after him, but he didn’t stop, throwing open the back door and stepping out onto the sidewalk... immediately into a crowd of waiting fans and paparazzi.

a cacophony of screams started from the street. “ohmygod, it’s raleigh carrera!”

fuck. venue security glared at him as he shoved sunglasses on -- fuck the fact that it was nine o’clock at night -- and rushed off down the sidewalk. so much for getting in and out before cadence saw him. there’d be pictures of his exit all over social media in moments. paparazzi called after him as he rushed to the intersection, eyes scanning the street desperately for a working cab.

he stuck his hand out just as one with its lights on slid to a stop at the corner, jumping inside and slamming the door closed. camera flashes still shone behind his eyes even as he shoved the palms of his hands into them, drawing in a deep breath. sighing shakily, he met the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “88th and park. please.”

once he was alone in his apartment he felt like he wanted to put his fist through a wall. the urge to destroy something, anything was too strong -- because that was what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it? that’s what raleigh carrera would do.

she deserved so much better than him. the last thing she needed was to see him at her show and get sucked back into his bullshit. he paced around his living room, convincing himself he’d done the right thing. she’d moved on, after all -- she was happy, thriving. she didn’t need him around messing up her life. she’d practically said so herself. 

his phone vibrated where he’d dumped it on the coffee table, sliding onto the carpeted floor. raleigh couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to talk to, but he bent down and picked it up anyway.

he almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the caller id. cadence dorian. tongue out emoji. winking emoji. music note. 

“hello?”

“oh, so your phone isn’t down a well somewhere. okay, just checking. good to know.”

she hung up. 

he glared down at the phone in his hand. what the fuck? raleigh called her back before he even knew what he was doing.

“what?” she answered, though she sounded annoyed. like... really annoyed. 

“what is your problem?” he demanded.

“my problem?” she laughed. he could barely hear her over the commotion on the other end of the line -- someone was calling her name repeatedly in a way that sounded urgent -- and then a door slammed, and there was quiet. “my problem, okay. i don’t have a problem. i’m not the one out here subtweeting and sneaking in and out of your show without calling, am i?”

“no, you’re just writing and releasing an entire sixteen-song album about me and all the ways i ruined your life without calling,” he snapped, his patience finally wearing thin enough to crumble. “don’t you think it might’ve been nice for you to give me a heads-up?”

“oh, please,” cadence scoffed, and he could feel that she was getting angry now, too. it felt good, in an awful sort of way. at least it was something. “i should have to clear it with you every time i write a song?”

“not a heads-up about the album,” he grit out, the fingers of his free hand flexing with the urge to throw something, “a heads-up about the way you fucking felt. you never say a goddamn word about any of that to me and i have to find out about it for the first time with -- everyone else? that’s really fucking special, cadence. that means a lot to me.”

there was silence on the other end of the line, giving him a moment to try to calm himself down. cadence was only ever quiet when she’d been surprised, meaning she wasn’t expecting him to say that. but she was certainly silent, then; if he couldn’t still hear her breathing raggedly, he might’ve assumed that she hung up on him again.

finally, she spoke, her voice small and unsure. “raleigh...”

but he wasn’t done fighting with her yet. “what’s the matter? you never thought that it might actually hurt my feelings? i guess that’s on me for giving a shit.”

“raleigh,” cadence said again, more insistently this time, “i didn’t know how to --”

“how to what, cadence? not break up with me? not ignore me for eight months afterwards? not pretend like it didn’t mean anything to you? it’s not that difficult.”

“well, obviously it was too difficult for you to do, too. you didn’t call me, either. so i’m supposed to believe -- what, exactly? that you missed me? that’s convincing, when you’re never out without a model on your arm.” 

she sounded hurt. why did she sound hurt? she was the one who’d stomped on his heart, she was the one who’d wanted this. 

“get over yourself,” he bit out, his hand curling into a fist at his side. he was never going to get his security deposit back after what he was about to do to his penthouse. “you knew i was in love with you and you didn’t care. which is fine. you don’t have to... just own it. stop acting like i did something to you.”

suddenly, the commotion on the other end of the line was back. “i have to go,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. 

he hung up without saying goodbye, throwing his phone onto the couch. okay. that was fine. everything was fine.

except that he couldn’t possibly stand to be in his apartment for another moment -- not without doing something stupid. 

he grabbed his keys and his phone and left, slamming the door behind him. his fingers drummed restlessly on his thighs as he rode the elevator down to the lobby. there were paparazzi waiting outside the front door of his building -- raleigh could see them through the glass as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. with a grimace, he headed for the back door.

there was already a car waiting for him. “let’s go to kismet,” he directed, rapidly firing off text messages to anyone he knew who might be available to distract him. 

within minutes, he was inside the club at a vip table. there was a bottle of vodka sitting in a bucket of ice at the center of the booth, calling out to him. he lifted it straight to his lips, drinking as much as he could in one go without coughing. she’d always used to joke about his self-destructive tendencies. if only she could see him now.

“hey, raleigh.” belle tamblyn stood before him, smiling in the low light of the club. she must’ve just gotten back from paris fashion week. two of her friends had already sat down at the booth, talking among themselves. 

he leaned back into the booth with a charming smile. “hey, belle. i knew you missed me.”

she laughed, taking his words as an invitation to sit down in his lap. he didn’t push her off, wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders. she was taller and thinner than cadence in a way that wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but wasn’t exactly welcome, either. you’re never out without a model on your arm.

“so,” she started, looking down at him from up close, “what’ve you --”

he leaned up and kissed her, sliding a hand into her hair. her lips parted in surprise, sticky with lip gloss. raleigh bit her bottom lip and she sighed breathlessly, and that was -- good. that was almost... close enough.

his free hand slid over her backside, pulling her in closer. she was breathing hard when she pulled away, her face flushed.

raleigh laughed, pushing his fingertips under the hem of her dress. she reached down and swatted playfully at his chest.

“you’re an asshole,” she said primly, but she was rubbing her hand over the muscles in his chest. “do you want to get out of here?”

the last thing he wanted was to bring her back to his apartment, or to be there at all. “i don’t think i can wait that long,” he said charmingly, “bathroom?”

her nose scrunched up as she considered it, staring down at him. then, she said, “fine,” and slid up off his lap. he grinned, grabbing her hand and tugging her off toward the back of the club. 

it was a single person bathroom, and blessedly empty when they arrived. no one paid them any attention as he pulled her inside and flipped the lock. 

raleigh lifted her onto the sink and leaned in to kiss her again. she moaned as he pushed her legs apart and stepped between them, sliding his hands up her thighs.

this was fine. this was what he wanted.

so why couldn’t he force himself to do what he knew he was supposed to? his hands didn’t seem to want to move from where he’d anchored them on her legs, his lips kissing her methodically but not doing much else.

she wants to have sex with you! his brain screamed at him, she is a supermodel. a supermodel who wants to have sex with you. 

impatiently, her hands slid to the waistband of his jeans. he didn’t stop her as she pulled the zipper down and slipped her hand under the waistband of his briefs. 

it’s not a big deal. you’ve done this a million times. never after an argument like that with cadence, though... only when she was busy pretending he didn’t exist... 

the bass of the music playing in the club vibrated through the closed door. the song sounded painfully familiar -- he strained to make out what it was...

of course it was a dance remix of ‘gorgeous.’ why wouldn’t it be?

panting, he pulled his mouth off of belle’s, tipping their foreheads together. “hey,” he started hoarsely, licking his lips as he glanced down towards where her hand was wrapped around him, “i’m sorry, but i don’t... have anything. i don’t think we should...”

have unprotected sex in a nightclub bathroom. her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she weighed her options. on any other night, that might have actually been flattering, but tonight...

pounding on the bathroom door made their minds up for them. he stepped back, adjusting himself in his jeans. “come on.”

he helped her down off the sink and opened the door, ready to lead her back out into the club. the line of people waiting to use the bathroom stared open-mouthed at them both as they walked off toward the booth. raleigh grinned at them as he walked past -- that was what he was supposed to do, right?

belle’s friends barely arched an eyebrow at her as they sat down again. immediately, he started pouring drinks and passing them out -- anything to be as drunk as possible before the song ended.

by the time he stumbled home, alone, it was late -- later than he’d wanted to be out. he used the front door -- not because he wanted any paparazzi to get photos of him going home alone or anything, but because he felt like it -- and waited until he was in the elevator to sigh frustratedly, decidedly not checking his phone. he knew there was no way she’d texted him.

cadence was sitting on the floor outside of his apartment door when he stepped out into the hallway.

he stared at her like she was a hallucination, lifting one hand to his eyes to rub at them. maybe he had more to drink than he’d thought. she looked up at him, still dressed in what she must’ve worn to her album release party.

he felt like he was going to throw up. god, that would be uncool.

“hi,” she said quietly, from the floor. wordlessly, he stepped closer to her and held out his hand. she took it, letting him pull her up. “can i talk to you?”

that wasn’t going to be easy, considering he had absolutely no idea what to say, but raleigh nodded, unlocking his front door and motioning for her to step inside.

he didn’t turn the lights on, letting the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminate the space. the lights from the city and the glow of the moon made cadence look almost ethereal as she slowly wandered over towards the far wall, hesitating for a moment before kicking her high-heeled shoes off. despite himself, his lips twitched up into a smile as he watched her.

“want a drink?” he asked, because he certainly did.

she nodded, and he moved to the bar cart to pour them both a half-full glass of vodka. he dropped an ice cube into his and poured orange juice over hers. 

raleigh forced his feet to join her at the windows, silently holding her glass out to her. she took it with a mumble of thanks, lifting it to her lips. her eyes were trained on the view. what the fuck was she doing here?

the silence stretched between them. finally, he said, “congratulations on the album. it’s really good.”

that seemed to snap her out of it. she snuck a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “you listened to it?”

he nodded. no point in lying about it, now. “i’m a narcissist,” he joked, “it’s what i do.”

she laughed. raleigh stuffed his free hand into his pocket so that he wouldn’t reach out for her. god, he’d missed her laugh. 

he drained what was left in his glass in one go. “what’re you doing here?”

cadence was still staring out at the city. “i wanted to talk to you.”

“and yet, here you are. not talking.”

“i didn’t get that far when i planned this in my head,” she admitted, in an annoyingly endearing way. god damnit.

“how far did you get?”

she turned to look at him, then, leaning her shoulder against the window. “i thought maybe i would just kiss you when you got here and that would say everything i wanted to say. but then i chickened out.”

it felt like she’d just elbowed him in the stomach. “that doesn’t sound like you.”

“the kissing? i don’t know, i thought about it kind of a lot...”

he swallowed hard. “the chickening out.”

“oh.” she nodded, looking away. raleigh watched her stare down at the glass in her hands. “i guess i just felt like i already messed up so much. i didn’t want to... do the wrong thing again.”

raleigh couldn’t quite decide if he was too drunk for this conversation or not drunk enough. “how was your party?”

“it was fine. i think the last one i had -- for the odyssey -- was better.”

there was a night he didn’t want to relive. “look,” he sighed finally, turning back towards the windows and the city skyline, “i didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position. if you’re only here because you think i’m upset... you don’t have to be. i’ll be fine.”

he could see her shifting out of his peripheral vision. she seemed to be considering what she wanted to say. finally, she spoke up. “that’s not why i’m here.” he turned towards her and watched as her shoulders squared. “i’m here because i missed you. a lot. and i wanted to apologize, for what happened between us... for shutting you out. for not telling you how i felt -- that i was in love with you, too. for letting you go.”

raleigh’s grip tightened on his glass so that he wouldn’t drop it on the floor. he stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. 

cadence drew in a deep breath and continued, “getting over you was the hardest thing i ever had to do. and when i saw the pictures of you leaving the show tonight i realized... i failed miserably at it. i can’t get over you. i couldn’t. i won’t.”

he had to be imagining this, right? he was drunk and asleep in his limo, he had to be. he was dreaming.

but she felt very, very real when she reached out and twined her fingers in the fabric of his shirt.

“please say something,” she begged. she was undeniable.

“cadence...” he sighed, “you know how i feel.”

she nodded, once. “i do, but i want to hear you say it.”

“i want you to be my fucking girlfriend,” he admitted immediately, his voice hoarse. now that he’d given in, his free hand reached out and cupped her cheek. “for real. all the time. in front of everyone. i want you to move in, i never want us to go another day without talking. i don’t want anyone else to touch you. ever again.”

her lips parted. he couldn’t stop his thumb from pressing into her invitingly full bottom lip, watching in fascination as her eyelids fluttered. “raleigh,” she breathed, beautifully enough to do his head in. 

he stepped forward swiftly, pressing her back against the windows, and kissed her. she moaned, scrambling to set her glass on the side table next to her. he knew her hands were free when they shoved into his hair. 

fuck, if he hadn’t been wanting this for so long. his lips broke off of her to trail kisses across her jaw, down towards her neck. he couldn’t stop his fingers from tugging at her dress insistently. “do you want that?” he demanded. raleigh felt her nod against him. his teeth scraped across her pulse point. “say it.”

“raleigh!” she exclaimed. it was the most amazing sound in the world. his hips pushed forward insistently, grinding between her thighs. the force of it pushed her back into the windows. “i want it, i want you. i want all of it -- everything.”

the urgency to fuck her through the window was balancing precariously against his desire to do things right -- to give her what she deserved. with a huff, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up, walking them both off towards his bedroom.

she laughed again as he dumped her on the mattress, hard enough to make her bounce. raleigh grinned back at her as he whipped his shirt off of his head, tossing it to the floor. she was scrambling up the mattress, and he chased her towards the headboard, kneeling on top of her when she finally laid back.

he crowded her in close for another kiss, his hands everywhere at once. she whined into his lips, kissing him so urgently, like they didn’t have all the time in the world, now. “i missed you,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders desperately.

“i missed you too, beautiful,” he returned, pushing her dress up her thighs, “now lie back and let me make you feel good.”

his head was spinning by the time they’d finished, and not because of the drinks he’d had. cadence was tucked up under his arm, her head pillowed on his chest. she was still catching her breath as she dragged her fingertips along the tattoo spanning the expanse of his ribs.

the sun was starting to come up outside, filtering light into his bedroom. he stared at her face, illuminated by the dawning daylight. “you know, if anyone here is gorgeous, it’s you.”

“oh my god,” she mumbled, pressing her face into his skin, “you’re never going to let this go, are you?”

he smirked up at the ceiling as he pulled her in closer. “would you say it makes you so mad?”

“i’m going home,” she threatened, pinching his side. he laughed, squirming away from her hand. “this is over. you ruined it.”

“well, what if i want to come along?”

“raleigh,” she groaned finally, kicking him under the covers, “stop it.”

he snickered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “what, you’re allowed to write about me, but i’m not allowed to enjoy it?”

“please,” she sighed, settling in against his chest again, “like you don’t write about me.”

“i never said that,” he hummed, already imagining the things her face would do when she finally got to listen to his album, if he ever finished it. “i’m really hoping the label doesn’t make me change the name of sex at the moda.”

“okay, you did not write a song called ‘sex at the moda.’ tell me you didn’t.”

“i’d hate to lie.”

she lifted her head to look at him, her face flushing. “will you play it for me?”

he eyed the guitar in the corner of his bedroom. like he could ever say no to her. still...

“maybe later,” he grinned, rolling over to pin her beneath him, the sheets tangling around their legs. “i can think of a better use of our time. we have a lot to catch up on.”

her arms wound around his neck. “tell me about it.”

[lynelovespopculture]

THE CHILLING ADVENTURES OF ZELDA: CHAPTER 16-THE NEW GIRL

 CORDELIA SPELLMAN, NOW 12, FEELS UNEASY AROUND THE NEW GIRL IN HER CLASS…

Cordelia Spellman, smiled at herself in her full-length mirror, as she finished buttoning her blouse and admired her new skirt. Then she sat down at her vanity and picked up her golden chain with a single crescent moon attached. Ever since her parents had given her the necklace as a Yule gift 6 years ago, Cordelia never left the house without her necklace. Whenever she felt anxious or upset, Cordelia would hold the half-moon and pray. Guess being the daughter of a high priestess made you believe a little more. It was a long-standing family joke that if Sabrina’s black headband was her trademark then the necklace was Cordelia’s. After fastening the chain to her neck, Cordelia gathered her school books together and putting them in her backpack when she heard a bird. Turning around, she saw a dove in a tree right outside her bedroom window. A dove that Cordelia knew well.

“Hello, October.” Cordelia greeted the dove before grabbing her backpack and exiting her room. Out in the hallway, Cordelia encountered another animal. A huge brown greyhound lay across the floor, directly in Cordelia’s way. However, this was no mere dog. This was the familiar of Cordelia’s brother, Jake.

“Come on, Apollo, move! You’re in the way!” The dog did move when Cordelia scratched him behind his ear. The dog and the 12-year-old walked through the living room together. As they neared the kitchen, Apollo ran ahead, searching for food and his master. Cordelia stayed behind just long enough to put her book bag down on a hallway bench. Inside the kitchen, Cordelia found the usual suspects: her parents

“Good morning, Mom and Dad.”

Her brother was now feeding Apollo a strip of bacon, and Vinegar Tom, her mother’s dog wasn’t far behind.

“Morning, Jake.”

And her cousin, who unlike her parents and her brother, didn’t live there but worked there and often showed up early enough for breakfast.

“Hey, Ambrose.”

Plus 1 new face around the table.

“Hey, it’s the good doctor.” Cordelia hugged her big sister before sitting down next to her.

“Good morning, Cordy!” LJ smiled. “You don’t seem that surprised to see me here.”

“I’m not,” shrugged Cordelia as she dug into her oatmeal. “Perhaps that’s because I just saw a certain dove perched outside my window not 5 minutes ago.”

“Damn that October! I swear that familiar of mine spoils all my surprises! Anyway, the official reason I’m here is to drop off some medical forums for the boys but I also wanted to check up on you. Are you sure you’re ready for what you need to do today?”

Cordelia couldn’t help but smile. Not only was today the 1st day of school, but it was also Cordelia’s 1st day of 7th grade at Greendale Middle School, the very class that her father taught since she was 4.

Annoyed, Faustus came forward with his cup of coffee. “Hey, you have been teasing your sister all summer about being in my class. I wish you would stop it. I’m a good teacher and you, Cordy, don’t think I’m going to be easy on you because I’m your father.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Dad. I going to pass 7th grade with hard work and good grades, the same way I’ll become a top student when I attend the academy.”

Zelda smiled at her daughter. “Now, that’s the right attitude.”

“Butt kisser.” Jake teased his sister good-naturedly.

 10 minutes later, everyone left the kitchen. Ambrose and Jake went to work in other parts of the house, while everyone else was heading out the door. Zelda, to morning assembly at the academy, LJ was heading to the hospital to start her rounds and Faustus started the engine to his white VW bug as Cordelia climbed in beside him.

“So, did you and Mom have the talk today?” she asked her father.

“What talk?” Faustus asked his daughter.

Cordelia shrugged. “The talk, the talk you and Mom have at the start of every school year.  The one where Mom asks you to come to teach at the academy and every year, you turn down Mom’s offer.”

“You know about that?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Everyone in the family knows. What I don’t get is why you keep turning her down. When I was little, you told me that Ambrose is the most powerful warlock in the family but I’ve known for a long time that it’s you. Plus, I heard Uncle C and Aunt Hilda talking about how you used to work there and- “

“Cordy, I don’t feel comfortable talking about this.” Faustus cut in.  “Yes, I used to work at the academy, but that was a long time ago, before the curse.”

“Of course!” His daughter spat. “Whenever I try to bring up anything about your past, all you ever say is it happened before the curse. Never mind that you always say you’ll tell me about this curse someday, but you never have. Dad, I’m 12 now, whatever this curse is, I can handle it.”

Faustus sighed as he pulled into the school parking lot. He couldn’t blame Cordelia for her anger toward him. She was right, of course, he brought up the ‘before the curse’ line a lot but what the child didn’t know was that he tried twice as much to tell his daughter what the curse actually was. Yet, he just couldn’t do it. Even when Zelda was right there beside him to support and help him to explain it all. But 1 look in Cordy’s innocent, trusting eyes, and Faustus chickened out every time. You’re weak, boy, you’ve always been weak. His father’s words were never far in Faustus’s mind. No words could be enough to express how thankful and grateful he was to the Spellmans for their unending understanding and support of him for the last 13 years. However, no matter how loved, safe, and secure his family would make him feel, something always happened, a memory, a nightmare, (last week’s was a real doozy) to trigger his never-ending guilt yet again. That’s why he declined Zelda’s yearly offer to return to teaching at the academy.  It was no longer a school to him, just a scene of his crimes. He felt the same way about the church, though he found it easier to avoid the school. When he did go to mass, he sat in the very last pew, even if as the spouse of the high priestess, it was his right to sit upfront with the rest of his family. He liked to get in and out, to see as less of the coven as possible. Even if the coven and the family’s forgiveness had lasted for 13 years, Faustus still lived his life as if that forgiveness could be revoked at any moment. This is why he couldn’t tell the youngest Spellman that it was only because of her mother that he wasn’t trapped forever inside a wicked, murdering husk. Sometimes it felt like Cordelia was the only 1 left in the world who didn’t know of his crimes and, selfish or not, he liked it that way.

“No, your mother and I didn’t have ‘that talk’ today, we had it yesterday.” There, it was all Faustus was willing to say on the subject. Faustus parked the car and pointed. “There are your friends.”

Thankfully, the sight of her best friends, blond triplets Emily, Erin, and Erica Warner, was enough to distract Cordelia from their current conversation.

“Thanks, Dad,” Cordelia pecked her father’s cheek, left the car, and made a beeline for her friends. “Hi, guys!”

“Hey, Cordy,” Said Emily.

“Hi, Cordelia” Replied Erica.

Erin just waved.

Cordelia frowned. “What’s wrong with you 3? You all look like you didn’t sleep a wink all night long.”

“We didn’t,” mumbled Erin.

“How could we when Mom and Dad had another all-night screaming match.” Emily agreed with her sister.

“Again?!” Cordelia frowned, the triplets confided in her that their parents were having marriage problems for quite some time.

“Hey there, girls!” came a voice from behind.

“Sara!”  All 3 Warner girls cried and turned to embrace the girl coming towards them.

Cordelia wasn’t sure what disturbed her more.  The fact that she had never seen this new girl a day in her life or that she got a warmer welcome from her besties than she did. However, Cordelia easily dismissed the thought when Erin turned back to her.

“Cord, this is Sara Reed. She just moved 3 doors down from us about 2 weeks ago. Sara, this is Cordelia Spellman, she’s been our best friend since, like, ever.”

“So, I’m finally meeting the famous Cordelia Spellman.”

“Well, I don’t know about famous,” Cordelia smiled.

The bell rang so the girls headed inside the school.

“Are you kidding?” Sara told Cordelia, “the triplets talk about you all the time. To hear them tell it, your family owns the town.”

“Hardy,” Cordelia giggled. “Truthfully, they only own 2 businesses, but they are all over town. Let’s see, my uncle owns Dr. Cerberus’s books and spirits and he runs it with my aunt Hilda.  She herself co-owns the Spellman Sisters mortuary with my mother but Mom teaches high school with my oldest sister, Prudence. So the mortuary’s day to day business is run by Ambrose, my cousin, and my brother Jake. Not too far from Uncle C’s shop, is the new office of my other cousin, Sabrina, who’s a therapist. LJ, my other sister, is a doctor.”

“What about your father?” Sara asked.

“Oh, Dad’s right here,” Cordelia answered. “Dad has been teaching 7th grade at this school since I was 4.”

“Which means that Mr. Spellman is our teacher this year.” Erin pointed out.

This made Sara confused. “Wait, I thought you guys were going into 8th grade?”

Emily shook her head. “Nope,7th.”

“I’m going into 8th.” Sara declared.

“I thought she was 12, like us,” Cordelia whispered to Erica.

“She is, but Sara is so cool, I’m not surprised she skipped a grade.”

“Oh yeah,” Cordelia smiled. “What makes her so cool?”

“She’s a Wiccan.”

Her friends didn’t notice when Cordelia froze and her smile disappeared.

 Nina Robinson was the school’s new 8th-grade teacher and she was not at all happy to be there. Some teachers’ passion was children, but Nina’s true passion was men. That was got her in her current troubles. If her boyfriend-correction, ex-boyfriend, had simply told his wife about them, he probably could have avoided a political scandal.  Yet here Nina was, in a backward hic town instead of her beloved New York.

How am I going to find Mr. tall, dark and handsome here in the middle of Nowhere, USA? Nina thought to herself just before Mr. tall, dark, and handsome walked by.

Luckily, Nina was standing right next to Theo Putnam, the vice-principal of the school.  “Um, Mr. Putnam? Who is that?” Nina asked, pointing.

“Oh, that’s Faustus Spellman, he’s been teaching 7th grade here for 8 years. His niece, Sabrina, is a childhood friend of mine.”

Nina could care less about childhood friends as she checked out this Faustus guy and she liked what she saw. Most women would back off when they saw Faustus’s wedding ring, but not Nina. She liked a challenge.

  “So, how are you today, Mr. Wilson?” LJ smiled at her favorite patient.

“Much better now that you’re here.”  Mr. Wilson took LJ’s hand and kissed it.

“Well, I’m certainly glad that those 3 surgeries didn’t rob you of your charm.”

LJ turned as the door opened and there was a man LJ didn’t know. “Excuse me, Mr. Wilson? I was sent here to check your I.V. and do some bloodwood.”

“Well, do it, then. Can’t you see I’m trying to flirt here?”

LJ chuckled as she moved to allow the stranger room to work. LJ also check the chart at the end of Mr. Wilson’s bed. “Everything looks good here. I’ll check back on you this afternoon.”

LJ and the man left the hospital room together. “I’m sorry, but have we met?” LJ asked the man out in the hallway. “It’s just that I’ve worked here for the last 5 years and I can’t place you.”

The man smiled. “Nor should you. I’m part of a group of interns that just transferred here from Moon Valley.”

“Oh, okay. Well, welcome to Greendale Memorial Hospital. How are you liking it so far?”

“I like it very much. I mean, the people are great. There’s only 1 thing I’m nervous about.  My pals keep telling me how tough our supervisor is. I haven’t met him yet; some guys say that our new supervisor is some hard ass resident named Dr. Spellman. Oh, where are my manners?” I’m Peter, Peter Watson.”

“LJ. LJ Spellman.”

Peter stopped walking. “You’re kidding, right.”

LJ kept smiling as she shook her head. “Afraid not.”

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“After I get my foot out of my big mouth, how about I apologize properly by buying you a drink after work?”

LJ’s smile got bigger. “I would like that.”

 Over the years, some found it odd, that everyone at Greendale middle school, both staff and students alike, all had their lunch break at noon sharp. Yet today, it was a blessing. For at 10 after 12, a fire broke out in the southeast end of the school. Far away from the cafeteria and the teacher’s lounge. By 12:30, all the fire alarms were screaming at full force and the firetrucks were arriving just as the yard was filling with people. By 1 pm, the principal and vice-principal were busy calling parents to tell them not only about the fire but also the happy news that no one was hurt. To give the school a chance to air out all that extra smoke, afternoon classes were held outside, made possible by the nice weather. Although the flames were brief, it did ruin 2 rooms. The library and the 8th-grade classroom were burnt and would be unusable for months. By 3, it was safe to come back inside. By 3:30, the school was over and Cordelia was putting some books in her locker before heading into the girls’ bathroom. Cordelia pushed open the door and froze. There, among a dozen lit candles, were her 3 best friends and the new girl, Sara, all hovering over an Ouija board.

[rhinoswriting]

5, 4, 3, 2, 1! (Luke Hemmings One Shot)

Summary: Told from an unnamed, female-presenting character's perspective. Luke and the reader confess that they have feelings for one another at the New Year's Eve party she hosts.

3.3k~ words • Fluff

***********************

I was frantically mixing my cake batter together when I heard my doorbell ring. I wasn't expecting Michael to turn up until 4pm. So either he was uncharacteristically early or I was running further behind schedule than I thought. I glanced at my watch as I trotted from the kitchen to the front door. It was 4:07pm. I could feel the stress and panic expand in my body. I was stressed enough when I thought I was just 20 minutes behind schedule. I was actually running over an hour behind. I knew hitting snooze would be a mistake.

"Hey!" Michael greeted me with his usual Labrador level of cheer when I flung the door open.

"I'm so glad you're here," I confessed, the words tumbling out of my mouth as fast as I could form them, "I'm running so, so far behind schedule."

"Chill; it's fine." Michael chuckled while pulling me into a friendly hug, "I'm here to help set up, so we'll make up time."

"You're stealing precious seconds," I mumbled into the front of his shoulder as I tried to end the hug, "I needed my cake in the oven 15 minutes ago. It won't have cooled enough to ice properly before people arrive now."

Micheal unwrapped his arms from around my torso to let me run back to my cake batter in the kitchen. He followed behind with an amused smile and calm energy.

"What can I do to help stop you freaking out? Decorate? Set up the bar? Pour snacks into bowls?" Michael asked as I searched a cupboard for a cake tin.

"AH-HA!" I exclaimed, grabbing a cupcake tray and grinning manically, "Cupcakes don't take as long to bake! We've got 15 minutes back!"

"Shit, I didn't realise you were stressed to the point of deranged." Michael half-joked.

"Shut up and prep the bar." I ordered while starting to spoon batter into paper cases, "Please!" I added as an afterthought behind him.

Just as I'd put the cupcakes in the oven and set a timer, Michael reappeared in the kitchen.

"Right, the bar is all set. I've also put anything that look potentially breakable in the nearest cupboard or drawer." He informed me, "Also Luke texted me, so I talked him into coming over to help too."

"You are a life saver, Cliffo." I smiled, now feeling a bit more relaxed.

The two of us then went about checking off various tasks to get my house party-ready. About 25 minutes in my doorbell rang.

"That'll be Luke!" I called out to Michael as I made why way to the door, "Heya! Come on in." I greeted Luke as I pulled the door open.

Luke walked through the door, his duffle bag hung off his shoulder, and smiled down at me,

"Everything going okay? You look more flustered than Mike let on."

"I'm great. I'm great." I assured him, "We've made up some time and now we've got you too. So it's fine. I'm fine."

"Whatever you say," he chuckled, "Let me go dump my bag in your room so I can get changed later and then I'll be your devoted servant ready to follow orders."

~

"I'm going to need to head off," Michael announced after checking the time of his phone, "It's nearly 6 and I've gotta go walk to dogs, eat and get ready. I'll see you guys at 8."

"See ya in a bit!" Luke called after us as I walked with Michael to the door.

"Thanks so much for helping, Cliffo." I said as I hugged him goodbye, "The place looks great and I feel a lot more relaxed now. See you later."

I waved him off down the front path. Once he reached the gate I closed the door and headed back to the lounge.

"So what's left to do?" Luke asked when I re-entered the room.

"We're going to the kitchen to ice those cupcakes. And after that it'll just be a case of getting ready ourselves." I smiled at him gratefully, "We should even have time to start pre-drinking now that we've regained some time. Thanks for your help."

"No worries," he said returning my smile and then headed to the kitchen, "Now let's get icing."

After such a rushed, blur of a day it was unbelievably calming to methodically ice and embellish cupcakes with a friend I had such a comfortable connection with. It made me imagine the two of us playing out homely scenarios in romantic bliss. But that was an ideal world. In the real world we were just two friends with natural chemistry, so I tried to curb my imagination.

"Are you bothering with any new year's resolutions?" I asked, knowing that conversation would keep my mind from wandering back to its dream world.

"I always break them and only half-heartedly make them in the first place." He responded as he dropped little, silver sugar balls onto the lilac icing I had just swirled onto a cupcake, "Getting in shape is always one; listening to critics less; getting at least one full night of sleep next year would be nice too."

I laughed at his last resolution as I placed a loveheart sweet on another cupcake.

"What about you?" He asked.

"Getting in shape would be one of mine too if I weren't so lazy," I began, "I'm thinking of going vegetarian, so maybe that too. I might start dating too, now that I'm settled in the city, but it's still a bit terrifying."

"Yeah, the dating scene here is rough." Luke responded flatly.

"Well, it looks like we're done here." I chirped as I placed the last of the 20 cupcakes back on the counter. I smiled down at the four rows of cupcakes, with their lilac icing, silver balls and carefully centered loveheart toppings, "We did good! Now let's get ready so we can get drinking!"

Luke followed me into my bedroom, where he had dumped his bag earlier. As he began pulling out the crumpled clothes he had haphazardly stuffed in the bag earlier, I opened my closet door and began picking our various items. In the end I had four potential outfits draped over my left forearm.

"How dressed up are you meant to get for a New Year's Eve party in your own home?" I inquired, not knowing which outfit to go with.

"It's your house and you're the host, so get as dolled up as you want I guess." He answered; his hand hovering between a shirt and a t-shirt he'd laid out on my bed, not sure which one to go with.

"That's not the helpful answer I wanted," I teased before continuing, "What are you wearing then? I'll gauge my outfit off of yours."

"It's currently between this vintage Guns n' Roses tee or the pale yellow shirt. Which d'you think?"

I walked over to my bed for a closer look at his two options. I told him to go with the vintage GnR t-shirt as it went better with his black skinny jeans and wouldn't show alcohol stains as easily as the pastel lemon shirt. He then proceeded to carelessly stuff the shirt back into his duffle bag and switch the t-shirt he had on for the Guns n' Roses one. He was so used to dressing rooms that a quick shirt change in front of someone wasn't a big deal. Nevertheless I still politely attempted to avert my gaze and turn my attention back to my outfit for the night.

Using his outfit as guidance, so I was at least on the same level as someone that night, I opted for my distressed Metallica t-shirt and my favourite leather-look mini skirt. As I wasn't as comfortable getting changed in front of people, especially those I had bottled up feelings for, I told Luke to go and grab the denim jacket I knew he kept in his car.

"It'll complete the look." I told him when he questioned why I was telling him to get a jacket for a house party, "I'll get changed and started on my make-up while you get it. Then we can concoct some cocktails."

Once Luke had left my room I slipped out of my bike shorts and loose v-neck and into my chosen outfit for the night. I looked at myself in the full length mirror attached to the closet door and did a few little half spins to check out how I looked from various angles. I loved the look. I particularly liked the subtle flash of my bright red triangle bra through some of the little holes and tears in the black fabric of my Metallica t-shirt. It gave me an added touch of confidence.

I already had make-up on; but it was just foundation, mascara and the nearest brown eyeshadow I could find to fill in my brows. I pulled my liquid eyeliner pen from my make-up bag and began outlining a wing. Just as I was finishing up my second eye, Luke entered my bedroom again.

"Jesus! You made me jump!" I exclaimed when I first caught a glimpse his reflection behind me in the mirror.

"Sorry," he laughed, "I left the front door ajar while I ran to the car. Didn't want to disturb you and get you all stressed again."

"Aww, well thanks I guess," I said awkwardly while applying my berry red liquid lipstick, "Right, I think I'm done." I announced turning to face Luke who was leant up against my doorframe.

Luke straitened up to standing and unfolded his arms, moving his hands into his pockets.

"You look great," He smiled sweetly down at me, "Really great."

I thanked him as I approached him and linked my arm through his. Arm-in-arm I led him to the bar area Michael had set up at the far end of my lounge.

We were both on our third cocktail, sprawled out on my corner sofa and listening to Nimrod when guests started arriving.

"Ayyyy! Cool Guy Cal!" I greeted Calum at the door, who was shortly followed by Roy, Ash and Sasha.

Michael, Georgie, Joel and Christina were next to arrive. Shortly followed by Rian and Bailey. Then Alex, Lisa and Jack turned up and the guest list was complete.

By 10pm everyone was suitably drunk, my carefully crafted playlist was being appreciated and the party was in full swing. Like all good house parties, the kitchen was nearly as crowded as the lounge.

"Coming through! This lady wants a snack!" I declared as I tipsily weaved through Jack, Ash, Christina, Luke and Georgie to get to the snack bowls.

"Really? Tiny pretzels?" Ash asked with a mischievous grin, "I thought Luke over here would be your first choice snack."

"Aha, you're funny." I said sarcastically. I hoped my cheeks already had an alcohol flush so no one would notice that his sly comment had made me blush.

"No, no, she said she's ready for the dating scene here. So I'm just those bar peanuts that have been left out for a questionable amount of time." Luke jumped in, randomly gesticulating with the cup in his hand.

"Oh shut up; you are not. You know you're just as good as tiny pretzels." I scolded him before turning to Ashton with the cupcake I had just picked up with the loveheart that read 'Bite Me', "This is specially for you, Ash."

"'Bite Me', ooh that cuts deep." Ashton chuckled before taking a bite, "I stand by what I said though." He spoke through his barely chewed mouthful.

I simply rolled my eyes at him and made my way back to the lounge to pour another drink.

I was still at the bar area, sipping my cocktail, while chatting to Alex and Lisa when Acting Like That began to play.

"Oh, oh my god, okay, I'm sorry but you guys are going to need to excuse me a sec." I apologised as I dashed into the middle of the crowd in my lounge, where I hoped to convene with the four 5SOS boys.

None of them disappointed me. Hearing their call to arms (a.k.a. the opening bar of the song) we formed a tight circle of five and went crazy. As we sang passionately and jumped around I noticed where Luke had positioned himself in relation to me and remembered Ash's comment from earlier in the kitchen. I never thought Luke would like me back, but here he was closer to me than anyone else. And what was comparing himself to stale peanuts earlier meant to mean? I shook the thoughts out of my head. It was New Year's Eve, I should be having a great time with my friends, not fixating on the behaviour of one of them.

"Want to grab a refill?" Luke called into my ear as Acting Like That transitioned into Afterglow.

"Sure," I responded while also trying to catch my breath from all the jumping around. I hooked my arm through his, did a little skip-step and headed back to where I'd run off from Alex and Lisa moments ago.

"Too cool to dance to your own song?" I teased Alex when I saw he was still stood by the bar.

He just laughed my comment off as he stepped to the side to let Luke and I access the whole array of bottles and their potent liquids. As Luke was busy pouring mixer into his cup Alex caught my eye, raised his eyebrows dramatically and looked in Luke's direction. I mouthed the words 'don't you start' at him and shot him a warning look. Alex raised his hands, palms facing me to signal defeat and gave a small nod before swivelling on his heel and disappearing into the crowd of my sweaty, drunk friends.

"Sooo, I'm like a pretzel to you?" Luke asked with a sly grin as he looked down at me and placed a cocktail umbrella in my refilled cup. I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not by bringing that remark up.

"Yet you think you're a stale peanut to me. I'm not having the conversation I think we're about to have if we keep using salty party snacks as an analogy." I chuckled before taking a huge gulp of my drink. I had a feeling I was soon going to need all the liquid confidence I could get.

"Want to go somewhere a bit more private then?" Luke asked leaning down to make sure only I could hear him above the music. Which meant I was also the only one to hear the nervous quiver in his voice. I found his apparent nervousness both sweet and incredibly reassuring, considering my own nerves.

I responded by nodding coyly, suddenly too nervous to even form words. I couldn't believe I was about to have this kind of drunk chat with Luke. I was so scared of having my heart ripped out half an hour before midnight on New Year's Eve. I genuinely couldn't say with confidence which way this was going to go.

Luke took my free hand in his and led me to my bedroom. It was a good call. We'd have no privacy in the garden because of the guests who were smokers, as well as my huge french doors all the non-smokers could watch through. And we couldn't have a drunk bathroom chat, because I only had one bathroom so an impatient line would form within minutes of locking the door.

I shut the door once we were back in my room and pressed my back against it. Luke was stood in the middle of the room, a few steps from the foot of my bed. He had his fingers pressed together so his hands formed a triangular shape which he held up to his face, covering his nose and mouth. He took a breath in and as he released it, his hands slid from his face up into his hair to push his curls back. Then he finally made eye contact with me.

"Look, party food aside, I've got to know how you feel about me." Luke stated, with a hint of pleading in his voice, as he took a few steps closer to me.

"Honestly," I started, "Whoa boy, I am not drunk enough for this. Crap," I took a second and exhaled deeply, "Okay. Luke, despite my best efforts to bottle up my feelings and just see you as a friend's like the others, I can't. I really fucking like you."

"So you do have feelings for me too?" Luke tried to clarify.

"Too?" I queried, meeting his gaze for the first time since admitting my feelings. I wanted clarification as well; I wasn't going to let my heart soar based on a drunk assumption.

"Yes, too. Of course I have feelings for you." Luke admitted, stepping further towards me. He placed a cupped hand on my cheek as I took a step away from the door and closer to him, the distance between us now almost completely gone, "Since you came into my life you've made every day better. How could I not fall for you when you're you?"

My heart now had permission to soar as high as it damn well pleased.

"Knowing you has made me happier too," I beamed.

Luke mirrored my beaming smile upon hearing those words. Then, with his hand still cupped on my cheek, he tilted my face a fraction higher before our eyelids fluttered shut and the gravity between our lips took hold.

It was an incredible kiss. And not just because Luke was a great kisser. It was incredible because, in a strange way, it was such a relief. After all the time spent pinning and denying my feelings, it was such a relief to feel Luke's soft lips on mine and realise what a fool I had been.

After a solid minute of kissing someone cleared their throat behind us. Luke's hand slid from the small of my back to the side of my waist; I loosened the arm I had draped around his neck; and our lips parted as we turned to see who had just announced their presence behind us.

"While I'm sure as shit glad you two are finally hooking up, we've got a countdown to do in a matter of minutes." Alex said before wrangling us out into the garden with everyone else, "I FOUND THEM MAKING OUT!" He declared to everyone as he came out into the garden behind us.

Some people wooped, some people awwed and then there was the almost in-sync "fucking finally" from Michael, Calum and Ashton. Seeing their reactions made me so happy and let me know that whatever this grew into, it was right.

Luke took my hand again, interlocking his fingers with mine, and we walked to the back of where our group of friends had congregated in the garden to view the myriad of fireworks soon to be set off across the city.

"One minute to go!" Christina called.

Luke placed a soft kiss on the top of my head before raising our linked hands over my head so they came to rest on my hip, with his arm wrapped around the back of my waist and my arm around the front of my waist.

"Thirty seconds!" Christina chimed again, "Twenty seconds! ... Eleven!"

Then we all joined in together,

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

As our friends cheered the new year in and fireworks began popping in the sky above us, Luke's lips found mine again. It was a brief kiss. Luke pulled his lips away and then pressed his forehead against mine,

"Happy New Year" He whispered in the softest voice.

I grinned up at him,

"Happy New Year, Luke." I whispered back before returning my lips to his.

[headoverjojo]

Hey~ Can I request scenario/headcanons for Narancia x BFF reader? A sibling-like relationship ❤️ Reader is smart and introverted at first but they start to open up to Narancia to two point that they do everything together. Super fluffy is appreciated!

Hi there, honey! Aaaaaa, such a wholesome request :,) Thank you so much!! I hope it’s fluffy enough… even if I’m sorry for the ending. I’m deeply, deeply sorry-

Narancia and his best friend/sibling-like

(Under the cut for length!)

When Bruno announced the arrive of a new teammate, Narancia was excited, even if he acted cool about it. A new teammate meant a new possible friend! A new member of the family! Unless the new member was an asshole -but in that case Bruno would have tugged some strings not to have them assigned to his gang-, it was all fine. Until, well, he heard that the new member was way smarter than a normal person. Fugo was already like this… what if the new member had anger issues too? He accepted anger bursts just from Fugo, since he was like a big brother to him and he wasn’t scared to fight him back. Hell, he knew Fugo since years. But a new person… he didn’t know. Suddenly, he wasn’t so happy to meet them anymore.

But the day came and Bucciarati guided you, the new member, to the table where the others were waiting for you both, a teapot -full of actual tea and not something else- on the center of it. You swallowed, a bit nervous, and, when Bruno announced your name and everyone lifted their gaze on you, you almost shrunk down, uncomfortable. You answered to the others’ hello with nods and small mumbles, answering with few words at their questions, while sitting on the edge of the chair. Among all the gazes, you hadn’t noticed that Narancia’s was the most confused. You were so different from what he had pictured -and feared-… and definitely calmer than Fugo. At least, around you, he hadn’t to be ready to take out his pocket knife.

He was curious about you, now that you have settled down. You were always on your own, reading or writing or doing stuff and you were of few words. He didn’t understand. Did you not like to stay with them all? If so, you could have change team! You were not obliged to stay with them. When he grumbled it to Abbacchio, he just quirked a brow, taking a sip from his mug.

“Y/N is just introvert, Narancia. Give them time and not bother them.” the man replied, before putting on again his headphones. Narancia hummed, thinking about it. You were just introvert… so a bit like Abbacchio? He too didn’t like to be bothered -just Bruno had this privilege-, he was almost always on his own… so you too were like this. Well, you couldn’t stay all alone, in any case. Even Abbacchio had a best friend. And you were part of the family! He would have been your Bruno!

And so Narancia used all his stubbornness and determination to help you to come out your shell. In the beginning you didn’t understand why that boy seemed so interested, but the determined shining in his eyes baffled you and was almost even scaring. What did he want?!

No matter how silent and reserved you were, he still tried and tried. He always offered to go on mission with you, chit-chatting and -you could see it clearly- trying to start a friendship. It was… cute. No one had ever tried so hard to become your friend, always chased away and sometimes annoyed by your introvert nature. But Narancia… he was a completely different story.

And it seemed that his stubbornness, in the end, had repaid him. Slowly, as you knew him more -he always told you anecdotes about the gang, the city, sometimes he talked about his past- you started to open up too. A little, a small step after another, but surely you were doing it. You felt comfortable with him: he never judged you and your quirks and the same you did with him. Sometimes you sat near him and quietly helped him with his math homework, helping him, in fact, to improve a lot. The time spent together like this helped you to relax around him, seeing him focusing so hard on his work and trying and trying stubbornly, as he tried to be your friend.

The turning point was when you finally talked about what led you to join Passione. You both knew, in that moment, that you were friends. And, as time passed, you found yourself seeking him more and more, to pass time together, to laugh and joke and go around, when you didn’t had missions. Sometimes the others -Mista- joked about you two being a lovey-dovey pair, but, for real, you hadn’t romantic feelings for Narancia, nor he had for you. Yours was a wonderful platonic relationship, a siblings-like one. He was the brother you never had and you the sibling he always missed. You were always sent together in mission, cooperating like an old fighting duo, protecting each other with sheer determination and strength. You always were victorious.

And, back at the HQ, when he wasn’t busy with his math homework -and you were always with him to help when he needed or calm him down when something didn’t turn as he wanted- you both were or chilling around or out on Naples’ streets. By now, you couldn’t think about doing something without your brother, as that day, while you were chilling on the couch, dozing a bit off, sleepily.

You felt your legs being moved and a familiar citrus scent reached your nostrils. You smiled, cracking open an eye, seeing Narancia slumped as well on the other side of the couch, your legs on his lap as he was melting on the couch back.

“What’s up, Nara?” you asked, yawning, slowly sitting up. He huffed, resting his head on your shoulder, humming at your light scratches on his nape.

“Just back from the patrol with the rockie, Giorno. Boring as hell.” he whined, making you chuckle. You knew he was upset ‘cause he wanted to do the patrol round with you as always and, if you had to be honest, you were a bit upset as well. You missed your friend. But you never discussed Bucciarati’s orders, so you both accepted it.

“Oh, c’mon, he doesn’t seem so bad, uh?” you replied, making him whine even more.

“Dunno, Y/N. For me, the kid brings troubles.” he muttered, making you laugh aloud, now. What strange from Narancia!

“Kid? Nara, he has just two years less than us.” you teased, poking his sides, as he squirmed, failing to contain a wheezing laugh.

“Y/N, stop- no, don’t you dare-!” he howled when you aggressively tickled his sides, laughing as he squirmed, trying to stop you and not laugh. Failing.

“Oh, I’ll dare and double dare!” you exclaimed, laughing and falling on him, squealing when he started to tickle you back. Oh no, he was going to win…!!

“Ok ok, fine!! Truce!” you exclaimed, panting, as Narancia stopped his evil hands and lied near you, giggling like crazy. You huffed, nagging his shoulder, as he stuck his tongue at you, in a childish manner that made you both laugh again. If only you knew those would have been some of the last moments of peace, you would have enjoyed them more, as they deserved.

You held Narancia’s hand by his pinkie, giggling, gingerly swinging it, as you used to do as a child to make promises.

“Neh, Nara- even if the rockie will bring troubles, we’ll face them together, eh? As always!” you declared, your smile mirrored on his face.

“Of course! I wouldn’t go anywhere without you!”

If you only had knew.

[ladyshandioftheendless]

Royal Pains

HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS this is one of @ashestoashesvvi ‘s crowning achievements!! Have you ever wondered what it would be like if Steel Panther invaded the KISSteriaverse? No? WELL TOO BAD HERE IT IS ANYWAY!! So in this Michael Starr is Vince’s cousin and a constant thorn in his side. This time the Panther boiz assume to role of party crashers! Placed under a cut for length and dirtiness~

“W- We’re gonna what now?”

“We’re gonna bring some heavy ass metal to my favorite blond richy bitchy cuz! It’s gonna so fuckin’ rock, man!” Michael declared, jumping on top of their pool table in the middle of the room. He downed his open beer in one go and tossed it down on the floor when he was done with a pumped grin. “Woo!! Alright, bitches, c'mon, who’s game to party hard tonight?”

Lexxi blinked, and blinked. Then blinked again. Then he looked back at his mirror, shaking his head and fluffing up his hair. “Ahh, ahhhhh, you can go, but… but…” he paused, rolling the words around in his head. Beside him, Satchel just rolled his eyes as his bandmate’s mind was as lost as ever. “But I- I don’t think I’m for it after we jus- just snorted aaaaall, and I- I mean aaaall, the fuckin’ coke we had, dude. Kinda just wanna stay here and pet my turtle– you guys kno- know my turtle, yeah?”

“Lex, no damn turtle talk.”

“No one wants to hear where you shoved him up.”

“Guys!!” Michael groaned, “Duuuuudes, focus! Party time! Yeah or fuck yeah?”

Stix sighed, flopping down next to Satchel and Lexxi on their demolished, once lavish, black leather couch. “Eh, why the fuck not? It’s been a while since we had some fun, man.”

“Yeah, a whole fuckin’ six hours.” Michael nodded, grinning ear to ear. “C'mon, Lex, don’t you want to have some fun this weekend?”

“I- If by fun, you mean work on my highlights and fu- fuckin’ update our fashion style, then yeah. Ahhh….. What was I– Oh, yeah, just fuckin’, other than that, I- I don’t feel like going to some big party.” he said. He winced when Michael pouted then came running up to him, putting his head on his shoulder, whining and hugging onto his arm.

“Come on, please?”

“Bitch, you’re getting between m- me and the mirror- the mirror, man!” Lexxi pouted, pursing his lips out even more. He swung his mirror around in his hand to keep it out of Michael’s way and more focused on his own beautiful face.

Satchel laughed, “You’re gonna drop that, and that’s gonna break, and you’re gonna cry like a little girl in front of all of us, dude.”

“Then I’ll be careful- duh!” Lexxi sighed, wriggling out of Michael’s strong hold.

“Lexxi, you’re coming with us. It’s not a bitchin’ party until the whole band shows up!” Michael laughed.

“Mmmh…..”

“Lex, c'mon, c'here.” Stix sighed, shifting and standing to grab his taller bandmate. He forced him to lean down so that he could put his head on top of his, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Come and have fun, okay?”

“Wh- Wha- What’d you say?” Lexxi blinked. He tried to consecrate and think about what he was just asked, but all he could manage was a confused, cute squint.

“Come and have fun, okay?”

“Ca- Can you say the last work- word different?”

“…okie?”

“Ooh, see that’s what I th- thought you said.”

“Lexxi, stop being a dumb fuckin’ blonde– no offence Michael– for like two seconds and focus, man. Think of it, think of the tiddies! The booze! The drugs! I heard they’re importing these new blue lines straight outta Jendell! Jendell, man! I heard that shit makes electricity shoot right up your spine!” Satchel smirked, rubbing his hands together.

“Better yet,” Stix laughed, catching Lexxi’s short focus again. “Think about it, man… Prince Vince has an entire hall of mirrors in his crib~”

Lexxi’s eyes widened. He’d forgotten about that. He hummed, thinking about it now, debating on the pros and cons before giving in. “Alright, okay. I- I’ll go.”

Michael squealed and hugged him. “Fuck yes! For a second, I thought we had to bring your mother in this.”

“Y- You fuckers leav- leave my mom outta this shit–”

“Heh, she wasn’t out of this,” Satchel motioned to his crotch. “last night, dude.”

“Shuddap!!”

“Oh fuckin’ grow a pair and get over it, Lex. Can’t give her AIDS twice.”

“Or thrice.” Satchel added with a nod of his head.

“Or frice?” Stix said, smiling. “Or whatever the fuck it is.”

“Can y- you guys not gangbang my m- mom?”

“Too late!” Michael said, reaching for his microphone. “I gotta summon us a bitchin’ ride…. Hmmm… what’ll it be tonight, boys? One big limo or…?”

“Flaming limo with flames painted on the sides, and nachos when we get in. I want some fuckin’ nachos right about now, dude.”

“Annnnnnd hookers.” Stix said, letting Lexxi go finally.

Michael nodded, “Oh man, this is so tits. Vince is gonna be soooo fuckin’ happy to see us.”

“Or he’ll banish us from the kingdom again.” Stix shrugged, cracking open a beer.

“Eh, fuck that. We always come back, just like a bad STD.”

“Lexxi would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Lex?” Satchel laughed, poking him in the side.

“Stooooooop, I- I was cleared ages a- ago, man!” he pouted, sitting back on the destroyed couch as they chuckled and relaxed against each other.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Prince Vince watched his party’s performance in the palace’s throne room. Mick and Tommy sat to his left and Nikki sat to his right. Their eyes all watched as the ceremonial warriors and dancers of the Order of the Golden Pyramid from the realm of Sphynxia performed for them. They watched the sharp blades twirl in their hands and the air with ease in their finest silks and robes.

The normally rowdy court was calmed and entertained by them, and they even cleared the way for the belly dancers to take the main floor of the throne room. All the dancers in the troupe were women, and each one was catching the Prince’s and his friends eyes. Except for Mick, but he had been around enough to not fall so easily and forget that they were still warriors under those black halter tops adorned with gold jewels and beads, long black skirts with high cut slits, gold anklets and gold bangles.

As a final motion, the dancing warriors twirled and all did a ‘death drop’, leaping up into the air, doing a full turn which almost fully exposed their lower bodies, falling to land on one of their bent legs, and spinning around a few times before slowly rising and posing. The kingdom and all the entire court attending burst into applause for their performance. The members of the Order of the Golden Pyramid all gave a short bow of appreciation at the applause.

The leader of the group, Asim, stepped forward to Vince and knelt down in front of him, offering up a sword. “Prince Vince, this is a gift from the Order in honor of our alliance with Anarkia. May it be fruitful and prosperous for both of us.”

“Holy fuck, that’s a big ass sword!”

“Duuude, look how Vince is holding it like it’s his penis.”

“Nah, that blade is waaaay bigger than his tiny dick, man.”

“I- I’m confused… aaaahh, which way was the bathroom? Oh fuck it. Forget it, Imma just go over here.”

“Oh no,” Mick groaned, making a face. “They’re back.”

“Hell yeah! Can’t fuckin’ go and invite the whole kingdom to a huge ass mother fuckin’ party and not invite us! Just cause we’re on the Steel Pantherian moon doesn’t mean you get to skip out on our invite, cuz!” Michael shouted, bounding straight up to the throne. He seemed unaware of Vince’s reddening face of anger and embarrassment. Or he just didn’t care. “Oooh! Sweet! We’re cool with the Sphynx people? Awesome! Cause I need to go there to tan. See, I’m getting a bit pale and–”

“What are you doin’ here, you fucker!?” Vince growled, trying to keep his cool during his important alliance set up. “I banished you fifteen times!”

“….And?” Michael giggled, then caught sight of the lovely warrior beside them. “Oooooh~ Hello, baby~ Hey, hey, don’t get with this bratty prince, c'mon and hang out with a duke and his boys, honey. I got a real swollen member, and I really need to cum in an ass tonight~”

The olive skinned warrior scoffed, then snatched the sword straight from the prince’s hands. “Master Radames will hear of this behavior and this- this vulgar offering. He had thought you Anarkians had matured after assisting the KISSterians in battle so many times.”

“N- No! Th- This fool is not affiliated with us!”

Nikki growled, nodding in agreement with Vince. “These bastards are just a buncha crossbred, inbred fucks! C'mon! You can’t just–”

“There is a certain level of respect that we expect during such ceremonial events, and this,” Asim motioned to the long hair blonde taking a piss behind a potted plant. “This is not something I can allow to happen on my first mission of alliance.” She shook her head, signaling to the rest of her troupe to pack up and head out.

“Hey, hey,” Michael said, grabbed the warrior’s wrist. “Listen, please. I’m sorry… I guess I messed up… Lemme restart, c'mon, how about I make it up to you and my cousin by offering to let you both blow me. You don’t even gotta worry about the rest of the band. Trust me, compared to the rest of the guys, I’m less likely to cheat, too, if you wanna meet up a second time and make it a thing.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed him away harshly. “My master will certainly hear about all of this.”

“Michael, I’m gonna fuckin’ strangle you and banish you to a damn realm without pussy!!” Vince screeched, putting a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

“Hey, dude, fuck off!” he snapped, “I’m trying to help things!”

“You’re making it worse!” Vince growled, his grip on Michael’s shoulder growing tight.

“Hey, let go of our Michael, you royal fuckwad!” Satchel shouted, darting in from the side, swinging a fist back and punching Vince square in the nose.

The crowd gasped, and the members of the Order of the Golden Pyramid quickly fled before an infamous Anarkian battle broke out right in their palace.

Vince growled at the punch, coming at Satchel angrily. With one quick motion, he slammed the guitarist’s head toward the floor, then felt the hardest hit he’d ever had in the ribs. Stix smirked at him as he gasped, standing there frozen and a little shaken from what had just happened.

Tommy came up from behind and kicked the bulkier drummer to the wall across the throne room. “You fuckin’ assholes!! You ruined everything– again!!”

“Ugh… Fuck you! We just came for fun and a good time!”

“BAD FUCKING TIMING, FUCKERS!” Vince shrieked, recovering, then leaping to try and claw his cousin’s eyes out. Michael laughed, holding his wrists an inch from his pretty face.

“Awww, hey, I missed this!!” he giggled, staring into the blazing pits of hatred of the prince’s gaze. “Jeez, I’m just sorry we didn’t show up sooner!”

“IMMA KILL YOU ASSHOLES!!!”

“Nah! You’re just gonna banish us again!” Michael smiled at him, “Make it a tiddie beach this time, though, would ya? I get bored just jerking it off to Lexxi’s girly face.”

“D- DID YOU JUST NOT HEAR ME—!?!” Vince shouted, then cut himself off in an angry roar. “AAAAAAAARGHHHH!!!!!”

“I’m too old for this shit…” Mick growled, sinking down in his chair, glaring at Lexxi off to his side. Blue electricity protectively crackled around him as the tall blonde just stared at him like he let a hamster borrow his last brain-cell. “I’m not gonna do a fist fight, you lil’ shit.”

“Nah, I- I’m just… ahh, well… fuck, someone said something about a mirror hall…. yeah, mirrors.”

Mick squinted at him, then jerked his thumb back behind the throne. “Down the hall.”

“Thanks, old dude.”

“Ugh…” Mick rolled his eyes, watching the court explode, then actually explode into fire and flames. “There goes another perfectly good alliance.”

[banshee1013]

Through The Looking Glass

A little something for my Family Business Supernatural RP Twitter family.

Don’t worry, gals - we’ll go on our hunting trip with the boys soon. First, gotta lay some groundwork... 

*********************************************

I think… I think I've actually figured it out. 

How to get to Dean's world. To Sam, and Cas, and Jack. 

And maybe even get them back here, too. But, one thing at a time. 

A mirror stood propped against the closet door in my spare bedroom. Standing in front of it, I wonder if I have the strength, and the courage to try. 

Maybe not - but I certainly have the will. This is something I've wanted since… well, a year ago, when I first discovered this universe existed.

And even more so after meeting them, talking to them - even if only through the "magic" of Twitter. 

Yeah, "magic" - because that doesn't exist in this world. I can't draw a sigil, light a concoction on fire, and mumble some Latin to make it happen.

It's going to require more… MUCH more.

 **********************

 @Redbanshee: Hey Dean… are you there?

@DWImpala67: Yeah… what's up? Are you ok?

@DWImpala67: I mean, you never DM me…

  @DWImpala67: Cee? You ok?

 @Redbanshee: Yeah, I'm here. Sorry, just… trying to figure out how to approach this…

@Redbanshee: Out with it, I guess. So, I've figured it out… I think.

@DWImpala67: Figured what out?

@Redbanshee: How to get there. To your world.

 @DWImpala67: Uh. That's not possible.

@DWImpala67: … is it?

@Redbanshee: It might be. I guess we'll find out. Where are you?

@DWImpala67: At the Bunker. Why?

@Redbanshee: And Sam? Cas? Jack?

@DWImpala67: Jack and Sam are. Cas is still not back from Heaven.

@Redbanshee: OK… ok. Just… head outside the Bunker, ok? By the door.

 @DWImpala67: … why?

 @Redbanshee: Because, for the first test, I don't want to try to breach the Bunker's defenses. I can visualize the outside well enough, and it's safer.

 @Redbanshee: Dean? Still there?

 @DWImpala67: Yeah, I'm still here.

@DWImpala67: I just don't know how you're going to do this…

@Redbanshee: Well, if it works, I'll explain how it happened.

@Redbanshee: No sense in talking about it if it doesn't work.

 @DWImpala67: Ok, I'm outside now.

 @Redbanshee: OK. Here goes nothing…

 ********************************

 I started to prepare myself, visualizing the outside of the Bunker, as I'd seen it a million times on the show. 

I checked my phone - Twitter was still up, the DM to Dean still active. Do I have everything? I'm going to a place where monsters - real-life monsters - exist. But I'm entering at a relatively safe place with that world's greatest Hunter waiting for me, outside a literal fortress. I should be ok, at least for this trial run. 

Then I thought of something…

"Alexa… what time is it in Kansas?"

"It's 7:54 pm"

 OK then.

I closed my eyes and focused hard on the image in my mind. I envisioned the position of the sun, how it would be dipping toward the horizon and heading into late twilight. I imagined the smell of the dust and brush outside the Bunker door, how the gravel and dirt would crunch under my feet… and walked toward the mirror. 

I walked into the mirror…

 … and miraculously, through it.

 ***********************************

 I felt a tingle, like the prickle of course hair, across my skin. The brush of the carpet turned into the crunch of dirt, and kicked up a dust cloud I could smell as I stumbled slightly at the change of footing. The air was cool and dry, and a light breeze brushed a lock of hair across my face. The light through my closed eyelids changed hue, going from the pale white of LED lights to a golden glow.

 My eyes were still closed when I felt two hands on my shoulders, stopping me in my tracks.

 "Holy crap… Cee… is that really you?" Dean's deep, gravelly voice, right in front of me.

 I opened my eyes to a flannel-covered chest an arm's length away. Blinking, I slowly looked up… and up, damn he was tall… and found myself staring into the face of…

Jensen Ackles.

 OK, a way more world-weary version, with a few more worry lines and a fresh cut at his temple from the vamp hunt he had just returned from. Eyes wide, the fading sun catching them and sparking them ivy green. Mouth slightly agape in surprise. But the resemblance was UNCANNY.

 "Wow. I guess Jensen really *was* born to play you…"

 The hands at my shoulders squeezed, hard, as if to test my solidity. I flinched, and convinced I wasn't a figment of his imagination, his hands lifted and hovered briefly before falling to his sides as he continued to stare, wordless.

 I was not yet convinced I was here. I reached up and poked him in the shoulder… HARD.

 He was solid, all right… and as he was not prepared for it, I actually managed to knock him a little off balance.

 "Holy shit.". Both of us, at the same time.

 The next thing I knew, my face was buried in his flannel shirt, his arms wrapped around me in a tight hug.

 I wrapped mine around his waist and might have even bounced a bit. "Ohmygod Dean!" I might have squealed a little. "It's… it's really you… YOU!"

We broke the hug and finally I saw it, live and in concert - that soft, sweet, beaming smile, his eyes crinkled in the corners.

 "C'mon… we gotta talk about this… how the hell… Sammy's gonna lose his shit!"

 He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me into the Bunker.

 ***********************************

 The walk into the Bunker was surreal - the grunt from Dean as he hefted the heavy outer door open, the scrape of metal as it closed. The tap of shoes on metal as we climbed the spiral stairs down. The squeak of the inner door hinges as it opened, and again as it closed.

 The sight of the glowing map table, the ancient radio and electronic monitoring equipment. The hum in the air I felt more than heard.

 Sam Winchester, standing in the archway leading to the Library.

 Sam. Fucking. Winchester. Staring at me like I were a ghost.

 Like Dean, he was the spitting image of Jared Padalecki, the actor that portrayed him. But Jared's soft smile and puppy-dog eyes were gone, replaced by ones with a harder edge to them.

Not that I can blame either of them - I know the things they've seen, and fought, and endured.

Dean's hand at the small of my back urged me down the stairs, and Sam met us at the base. He grew taller, and taller… and taller, as I descended and by the time I reached the last step I was craning my neck back in order to meet his puzzled hazel eyes.

 I thrust my hand out, grinning like an idiot. "Hey, Sam, it's me… Celina, from Twitter…"

 Ignoring my outthrust hand, he gave a tentative squeeze of my arm, testing much like Dean had - then pulled me into his giant hug. I thought he was going to suffocate me for a minute as my head barely reached his ribcage, and discovered that, yes, breathing was still a required activity here which probably ruled out astral projection. I happily squeezed him right back, then broke the hug to catch my breath.

 He grabbed my shoulders, holding me out at arm's length. "But…h- how?" he stammered.

 Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and led the way past the map table and into the Library.

 "That's next on the agenda."

 ********************************************

 I was sitting at the table in the Library. THE. BUNKER. LIBRARY.

I swirled the glass of whiskey Dean had poured for me. Raised it to my nose and inhaled the heady aroma before taking a long pull. It burned my throat as I swallowed, and it was *delicious*.

 Confirmed, once again - all five senses present.

Sam sat at the table across from me, laptop open, fingers tapping against the keys. Dean sat on my right, his own glass already empty. He rose and walked to the trolley where the liquor was kept up to pour himself more, and after consideration, brought the entire bottle back to the table. Sitting back down, he tipped another finger's worth into my glass.

"Thanks." My gaze took in the room, noticed the quiet. "Where's Jack?" I asked to no one in particular.

 "In the Dean-Cave," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Watching 'Star Wars' for the umpteen millionth time." 

"Oh cool! Can I go see him?" I started to rise from the chair.

 "Not so fast," Sam said curtly from behind the laptop, and Dean reached for my arm, pulling me gently back to my seat.

 I got it. Like good dads, they wanted to vet the relative stranger who miraculously appeared on their doorway before exposing him to me. I totally agreed  - especially since I was still unclear how this all worked, and wouldn't have the slightest idea how to explain it to him how I got here, anyway.

 I also knew his first question would be if I were there to take him to Disneyland as we had talked about - another thing I didn't have an answer for - yet.

 Sam looked up from the keyboard and switched to full interrogator mode. "Ok, so… HOW did this happen? How are you here?" He gestured toward the laptop. "There's nothing in the lore about traveling between universes that doesn't require a powerful witch and archangel grace."

 I took another swig of the whiskey to gather my thoughts. How to explain this?

"I walked through a mirror," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

 "You walked… what? Like 'Alice in Wonderland' or something?" Dean asked, skeptical.

 "Yeah, I know what it sounds like… but that's what I did. " I turned to Dean. "What did it look like… when I came through?"

 His eyes unfocused, recalling. "There was… a… shimmer, sorta like, I dunno, light… bending around something." He scowled, uncertain.

"That's… impossible." Sam declared. "Something like that would *have* to require some form of spell - and we know for a fact that doesn't work in your world."

 I nodded in agreement - I knew they had already experienced that lack when Balthazar had thrown them into my world several years ago.

 "That doesn't mean there isn't… power there, for lack of a better term." I paused, trying to find the words. "It's belief… believing in something *so strongly*, that it comes into being."

"Tulpa." Dean and Sam said simultaneously. A grin flashed across my face, hearing the fandom squeal in my head: "I love it when they talk in unison!"

 I shook my head. "Can't be. A Tulpa is a real thing… creature?... here, but not where I'm from. This was *literally* the power of… positive thinking."

 I thought of all the self-help gurus making millions off this idea - "The Secret", et al. Jesus, could they be right?

 I mean, I've tried visualizing winning the lottery for *years* to absolutely no avail. Of course, would help if I actually bought a ticket. The Lord helps those who help themselves, or something.

"So you're trying to tell me you just… WISHED your way here?" Dean demanded, incredulous. "Like… friggin' OZ? Clicked your heels and said 'There's no place like home'?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his expression - brows furrowed and lips downturned to a frown, as if outraged at the idea.

His scowl deepened at my laughter, but Sam snorted.

"Wow, Dean… that's two literary references in under 5 minutes. That's gotta be a record!"

 "Shut up!"

 Sam laughed again, turning back to me.

 "Walk us through what you did," he said patiently.

 So I did. I told them about visualizing the Bunker grounds and the door, focusing on it, and walking through the mirror… "Oh, and Twitter. I had a DM open to Dean when I did it." I shrugged. "I thought it might act as a sort of… I dunno, GPS?... to guide me here."

 "Well, that begs another question, " Sam mused. "How do you get back?"

 My brain stopped for a moment. I hadn't stopped to consider *that*. HAHA, oops. "Uh… I dunno?"

 Dean rose from his chair to glare down at me. "You… wished yourself here, without an exit plan?" he growled.  "A WORLD FULL OF MONSTERS, and Chuck breathing down our necks?"

 "Dean…" Sam interjected as I involuntarily backed away at his tone.

 Yeah, just as intimidating in person, if not more so.

 "I don't believe this!" Dean threw his arms up in exasperation.

 "I'm s-sure it's not that hard…" I stammered. "Maybe just, uh, kill the Twitter feed, or… just stop believing…"

 But that was going to be difficult. I have living, breathing, SHOUTING proof that it was ALL REAL, and all RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

 And it would be bad news bears if killing Twitter was the key - what if my battery died while I was here? Would I just pop out of existence, and back to my world?

Actually, that could come in handy if it were the case, and a pack of monsters were after me. But what if it happened and I didn't want to leave?

 What if I ended up in some… limbo somewhere?

 I was snapped out of my musing by Dean's hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see an apologetic look on his face.

 "Sorry, kiddo." he sighed. "I'm just worried about you. You're not safe here."

 That was the crux of the outburst, wasn't it? Dean's overwhelming need to keep everyone SAFE. I smiled wanly up at him.

 "Well, only way to find out is… to try it." I reached into my pocket for my phone… and realized with a jolt - of course I wouldn't have signal here. Verizon might exist in this universe, but I sure as hell didn't have an account with them. A check of the signal indicator confirmed my suspicions.

 I showed the phone to Sam before Dean snatched it out of my hand to look for himself. "Well, that's just great." He pinched his nose with his fingers.

 "Dean, we'll figure it out…" I said, reaching a hand to tug at his sleeve. "I.. I’m sorry. Please don't be mad… I didn't know how else… I had to try it to see if it would work!"

My eyes betrayed me, leaking several tears.

 Dean took a deep breath, and sighing it out, sat back down. "I know we will," he said, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. Seeing the tears, his face fell and he reached to wipe them away.

 "Hey, hey… none of that. It's gonna be ok, kiddo, I promise."

I had to laugh at that. "Kiddo, huh? I'm older than you, sonny."

 Dean smirked. "No way… and it doesn't matter because you're new here, so you're still a 'kiddo'."

 Sam matched Dean's smile, and reached over for my free hand. "Besides… it's really good to see you!"

 "It's… amazing to see you guys, too. You have no idea…" Dammit. My eyes were betraying me again.

 Sam released my hand and came around to the other side of the table. Leaned over to hug me, his chin on the top of my head, arms wrapped around my shoulders.

 Dean grabbed my recently freed hand and squeezed both, then pulled me up, Sam rising along with me. Dean pulled us both into his arms and I found myself squished between them.

I've had photo ops like this, with their doppelgangers. Those were awesome.

 This was SO MUCH BETTER.

Dean released us, and Sam let go as well. We were still standing there when Jack walked in.

 "I heard shouting… oh, hello!" He waved at me, a happy, if puzzled, smile on his face. "Who are you?"

 "Oh… hi Jack…" I said weakly, as Sam said "Jack! Uh… I thought you were watching 'Star Wars'?"

 Jack turned to Sam. "I was, but the movie ended and I was putting on the next one when I heard shouting, and I came to see what it was." He turned to Dean. "I thought it was Cas… is he home yet, Dean?" A worried frown creased his innocent face.

 "I'm sure he's fine, Jack," Dean said reassuringly. Jack smiled, of course believing him. "I'm sure you're right." He turned back to me, and his head cocked like a puppy, expectantly, awaiting an answer to his earlier question.

 No sense in putting it off… besides, he was just SO adorable and I unbelievingly happy to see him. "Hey Jack… you're not gonna believe this, but it's me… it's Celina. From Twitter."

 His head cocked the other way, expression puzzled. "But… how can that be?" He turned to Sam. "You said we couldn't go to where our Twitter friends were…"

 "We're still trying to figure that out, Jack…" Sam said calmly. "But it's real. It's really her."

 "It's really me, Jack." I walked slowly around the table, approaching him, my hand held out to him.

For the third time, I found myself poked and squeezed, before being squished.

"Is it true? Is it really YOU?" he asked excitedly. "Does this mean we can go to Disneyland!?" He was practically bouncing at this idea, and I couldn't help but laugh.

And I totally called it with the Disneyland thing.

"I dunno, Jack, we'll have to see. This was just an experiment and we're still working out the details," I smiled up at him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. "but I sure hope so. We would have SO MUCH FUN!"

Jack smiled winningly down at me, eyes bright. "We would. I hope we can go."

"We'll work on it, Jack, I promise," Sam said. "Why don't you go watch your movie so we can get back to work figuring this out?"

Jack looked at me forlornly. "Will you be here when the movie is over?"

"I don't know, sweetie," I said hesitantly, then smiled back up at him reassuringly. "But I promise I'll say goodbye before I go, if I can."

"Okay!" He gave me another hug. "It was so good to see you! Bye!" He turned away and headed back to the Cave.

I turned back around. Sam and Dean looked at me expectantly.

"So… what now?" Dean inquired, looking at me, then at Sam. Sam shrugged.

"Since I'm here…" I hesitated. Was it too much to ask? Too bold? I took a breath…

"Wanna tour?" Dean asked, beaming.

"HELL. YES!"

**************************************

Dean led the way, Sam following. He took me to the armory, but refused to let me fire any weapons ("Later, kiddo." "Dean… I'm OLDER THAN YOU!" "Yeah, whatever…"), the infirmary, the gym ("Wow, you have a gym?" "Yeah…” "Surprised you actually found your way here, Dean…").

Then a short series of steps to the garage. Dean flipped on the lights… and there she was.

Dean's Baby, gleaming in the light of the overheads.

"Oh… wow." I breathed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dean beaming at her like a proud papa.

"Well, you gonna go say Hi, or what?" He gave me a gentle shove toward her.

I approached her slowly, reverently, like the holy artifact she was. The Most Important Object In The Universe. Grazed a hand over her fender, and reaching the driver's side door, leaned in the window.

The initials on the back window deck.

The army men in the ashtray.

I could imagine the Legos in the vent.

I reached in and brushed fingers over the front seat leather. I glanced up over the roof, to the two men standing in the Bunker doorway.

Dean leaning against one of the shelves, grinning at me like a fool.

Sam leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, eyes rolling. "You're worse than he is!"

Dean laughed and sauntered over to join me at the door, leaning in next to me. "Pretty awesome, right?" I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Gently moving me back, he opened the driver's side door with a flourish and a small bow, sweeping his hand toward the driver's seat.

"Go on, try it out." He faked a frown. "One time only deal."

Grinning like a kid in a candy store, I slid into the seat. Placed my hands on the steering wheel. I couldn’t reach the pedals, obviously.

I bit my lip to keep from crying, and glanced over at Dean. His smile was soft, holding out a hand to assist as I climbed out of the seat, and reached behind me to close the door. Still holding my hand, he led me to the trunk. Fishing the keys out of his pocket, he opened the trunk lid, the inside emblazoned with protective sigils, and raised the false floor, propping it up with the sawed-off shotgun.

I've seen the contents of this trunk hundreds of times, but nothing prepared me for the reality.

Burlap bag filled with salt. A flask marked with a cross - Holy water, of course. An ancient-looking urn full of what could only be holy oil. Several different varieties of religious artifacts. Machetes, and daggers made of several different metals and materials.

The grenade launcher.

"So, you guys almost done with the idol worship? I'm STARVING" Sam huffed from the doorway. Dean glanced at me and rolled his eyes. I snorted and Dean laughed as he lowered the false floor and closed the trunk lid.

He draped an arm over my shoulders. "Sam's right, we need some grub." My stomach took that moment to loudly grumble to accentuate his point. Dean laughed again. "Ok then. Any suggestions?"

"Any chance I could get one of your famous cheeseburgers?"

Dean grinned and gave me a squeeze. "Hell yeah! Let's go!"

We headed back to Sam and the door into the Bunker. Sam flipped off the lights and followed as Dean led us to the kitchen.

 ************************************************

 While Dean made the burgers, Sam asked me what it was like, to live in a world without monsters? I explained to him that we still had monsters, but ours were harder to find since they looked just like us, and even harder to get rid of because of it.

 What about angels, or demons? Nope, none of them either - although every organized religion wants you to believe otherwise.

 "I'm really bummed I missed meeting *your* angel, though…" I said sadly. I was not about to admit the gigantic crush I had on him… or rather, the character as portrayed on the show depicting their lives.

 But… Sam and Dean were *exactly* as they seemed on the show… so one would have to assume Cas would be as well. I gulped, and figured it was probably a good thing he wasn't here so I didn't have the opportunity to make a COMPLETE fool of myself.

 Dean served the burgers, Sam grabbed the beer, and we sat around the table in the kitchen. The burgers were phenomenal, the beer cold, and the company was, in a word… AWESOME. I had to stop for a moment to take it all in - sitting in the kitchen of the Bunker, with Sam and Dean Winchester, eating burgers and drinking beer. It was all so surreal.

 Sam, noticing my glazed look, nudged me. "Hey, you ok?"

 I blinked and refocused, then smiled at him. "Yeah… yeah, I'm great." I waved a hand around the room. "It's just… this." I grabbed his hand, then reached across the table to take Dean's. "You… both of you. I can't believe I'm here…" I swallowed down a wave of emotion. "I can't believe it's real…"

 The hand holding Sam's started to tingle… then my arm, and the rest of my body. The smell of the kitchen and the burgers began to fade…

 "CEE!" I heard Dean's voice shout. "HEY! Hey…c'mon, come back!"

 I felt sharp pressure on my arm, and the room began to solidify again. Sam's hand squeezing my upper arm, Dean pulling on the other.

 "OK… ok, I'm back." I shook my head to clear it. I felt two sets of concerned eyes on me.

 Squeezing Dean's hand, I met Sam's concerned gaze. 

  "Well… I think I figured out how to get back…"

 ***********************

 "So let me get this straight," Sam stated, all business. "you felt yourself being pulled back when you began to question the reality of being here?"

 "Yeah… I guess? But I've tried repeating it, and haven't been able to." I sighed.

 "OK, so," Dean asked, "what do we do now?"

 I smirked at him. "Any more vamp nests nearby? Would love to go see if choppin' up some fang is as easy as it looks on TV."

 "NO." Dean growled. "HELL. NO." I threw my head back and laughed.

 Sam scowled. "Seriously… we have to figure out how to get you back home."

 I sighed. I knew he was right, and there were still so many unanswered questions.

For instance… was the passage of time different here?

 "Dean… what time is it?"

 Dean glanced at his watch. "Goin' on 11… why?"

 So I've been here three hours… what if that were three WEEKS back home… three MONTHS… YEARS…

I felt the panic growing… but it couldn't be that big of a time difference. I talked with these guys on Twitter practically *every day*, and there was no indication that time passed any differently here than there. If anything, it was only a matter of minutes, certainly less than an hour or two.

 "OK…" I breathed to calm down and focus. "Here's the deal..." I thought back to the tour we took of the Bunker. I didn't recall seeing any floor-length mirrors - this might present a problem. "Are there any mirrors… like, big ones? Floor-length?"

 "Yeah… in the gym." Sam answered.

 "Ah, right. So… I'm gonna go say goodbye to Jack like I promised. Then I'm gonna do the opposite of what I did to get here - stand in front of the mirror and visualize the room I came here from." Took a deep breath, let it out. "But I'm gonna have to do it alone, and it has to be quiet. I have to focus, and you guys being there will keep pulling me back."

 Sam nodded. "Sounds like a plan." He stood and offered me a hand up from the kitchen table, drawing me to my feet and leading me out of the kitchen to the Dean-Cave, with Dean taking up the rear.

 I peeked inside. "Return of the Jedi" was playing, Jack sprawled on the couch like your average teenager, fully engrossed in it. I grinned, thinking I should introduce him to the Star TREK movies next.

 "Hey, Jack…" I said loudly over the din of the battle on the screen. Jack lifted up to peer over the arm of the couch, saw me and waved, smiling happily. "Hi! Have you come to watch the movie with me?"

 "No, I'm sorry, Jack… I have to go. I came to say goodbye, like I promised."

 Jack fumbled for the TV remote to pause the movie, and came to give me a hug goodbye. He then stood back with a somber look on his face.

"Did you figure out how to get back home?"

 "I think so. I'm going to go try it now." Before he could ask, I offered, "And if it works, I'll start working on how to get you over to my world so we can take that trip to Disneyland, ok?"

 He beamed. "Okay! And we'll still talk on Twitter, right?"

 His smile was infectious, and I beamed back at him. "Of course! I'll talk to you tomorrow." He waved goodbye and went back to watching his movie. I turned and left, a smile still on my face, but it vanished when I looked at the boys.

 It was time to say goodbye.

 And I was suddenly so very tired. I stumbled, and Dean caught me as I fell.

 "You ok?" Hands on my shoulders, a worried frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

 "Yeah… just… really tired. I think there must be some sort of energy drain by being here as well." I took a deep breath, rolled my neck and shoulders to rouse myself.

"Ok… let's get you to the gym and get you home." Dean guided me down the hall, hand on my back in case I tried to fall again.

We reached the entrance to the gym, and I sighed. "OK guys, this is where you get off."

 Dean snorted, and Sam rolled his eyes. "Really, Dean? What are you, twelve?"

"Hey, she started it!" he choked, trying to hold back the laughter, and I couldn't help but laugh with him. What an idiot… and I loved him. I reached up on tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck to give him the biggest hug I could muster and a kiss on the cheek. He hugged back, hard, briefly lifting me off my feet before setting me back down.

Giving me a kiss on the forehead, he let me go.

"It was really awesome seein' you, Cee," he said, his voice rough, the green eyes bright. I smiled into them and patted him on the cheek.

 "We'll do it again soon, ok?"

 Then Sam spun me around to say his goodbyes. After a giant moose hug and a kiss to the top of my head, he leaned down to look me in the eyes.

"You focus in there, ok, and you get home safe," he said, his voice cracking.

 "And you DM us the second you get back, you hear me?" Dean insisted.

 "I will. First thing." I grasped each of their hands for a final squeeze. "See you around, boys."

 I turned and walked into the gym. Turning, I take one last look at Sam and Dean Winchester, standing in the hallway. I blew them a kiss and closed the door.

 *************************************

 Silence. Not even the hum of the hidden electronics in the walls to break my concentration.

 I focused on the feel of the carpet under my feet, the hue of the LED lights in the bedroom… I *did* have the lights on, right? Yeah… the sound of the ceiling fan whirring.

 I closed my eyes and walked toward the mirror.

 I walked into the mirror…

 … and once again, through it.

 Again, my skin tingled, and I stumbled briefly as my feet left the rubberized floor of the gym and onto the low pile of carpet in my spare room.

 I opened my eyes. I was home.

 First thing I did was look at the clock - 9:23 PM. Converted to Kansas time - no time difference between here, and there. Good to know.

 My phone began to beep repeatedly, as messages stockpiled while I was out of signal range began to arrive. I ignored them and fired up Twitter, to do as I promised.

 To let the boys know I made it back.

 *************************************

 @Redbanshee: DEAN! SAM! I made it back!

 @DWImpala67: Oh thank G… UGH. We gotta come up with a new saying for that.

@DWImpala67: That's awesome! I'm so glad you're safe.

@ItsSam1983: That's great news, Celina. I'm so relieved!

@Redbanshee: That was… something, wasn't it?

@DWImpala67: Yeah it was something all right…

@DWImpala67: It was CRAZY. INSANE. DANGEROUS.

 @DWImpala67: …and it was awesome to see you, and now that we know it works and you can get back home, I hope you come to visit again soon.

@ItsSam1983: What my brother said. It was foolhardy, but also amazing, and awesome to see you in person.

@Redbanshee: I can't wait to do it again, I had THE BEST TIME. And I'll have sweet dreams about those burgers, Dean…

@Redbanshee: Speaking of dreams, I'm about to pass out here on the floor, so I'm gonna hit the hay. Can you tell Jack I'm ok, and I'll work on the Disneyland thing?

@ItsSam1983: You bet. Don't be a stranger.

@DWImpala67: Go get some sleep, kiddo.

 @Redbanshee: UGH WITH THE KIDDO THING.

@Redbanshee: … but I love you anyway. :)

@DWImpala67: … I know. :)

 @ItSam1983: Rest well, Celina.

@Redbanshee: Hey Sam… call me Cee. :)

@ItsSam1983: You got it… Cee :) 

*****************************************

 FIN

[medleyofswag]

You know those videos of [ first kisses - social experiment ] between strangers on YouTube? There are a million of’em so this link is just a random one.

Well I really like’em and I imagiened Sam and Rafe in one while I made this edit. So. Naturally. I drabbled it- hope ye dig! 

Safe as Strangers. 

A sweet woman pointed him toward a spot in front of lights and cameras. There were soothing tunes in the background, which accompanied the two shots of rum nicely, to calm his nerves. If you’d ask him this very moment why he’d sign up for this experiment, he couldn’t say. Some extra merit, some experience, something different? Who knew.

If you ask him why now, about five seconds later, he wouldn’t know what to say becuase he simply didn’t care. A tall man, ruggedly handsome, brown-haired, frankly gorgeous stranger walked up to stand with him in front of the cameras where they were to be recorded. Or already were being recorded that very moment. Who knew, who cared, look at this man.

A minute of staring seemed appropriate enough, and he stuck a hand out for the stranger to take. Who eagerly took it. Cool. “Hi, I’m Raphael. Or, Rafe.” The smile wouldn’t stop pushing up, so who was he to try and push it down. “Hey. Hi Rafe, I’m Samuel. Or Sam.” The handsome stranger mirrored, displaying pearly whites.

“Hi Sam” Rafe let his smile loose, then.

Another second passed. His hand was so warm. Comfortable.

“You’re very tall.” The smaller man observed intelligently, chuckling with nervous waves in the sound, he started letting go of the other’s hand reluctantly. Sam all but wheezed with similar nervous levels. “Thank you, yes, I’ve grown all by myself.” Both grinned and shuffled slightly, seemingly unable to stand the hell still. Rafe knew exactly what he was doing there. He was there to be recorded while kissing a stranger and see what happaned. He knew, yet it struck him just then that this handsome length of hunk was who he had been assigned to kiss. He watched Sam looking at him, seeming equally aware. And equally pleased. Cool. Cool.

“So…” Rafe smiled still, while pushing his hands in his own back-pockets, tilting his head to the side. “Ever kissed a guy before?” He swayed a little back and forth forming his lips into a line. Sam chuckled shyly before pulling a hand up to scratch his neck. “Ah, well uhm, yeah. I dated a guy. Long time ago.” He shrugged at the information. He didn’t think that telling this, earily beautiful stranger that he usually only had flings and one-night stands and that his relationship-count could amount to about, three serious ones.

“It was actually the first guy I came out to as bisexual, and uh..” He clicked his tounge, glancing from his shoes to Rafe. “Yeah, we were pretty young. It was good, but he moved away.” He felt like every word came out flimsy and like this story had no relevant red string what so ever. Might be the very mezmering, distracting eyes, gazing at him curiously. “I get that.” The shorter man suddenly acknowledged, nodding.

“I came out to my best friend, as gay” He gestured toward himself as if self-explanaroty. “who replied with ‘me too’, though she’s a girl, so nothing more exciting happaned with that info.” He huffed a laugh. The tall man chuckled deeply, giving a few nods of his own. This guys was so easy to talk to. Huh.

“Uh, so, uh,” Sam fumbled a little. He turned to some of the crew, just a couple that payed attention to them, while the rest went around and about doing stuff to make the situation feel more natural. “How uh,” Sam held a thumb toward Rafe to gesture between them. “How much are we allowed to talk? I mean, do we ruin it if we talk to much?” One of the people behind the camera simply shaked their head and waved toward them, telling them to have at it, let it feel natural.

“So, it’s your first time in a.. stranger’s experiment too, I’m assuming?” Rafe continued, pulling up his hands, clapping them a little. “Uh yeah, yeah I- I mean I’ve met a lot of people, strangers, through work, which involves documeting a lot, but uhm,” He threw a look towards the machines filming them. “This is very different.” He huffed in laughs again. “Yea, I know what you mean. I meet strangers for a living but..” He dropped his hands to his thighs, smacking lightly.

Sam suddenly watched him with wider eyes, something looking like shock. Then it hit Rafe, who threw a hand up to his mouth to cover it in realization. “Oh god.” He muffled through the fingers. Sam started showing teeth again in an slowly-growing amused manner. Both of them felt blood rushing, faces easily heating and giggles hard to surpress when minds flew head-first towards innuendos in the company of a stranger.

“I’m in antique-sales business,” Rafe voice pitched, sounding defeated. “I mean I meet a lot of strangers and I have to find a bond with them in order to- I, oh my god” He flailed with both hands while speaking, though giggling the whole time, hands eventually stopped to rest and cover his whole face.

Samuel looked down at the smaller man shaking in snickers, adapting the happy shaking to his own shoulders too, his arms hanging at his sides until they moved up to cross his ribs. “I mean, I suspected but I don’t actually judge, so” His grin left his jaw ajar after speaking. Rafe dared to look up, and let go of his face. He sniffed and wiped under an eye. “Well that’s great, becuase I’m making a great impression here.” Even if he had been working in any type of escorting business, that would be a weak way to introduce it. The taller looked at him still grinning. Expression full of fondness. Rafe let his hands stay under his chin, fingers twirled together, looking up at Sam. 

He cleared his throat, licked his lips.

“So uh, what do you do?” He let his hands fall down, fingers still twirled. “Well, Hey- ironic,” Sam gave him a look and his mouth made small smack after swallowing. “I’m somewhat of an archaeologist, not fully-licensed yet, but finding antique stuff isn’t unusual for me.”

Rafe let a looped grin fall into place. Meeting someone his won age who understood anything at all about his own work was extremely rare. “Wow.” He managed. “Yeah, I… I’ve been doing it, pretty much my, uh, whole life. It kinda runs in the family.” Sam managed to continue, a little lost of words from looking back at Rafe like that. Rafe tore his eyes away eventually and threw a look to the crew again, then tried whispering. “..you think they did this on purpose?” He gave the taller a suggestive look, pointing inbetween them. “Well to be fair, I really wouldn’t mind if they did, either way.” Sam raised a brow in a suggestive look of his own. It made the shorter snort lightly. “Me neither.”

They shuffled and fidgeted a little more. A little lulled from the high of letting a stranger know they were allowed to kiss you. A stranger who made you feel safe, for some reason.

“Uh, am I allowed to ask how old you are?” Rafe suddenly looked puzzled. “Not that it matters, but uhm, curiousity.” “I think so,” Sam threw a look to the people around but noone payed any real attention to them right now. “I’ll be a rebel and tell you anyway,” Sam winked, which made Rafe’s face tint a little. “I actually turned 30 last month.” Sam let his under-lip push a little pout, unintressted in his own age. All he recieved at first was a blank face at that. It took Rafe a moment. “I don’t know wether to congratulate you or call you a liar, 30, really?!” Rafe looked next to bewilired. “You look like 26, atleast.” He shook his head in disbelief. Sam threw him a side-look. “Is it a compliment if I say you look about 26, too?” Sam leaned back a little and made a braced face, cranking a wink. The other man just snorted again. “Yeah, why not. I’m almost 25, so looking older than I am is still kind of a sexy thing. Or irrelevant, you know, whichever.” He shook his head again, not actually minding who thought he looked like what.

“Almost 25 huh, I’d say 'that’s a great age’ but that makes me sound like 60, so..” The taller ended with a 'pffft’ sound.

The shorter man made a face at him, smile reaching his eyes. “That is kind of a grampa-thing to say.” “My little brother does more-or-less call me a grampa.” He frowned, shifting from looking at Rafe to the roof in thought. Rafe chuckled again, it was a great sound. Beautiful. It made Sam look at him with that fondness again, grinning in success for helping that sound leave those lips.

And he kept looking. Rafe looking back. A beat went by.

“Your laugh is amazing-” “Your eyes are gorgeous-”

Both stopped in their tracks, catching up what the other had said and broke out in grins. Rafe tilted towards the floor again.

The taller man licked his lips and moved to take a hold of Rafe’s hand. His thumbs caressed softly. The action made the younger look up. Sam met his eyes with much more intent now. Not that he hadn’t been watching him carefully this whole time, but his eyes held a deeper meaning suddenly. He was visibly leaning. There’ wasn’t any confusion to being here. He knew what he was looking for, what he was doing. He was on a mission, searching. “You know you’re eyes are, insane.” He announced in realization. “Like- stunning. Insanely stunning.” Mission complete. Now he’s free to admire his finding. In fact, finding it impossible to look away.

Rafe looked like he’d just seen a star fall for the first time. Or a winter-wonderland. Or a red moon. Or a clear double-rainbow in a rainforrest or something equally amazing to put him in awe. 

He inhaled, taking a step closer. It caused Sam to streach his back up again, and it almost entirely closed their distance, just half a foot remaining inbewteen them.

Air started to come a little shorter.

Rafe reached slowly toward the older stranger. 

“Uh, I,” Rafe whispered, a hand hovering over Sam’s ribs. The latter reached in return towards Rafe’s hips, guiding him to come closer. In response Rafe did, and let his own hands rest on each side of Sam’s ribcage.

The shorter man let out a little sound when their bodies nudged. The scent of cologne, something like gasoline from a vehicle and a hint of smoke suddenly very strong. Very alluring.

“Do you, uh…” Rafe tried again, looking down to the man’s colorbones. The hands on his hips were gentle. Inviting. Distracting.

“You smell very good.” Rafe finally breathed. Finally daring to look up at him again. Sam met Rafe’s eyes. “So do you.” He tossed a glance to his lips. 

“I really wanna kiss you.” He said quietly. Voice steady. A beat. “Kiss me.”  The other whispered.

His tummy felt tight from fluttering. That exciting kind, like when the roller-coster is about to send you flying down after feet upon feet of rolling upward.

Sam leaned in. By instinct eyelids closed just before the first touch. Almost nothing but a tickle, followed a second later by a soft, gentle push. 

The flutters in Rafe’s tummy released into a million pieces, now all bouncing around in there. 

He inhaled through is nose. One of his hands automatically pulled up instead, behind Sam’s head, holding his breath until he felt the taller man move again. The kiss pulled off slightly, lips never completely parting before pushing close again. A tounge carefully pecking, as if asking if a visit was okay. Rafe parted his lips along with his own tounge darting forth in search of the new companion.

Sam made a sound when they met.

He tasted sweet, but not too sweet. A tad bit of coffee. A hint of ciggarette and, something minty or citrus-y. Maybe from gum.

Bodies pressed closer, movements grew more freely, quiet grunts and breaths let out. Sam held Rafe tighter around his back when the kissing resulted in Sam practically dipping him. The following kisses lingered. They slowed down. Parting to get air became essential eventually. Even if they didn’t part more than an inch or two at first. They stood up properly, still flushed close together.

Maybe they were shaking a little. Maybe their shaky breathing gave it away. Maybe they would need a moment, or several, before they could fully part.

“… uhm.” Rafe breathed. “So,” Sam started, smiling lazily, dazed from the man in his arms. “Call me?” Rafe asked with a hopeful tone. All inhibitions be damned. “Friday?” Sam lit up brighter than a ray of summer sun. “Yeah!” Rafe nodded, pleased and excited. 

Flutters going wild in his chest.

In retrospect, if the whole studio had gone quiet or not during their encuonter, the two men who’d been recorded would never be able to answer. Atleast that’s what they told them three years later in an interview for the experiment-partaking couples who are still dating.

[writeyourownname]

Faker

Tony Stark x Reader

Word Count: 1204

Warnings: Possible language, some smut

Summary: Tony is interested in a new member of the team who’s a bit.. young. She’s a shapeshifter, and has a the ability to search the mind of a person for influential people in their lives, which makes her invaluable to the team.

The Avengers were all sitting around, relaxing after the final day of their mission. You were sat between Sam and Steve on the couch, relaxed and a little bit bored. 

You were suddenly struck with an idea. You sprung up off the couch, startling the two next to you. 

“Guys, Guys, you know how I can change into people by looking into someones mind?” You rushed out. 

“..Yeah…” Sam said slowly.

You glanced around excitedly. “I bet I can get into your heads and shift into your dream gals,”

Tony raised an eyebrow at you. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s cool! It’s like, the ultimate bonding thing.” 

He rolled his eyes at you. Internally he felt panic start to rise. He knew he had feelings for you, but what if it confirmed his feelings for you? What if it didn’t?

“Me first!” Sam said. 

You skipped up to him and put your hand under his chin. You looked into his eyes and searched his mind for a moment before changing. 

“What do I look like guys?” You chirped happily as you pulled away. You quickly noticed that your voice was slightly lower and you bit your lip.

Sam’s jaw was dropped. Natasha left, but quickly came back with a full length mirror that she leant against the bookshelf. 

“Could you just stay like that forever?” Sam asked breathlessly. 

You rolled your eyes and turned around to look in the mirror. You nearly gasped. Sam’s dream girl was a beautiful woman. She was taller than yourself, with dark skin and warm honey eyes. She was perfectly curvy and her hair was long and naturally curly. 

From your position in the mirror you could see Sam checking out your/her ass.

“Damn, Sam, I didn’t know you were able to come up with someone this beautiful.” 

There were a few nods of agreement and a scoff from Sam.

“I want to go next.” Steve said.

You took one glance back in the mirror and then sauntered to Steve. This went on for a few turns until only Tony was left.

“Okay Tony, it’s your turn!”

“Bring it on,” He laughed.

You walked over to him, still in the form of Bucky’s dream woman. You placed your fingers gently on Tony’s temples and searched his eyes. You maintained eye contact with him as you changed, and noticed that his breathing stuttered.

Tony was suddenly looking into your eyes. The ones that belonged to the real you, the ones he got lost in way too often for someone claiming to be just a friend. 

You felt yourself smile at Tony’s reaction, which was much like the others when they looked into the eyes of their dream girl. Your smile started to falter for a moment, however, when the thought that you may look completely different than his dream girl crossed your mind. You mentally shook it off and removed your hands from his face.

You stepped away and looked around at everyone who sat in silence and wore either shocked or amused expressions. Your eyebrows furrowed, and while you were turning back to face Tony, caught your reflection in the mirror. 

You paused abruptly in the face of the mirror. It was your own reflection you were seeing - down to a T. 

A wobbly smile crossed your lips. “Tony, you’re such a faker.” 

You looked back at him, and caught the end of a frightened expression turn into a nervous laugh.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he said awkwardly. He wouldn’t look at you.

Bruce, who had known of Tony’s affections for you, had a ‘bright’ idea. 

“Hey, Y/n-” he called out, “-why don’t you shapeshift into what Tony’s sugar baby would look like!”

Tony shot him a cutting look. “No, that’s okay,” He grumbled at the sound of snickers from his teammates. 

“Aw, come on, Tony!” Natasha said with a dangerous look. 

“Number one, I would never be a sugar daddy,” Tony started, but he didn’t get to finish because your fingers were pressing against his forehead again. 

The panic that he had tried to keep at bay from before started rising at full force. No. He would die from embarrassment and you would never talk to him again. He was positive. You would see yourself again and realize he wasn’t faking and look at him with disgust. 

He had shared that tidbit of his fantasy with Bruce confidentially.

He would kill him.

Before he could finish his thoughts you were moving back to the mirror. Your mouth dropped when you saw yourself. You were wearing the most revealing outfit you had - the one you usually threw over your swimsuit - and you wore a deep red lip color. You brushed your finger against your lips and looked down at  it. Smudge proof.

Tony made a swift exit out of the room, leaving with the sound of laughter following him. It was louder to his ears than it was in reality, and his skin burned in embarrassment. 

By the time he made it to his room he didn’t know whether he was feeling more embarrassment, despair, or anger. He began pacing until there was a knock on his door.

He ripped it open. “Bruce-” whatever he had to say died on his lips. 

You were standing in front of him with the same outfit on from earlier. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked slowly.

“I came for some money, daddy.” You winked and held in a laugh. 

“Don’t,” He turned away and began closing the door.

You stopped the door with your foot and put your hand to his chest. 

“I don’t think so, honey.” You looked at him through your eyelashes. 

You applied some force to his chest and he stumbled back. You matched his pace as you went forward into the room. 

“You can’t leave a girl hanging like that.” Your fingers brushed along his jawline. 

“You - are you serious? If you aren’t, leave now.” Tony told you through hooded eyes. 

You let your fingers travel down his chest and hook lightly into the edge of his pants. 

“What do you think?” You asked while you lowered yourself to your knees, eyes never leaving his. 

“Jesus,” he whispered throatily, his left hand tangling into your hair.

You pushed your foot back until you heard the door click shut. You slowly unbuckled his belt, making sure to let your fingers brush lightly against his skin. 

“Y/n,” his voice was barely there. 

You undid his pant and let them fall to the floor. Your fingers trailed along the waistband of his boxers and you pulled them down just enough to barely cover his hardening cock. You removed your hands and moved your mouth close to his skin, letting your hot breath trail over him before placing feather light kisses just above the waistband. 

His fingers tightened in your hair. “Don’t tease.” 

You didn’t respond, but pulled his boxers down to expose his cock. You stroked it twice, then let it go to drag your tongue along the bottom of the shaft. 

You listened to his breath stutter and come unevenly. You kitten licked the tip before putting your lips around it. 

Thanks for reading ;) Sorry not sorry for stopping there.

[aqtagawa]

A Sight You’ve Never Seen Before

Day 2 - Clothing/Fashion @seungchuchuweek

This was one of the greatest decisions Phichit has ever made, aside from taking up figure skating, getting his hamsters, and opening his Instagram account.

He thought it to be a bit cliché, but when actually witnessing it for himself, Phichit understood the appeal. Standing before him, dressed in Phichit’s clothes, Seunggil looked stunning and the sight did something to the Thai’s heart.

Everything looked as if it naturally belonged on the Korean’s body. Seunggil’s shoes and bottoms were his own: simple black converse that surprisingly didn’t detract from the overall look, along with black jeans that hugged the skater’s legs and highlighted the strong muscles that lay underneath; strength that allowed Seunggil to execute his jumps flawlessly.

However, starting from the waist up was where the fun started. It took a bit of, as Phichit would to call it, gentle persuasion, to get his boyfriend to wear his top. He’d like to think that Seunggil eventually conceded out of his love for Phichit instead of giving up after they wrestled with the shirt for a few minutes, with Phichit attempting to pull the shirt over Seunggil’s head while the latter wiggled about while his arms flailed in the air.

The white fabric complimented his pale complexion and the deep, laced neckline was reminiscent of Seunggil’s disastrous SP outfit, minus the ruffles, vibrant colors, and basically everything else. It allowed for a peek of Seunggil’s toned chest and Phichit wanted to untie the strings and pull them loose—

“Are we almost done here?” Seunggil pouted, looking to the side. For some reason, he refused to look at his reflection and had his back to the full length mirror in Phichit’s room.

The other man snapped out of his thoughts and scrutinized his lover closely. He raked his eyes up and down and sighed dejectedly. Seunggil looked fantastic, but the look didn’t scream perfect to Phichit yet.

“I feel like something’s missing, but I’m not sure exactly what.” Phichit said and held his chin in thought.

Even if it was his own handiwork, Phichit wasn’t afraid to say that the hair and makeup he did for Seunggil was impeccable. Thankful for Seunggil’s longer locks, he shaped them into effortless waves and even had the Korean’s fringe hang slightly over his right eye. Dark, royal purple shadow brought out Seunggil’s brown irises, and the eye makeup was finished off with Phichit’s classic cat-eye liner.

What more could this look possibly need? Think, Phichit, think…

The Thai suddenly sprang from his seat on the bed. “I’ve got it!”

He rushed over to the jewelry box laying on top of his dresser and quickly sorted through the items inside. Once he found what he needed, Phichit turned around with a devilish grin on his face. He slowly advanced toward Seunggil while hiding whatever he was holding behind his back.

“I’m not sure I like what direction this could be going,” Seunggil said with a raised, perfectly plucked eyebrow (courtesy of Phichit).

“Just one last touch and it’ll be over, I promise!” Phichit comforted, and wrapped his arms around the other as he pulled his boyfriend into a gentle embrace and started to rock them back and forth. “Thank you for letting me dress you up, even though I know you’re not much for this kind of stuff.”

Seunggil’s frown gave way to a small smile and he leaned further into Phichit’s arms while returning the hug. How could he possibly ever resist his sunshine? “I’d only do it for you.” He wouldn’t admit that his lover’s puppy dog eyes also have him fighting a losing battle each time.

The Korean was surprised to find something wrapped around his neck after Phichit pulled away. He lifted a hand to touch the unfamiliar object and his fingers were met with cool metal. Seunggil finally turned around to look at himself and was amazed by what he saw. A different person stared back at him, someone that should belong on the cover of a magazine or on stage with flashing lights.

“Like what you see? I certainly do.” Phichit’s head came to rest upon Seunggil’s shoulder as he also drank in the sight. “I knew my shirt would be totally great on you. Plus, the choker is just the magic touch this outfit needed.” Phichit winked in a not so subtle way. “Hey, why do your eyes feel so hot—Seunggil?”

This was why he had avoided the mirror and even putting on the top in the first place. Knowing that he was wearing Phichit’s shirt was hard enough, but having to look at himself doing so made Seunggil’s cheeks heat up. He couldn’t believe that he was getting worked up over something so simple and even through the embarrassment he had to admit, he looked good. Seunggil proceeded to hide his face in his hands.

“Don’t tell me that you’re blushing! Does wearing my clothes really have that much of an effect on you?” Phichit laughed and attempted to pull Seunggil’s arms down to his sides, but to no avail. “Aww come on, don’t be like that!”

Seunggil finally relented and caught his reflection once more and concluded that whenever Phichit decides to retire from figure skating, he would do very well as a personal stylist and a hair/makeup artist. Phichit spun him around and quickly took his phone out from his back pocket.

“Now strike a pose!”

He started snapping pictures without waiting for Seunggil to respond. Bewildered as for what to do, Seunggil decided to imitate something that he saw from a show Yuuri recommended to him the other day.

The camera snaps ceased as Phichit slowly lowered his phone. What, was the pose not cool enough? Seunggil thought.

“Pffft!” Phichit doubled over in laughter. “Ahahaha, don’t tell me—! Are you really copying JoJo right now?”

Seunggil dropped his arms and leaned on one leg awkwardly, gaze shifted downward once more. “I never should have listened to Katsuki…” he grumbled.

“No matter what clothes you may be wearing, it doesn’t hide the fact that you’re a dork Seunggil,” Phichit said after having regained his composure. He approached Seunggil again but this time, placed an affectionate kiss on his nose. “But you’re my dork, so it’s all good.”

Seunggil’s blush threatened to return full-force, but he deigned to ignore the rising heat on his face and laced his fingers with Phichit’s instead. “Now can I change?” he asked. The outfit was definitely nice, but Seunggil longed to be back in his usual attire.

“Someone’s eager to get out his clothes, isn’t he?” That earned Phichit a small smack on the arm. “Just kidding! But yeah, we’re done.”

While Seunggil was in the bathroom washing off his makeup, Phichit was sprawled on the bed flicking through his gallery, wondering which photo he should upload to Instagram. 

“Man, I’m truly doing the gods’ work today.”

After hitting “share,” Phichit discarded his phone to the side and waited for Seunggil to finish.

10.4 likes and 500+ comments later, many people would also surely agree.

If you’re wondering what Seunggil’s outfit would look like in real life, look no further than here. (That choker does things to me....)

[nasanch88-blog]

Stealing into the basement after his parents were asleep had been the easy part. The tricky maneuver was getting his father's new time machine turned on, and running smoothly before his father came down to stop him. It had been his father's intention to make the first ever test trip back into the past, and Johnny couldn't let his dad take that chance. After all, he was over 55 years old, and there was no telling what physical conditions were needed for a trip like this. And since Johnny was in the best physical shape he'd ever been in he figured it would be better, at least for the first test, if he went instead of his father. He left his father's settings on the machine, and then threw the main power switch. There was an immediate humming that quickly intensified to the point that the very air around Johnny began to vibrate. A sudden flash of lightning as an dark oval window appeared out of nowhere in front of Johnny, and as he heard footsteps in the kitchen above him he stepped through the time portal. Johnny was amazed. The trip through his fathers latest invention the space/time portal had landed him gently out in a field with a sky full of stars, and the horizon full of vehicular headlights all heading one way, and not getting there very fast. A quick look at his watch told him that he had until noon two days from now before he had to return to his own time at this very spot. He quickly took note that he was standing on a boulder next to a scarecrow, and then headed in the direction everybody else was going. He knew that his father's new time machine had been set for upstate New York, sometime in the late 60's, and that this was it's first test run, but that was all he knew. He found the problem of the stalled headlights 15 minutes later. It was an old school bus with a weird paint scheme, and steam billowing out of the engine compartment. "What seems to be the problem?" He asked the thin black man with the grease stained face. "Damn engine keeps overheating, and I can't figure it out," the stranger then looked at him, and his eyes went wide in surprise, "look honkey, what I don't need is another lecture on the complexities of the internal combustion engine. If I don't got the money, then I can hardly afford paying a mechanic, right?" "Actually," Johnny said, "I was going to say you need a little duct tape for that radiator hose." "Duct tape?" "I have some here in my ruck sack, hold on, I'll have it fixed for you in a jiff." Two minutes later Johnny had the entire hose wrapped up in duct tape. "There ya go, just add water, and she'll be okay." "Yeah, but for how long?" Asked the black man. "Well, it might last a year, but you'd be better off replacing the hose before then." "No shit? Thanks. And sorry about the honkey thing, I was just a little on edge. Hey, if you want to you can ride with us... um..." and he put out his hand. "Johnny," he finished for him shaking the offered hand. "Johnny, eh. I know how that goes. My name is James, but everybody calls me Jimmy. Hop in." The bus was filled with black people who suddenly stopped what they were doing as they saw the white man in their midst. "This is Johnny, he's okay," James said by way of introduction, "he fixed the engine for us." And just as quickly as they had stopped they went right back to doing what they were before spotting him. He took note that many of the people had musical instruments in front of them, and that they were in a heated debate about what key to play in for the national anthem. Not being a musician himself Johnny just took the nearest seat as the bus lurched forward, and enjoyed the ride. In less than half an hour they reached what Johnny could only describe as some strange, maybe even cult like huge campgrounds in the middle of a farm. People everywhere were hugging, and kissing, singing strange folksy, but not quite country western songs that he wasn't quite familiar with, and they all were drinking a great deal of wine. Everyone it seemed smoked in this era, and dressed in strange denim costumes, or next to nothing in the diminishing heat, but at least they had long hair like him even if not as hygienic as he kept his. "Thanks again," James said stopping to let him out, and this time gave Johnny a hug, and then slipped him a piece of paper. "You can use that to get backstage. See you at the concert." "I could easily get lost here," Johnny chuckled to himself as the bus continued on without him. "Who are you looking for?" The voice sounding like musical notes was strangely familiar. When he turned to see who had questioned him his mouth gaped open, as he got lost in the brilliant deep blue eyes framed in delicate lattices of the natural straight ass length blond smiling demigoddess. Her buxom top wrapped in a flowery print halter only emphasized her sculpted racy curves, and tight yet dainty musculature below. Her extremely short denim skirt barely covered her pubic area enough to hide her bottom even while standing. "They call me Daffodil," and again that musical aura of hers seemed hauntingly familiar. She put her hand out to shake Johnny's, and he started trembling the moment she put her hand in his. "So, are you looking for anyone special, or just here by yourself to enjoy the concert?" "The latter I'm afraid," he replied, hypnotized by everything about the girl. "Groovy, you can join us then," and she led him to a modest campfire nearby with five small tents surrounding it, and blankets scattered around like throw rugs with people sitting, drinking, smoking, and some even necking as they joined the small group. The looks on their faces as he came into their campfire light were as if they'd seen a ghost. "Hey John! Get out here!" Yelled out the svelte redhead with flowers in her hair sitting with what looked like a real Native American passing a long pipe around. "I think your soul double just arrived." "Say what?" Asked Johnny's spitting image coming out of the tent to his right, closely followed by a cute brunette, both of whom were buckling their belts. The youthful face with the scraggly three-day-old beard, and wildly curly hair could only be Johnny's father, John Howard Jr. His face mirroring Johnny's own astonishment at each other's similarities. "Well, since I'm an only child, and all of my cousins are girls I'm certain that we aren't related," his father's voice held a vigor, and arrogance to it at this time that he wasn't use to, but it was comforting just the same when they shook hands. "And you would be?" "I'm J... Joe," he replied, almost saying his real name. "Well, two J's, eh. Welcome to my little commune, Joe." His arms going wide to indicate the immediate vicinity around the campfire. "Make yourself comfortable. The woman are as easy as they want to be, so be cool, and I'm sure one of them will bed down with you if they want to. If not there are plenty of free lovers around to take the edge off. Hell, maybe even Daff-o-dilly will give up her cherry while we're here." "You are such a fool John Howard," came her musical retort, "and don't forget stud, you had your chance already." The scowl that crossed over his father's face then was so familiar it almost made him laugh out loud. The laugh died a borning as the goddess next to him suddenly whirled, and kissed him full on the mouth. Her tongue like that of a snake entering his mouth insidiously began dueling with his own. Her breasts poking into his chest made it clear that she had no bra on under that halter top, and he found himself instantly erect, and gasping for breath. Though to be truthful he could have melted in her Juicy Fruit vortex for the rest of his life. "You can sleep in my tent," Daffodil said after they broke from their kiss. "Bitch!" Johnny heard his father grumble mumbling before returning to his own tent with the brunette in tow. "Not so ruff this time John," murmured the brunette as she followed. "He's just jealous," Daffodil giggled. "I don't want to get in between you two if there's something going on," Johnny said. "There was until Miss Twiggy came along and spread her legs," she nodded at the tent where his dad and the brunette were. "But don't worry, he wouldn't really hurt a fly. I'd kick his ass if he even tried." "I think you would," Johnny agreed, his face as mirthful as a Leprechaun. "My father is a Green Beret," she stated semi proudly, "and he taught me how to defend myself before going off to Vietnam." The look of total shock that came over Johnny right then as he suddenly realized just who the hell his love goddess really was had Daffodil slightly off plumb for a moment before she added; "We obviously haven't always agreed on government policy." "Daffodil isn't your real name, is it?" Johnny said. "Well, I was born Daphne Ann Sedgway, but I think Daffodil fits me much better, don't you?" His mother's smile now so much more brilliant, and innocent than it was in the future at the sage old age of 55. "Just how old are you Daff," he decided on using her nickname to keep on safe turf not realizing that he shouldn't have known that her grandmother had called her that for years. Her eyes glimmered in delight though, just the same. "I turned 18 last spring, why?" "I just don't want to be accused of child molesting later on." He lied, having no intention whatsoever of ending up in the sheets with his own mother, even if she was the most gorgeous woman he'd ever met. "Groovy," she said, and handed him a bottle of wine labeled Bali-Hi. It wasn't bad, even though it was very fruity as if concentrated, but there was definitely alcohol in it. "It's two parts Bali, and one part Stoly," she informed him as they settled down together close enough to the fire to take the chill of night off them. "Without the vodka it's just too tame to even get a buzz off of, and since I don't smoke I need all the mellow yellowing I can get." "I see," Johnny said, and ended up gulping down a great big slug when his mother's delicate hand brushed up against his cock through his trousers. "So tell me, who's your favorite?" She asked, all bubbly and in his face. "My favorite?" "The Dead, Country Joe, Jimmy, Janis? Need I go on?" She was obviously talking about something, but he wasn't quite sure how to answer until it suddenly came to him that she was talking about the performers in this out of doors open concert. "Actually, Daff, I'm a closet Beatles fan," he confessed truthfully, "always have been." "No shit? Me too! Even their early stuff. Oh, but don't tell John, he's really into all of this anti war, and free love culture. Don't get me wrong, I am too, but that's still my daddy over there, and I love him with all of my heart." Johnny had never met his grandfather on his mother's side, he'd died shortly after Vietnam from Agent Orange contamination. Oh he'd heard all of his mother's stories about the man, but until now they'd only been stories. Ranting by his mother about a man that she'd hardly known. The giggling, slightly inebriated young woman next to him barely resembling a sister that he'd never had. But if she suspected anything it was that Joe was flirting back at her, not that this was the only child that she would ever bear. And the fact that Joe looked so much like her one true love didn't hurt either. "Here, have some more Bali/Stoly," and she passed him the bottle once again. In all of his life Johnny had never seen his mother drink alcohol to get drunk, but she certainly was now. And getting more comfortable in front of him she was displaying more of her charms than a lady like her normally would. Johnny could see up her skirt as she sat lotus fashion, and Daff/Daphne/Daffodil wasn't wearing any panties under her mini skirt. "Like what you see, stud?" His mother's thick kinky blond pubic thatch had little sparkling dewdrops mixed up in it that had Johnny's rapt attention. He tried not to look, but he couldn't help himself, taking note that her slit was clearly visible through the thick blond forest, and had a delicate softness, and intimacy to it that he couldn't fail to notice, or appreciate. This young ripe woman in full bloom was a virgin, and more than ready for the biggest thrill of her life. But by her own son from the future? "Yes, very much," he replied at last, still unsure of himself. "What say we finish up this wine, and retire to my tent then?" Just who was seducing who here, Johnny wondered, but gulped down some more of the thick fruity cocktail just the same, and passed it back to her. "All things in moderation," she said, then finished off the bottle, and took his hand crouching down then, leading the way into her tent. She was all over him the moment that they were securely secluded inside, and Johnny couldn't help but react as any red-blooded male would given the situation. Daphne had his shirt off in seconds, her halter-top following close behind floated to the floor with it. Their naked chests pressing up against each other as they kissed passionately. Daphne's hands moving in between them to undo Johnny's pants soon had them puddled down around his ankles. Her fingers quickly taking hold of his cock through his boxer shorts almost made Johnny cum on the spot. "Easy Maw... my darling," he'd almost said mom, "let's go slow, and enjoy this. One of us at least is a virgin, and I know it isn't me." "I can't help it, Joe, you make me so damn hot! It's almost..." and she blushed profusely. "Almost what?" He inquired, and reached up to fondle the exquisite breasts that he'd sucked milk from so long ago. "It's silly really," Daphne replied, but forced herself to continue, "I have a cousin, and we almost, well, you know. But then my dad interrupted us calling me back to the picnic, and nothing happened." "I see," he said, and wondered at the woman he had never really known, but grown up with just the same. "Please, Joe, I need it so bad. Do something!" "Okay, let's get comfortable first," and he eased her down on to the bedding. With his cock as hard as a rock, and dripping precum he needed a little time to cool off enough to take his mom to seventh heaven the way she needed to this first time. He helped her squirm out of her mini skirt, and gazed with lust upon the one naked woman in the world he had no business lusting after. The one woman in the world who was so absolutely beautiful that it simply took his breath away every time he looked at her, or she looked at him. In Johnny's time period it was common for young women to have a bikini wax, or even have most of their pubic thatch shaved away, or trimmed down. But here in his mother's youth it wasn't the norm at all. And her wild hairy muff was like some jungle, or lost continent that called to him. The beating of his own heart like native drums pounding in his ears. There was a scent in the air like that of smoldering Jasmine leaves, and it wasn't coming from any incense burning nearby. Sweet, and tart both it was filled with a special innocence of youth, and her subtle perfume. The intoxicating fragrance becoming more pungent as his face moved nearer to his mother's widely spread thighs until at last he was no longer capable of pulling away. So caught up in his mother's youthful subliminal seduction was he, that it actually startled him when he found his tongue slurping up along the length of her hot moist fur covered slit. Her hands running through his hair then pulled him in tight to her groin as she groaned in muffled release loud enough to make those outside of her tent snicker. "Oh yesss!" She hissed. "Don't stop, please Johnny, don't stop!" He was startled that she had called him by name, and then he realized that she was calling out to his father John Jr., and not him. As Joe he was only the mirror image of his mother's fantasy lover, and as his father's look alike was really relegated to the duty of a living, breathing doll with a talented tongue, and none vibrating dildo as far as his young mother was concerned. And then he remembered what the brunette had murmured before following his father in that tent. It would never do for a virgin like Daphne to be broken in by a selfish ruff house lover as his father obviously was at this time in his life. It could have easily ruined her as far as having sex with men was concerned. No, it was much better to have an experienced gentle caring lover the first time, and Johnny was all of that long before he'd made this journey back into the late 1960's. And that thanks to the gentle warm and caring nurturing of the very woman whose musky pussy he had his tongue in at that very moment. Johnny knew she was ready for the real deal after hearing her sigh into her fourth tongue induced spirited orgasm as she wriggled her ass up at his face. Her legs at last stopped scissoring his neck, and flopped to the ground spread wide open. He too was ready to penetrate her vagina, but he had to be especially careful from here on out. He began to kiss her soft inner thighs, and then worked his way upward along her taunt belly. Paying special attention to her belly button, he tongued it as if it were a tiny mouth, then proceeded upwards towards her mountainous mammary. He knew that fifty poets couldn't do justice to describing those splendid peaks capped with pink nipples that were even now crinkled up in erection from her excitement. His mouth closing over first the left one then the right to suckle at tenderly before kissing his way higher. Until at last he was face to face, cock to cunt with his mother, and prepared to enter her very wet slice of heaven. Her arms and legs once again rising up to wrap around behind him. Johnny Howard the third was well aware that he was already lurking in dangerous grounds, and flirting with laws of paradox in the space-time continuum. Were his mother to fall in love with him instead of his father they might not ever get married, and if they didn't marry they wouldn't have him. Thankfully she was already in love with his dad, and by the looks of things dad was equally in love with her even if he wasn't ready to admit it to himself as yet. So the only real problem left to Johnny was breaking his mother's cherry, but without impregnating her in the process. For that he'd have to pull out of her before he came, or there'd be all hell to pay, as he hadn't brought any rubbers with him. "Please baby, now!" Daphne groaned as his cock slipped in between her lower lips ready to take the plunge. And she tried to pull him into her without success. "This might hurt a little," he whispered. "I know, but I need it now, baby!" He wasted no further time then, and eased his cock into her until he came up against her hymen. He saw as well as felt her brace herself, then jammed right past the blockage until he was buried deep, and all the way inside of his mother's pussy. Once there he waited for her to catch her breath, and steal away the pain to where she could relax enough to enjoy the rest. While he waited, and she whimpered Johnny reached between them, and gently caressed her clit, and sucked at her magnificent teats. In no time he felt her hips reacting to his gentle persuasions as they thrust upward at him. The whimpering continued, but it was intimate, and much more demanding. Johnny's hips began to rise and fall then. Slowly at first, bringing her along, as well as following her needs. The tempo picking up as she writhed under him urging him on as if riding on top of a stallion, instead of under him. In no time they were galloping along, and quickly approaching the fence on the edge of eternity. "OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!" Daphne cried out at the top of her lungs, but they didn't hear the laughter it inspired outside of her tent as they jumped the last post, and plunged over the edge into the endless pit below. Johnny barely pulled his cock out of his mother's pussy in time. His prick spraying all over her taunt belly, and massive lush tits in the process. At first surprised by this turn of events Daphne was also fascinated by the frothing slime spitting out of his dick and soaking the front of her. Once she calmed down enough to do so she simply stuck her finger in one of the ropes of slime, and brought it to her mouth to sample. Daphne must have thought the taste to her liking as she squeegeed the rest with her fingers, and licked it off of them. What she didn't lick up she smeared into her flesh like skin lotion. The whole process looked on by Johnny had his dick staying hard as tempered steel. And when Daphne saw that he was still erect she wanted to taste that too. Watching his own mother crawl over on all fours naked, and take his cock into her mouth almost blew Johnny's mind. He'd never imagined any sight that arousing, and he nearly lost his second wad right then in his own mother's cock sucking mouth. Who'd of thought his sweet old mother could be such a whoring slut back in her youth? Hell she didn't even know him, and she'd given up her precious cherry to him already. What next, her ass? And why not take her ass cherry too? He thought. His mind so wrapped up in his own lust now that he was willing to try anything. It was then that he saw the magic marker lying next to him. Daphne had used it to make protest signs, and simply forgotten it was there. He reached down then, and took hold of it, and as she continued to suck heartily on his cock he printed out the word; "Whore," on her buttocks upside down just for the fun of it. "What did you do?" She asked, that musical tone once again in her voice. "I wrote Whore in big black letters across your fanny, babe," he chuckled. "How does it look?" "Great! As if you'd been born with it." "It sure tells it like it is," she giggled, and went back to sucking his cock again. It didn't take long for Johnny to lose it what with his mother's exciting touch, and watching her gulp down his discharge was almost as fantastic as taking her cherry had been. So much so that he was still semi-erect afterwards. "Wow! What are you? A love machine?" Daphne giggled, and snuggled up to him in her bed. "What next, you've had every hole I own." "Well, not every hole," he cajoled. "No way!" She sat up straight suddenly. "That really would hurt." "Not as much as you think," he responded, "and if done properly it makes for the strongest orgasm a woman can have." "You're kidding, right?" And when he just shrugged, leaving it to her to decide, her mind became a turmoil. After all, how could anything be better than what she'd just gone through with Joe already? But then it had been Joe, and not John hadn't it, and that made it all the more perverse in her eyes. No, she would save her ass for John, for when they were married, and treasure what she had with Joe here at this rock concert the rest of her life. Joe had branded her as his whore, but it was a brand that would soon wash away. Her love for John never would. There was something about that crazy scientist wannabe that she just couldn't resist. Oh sure, he was with that bitch now, but she knew deep down that he wanted Daphne most of all. Hopefully Joe would make John jealous enough to do something about it. At least that was her plan for now. In the meantime she'd learn as much about sex as she wanted to with Joe as his whore. ************ Morning brought with it the need to pee erection that insisted Johnny wake up. Feeling soft lips, and a tongue sucking on his cock as he returned to the landscape of his parent's youth wasn't helping relieve that insistence either. Knowing that it was his mother's mouth made it all the worse. "If you don't stop that," he groaned, "and let me go pee, I'm going to piss in your mouth." "I don't mind," Daphne replied, and to help him relax enough to pee she simply stopped sucking on his cock, and held it in her mouth. "You really are a slut, aren't you," he managed to say as his bladder at last released its liquid cargo. Daphne had no time to reply right then as she was busy gulping down his sterile urine. And she never lost a single drop doing it. But with his cock still in her mouth Johnny's cock only became semi-erect, and not entirely limp. So that when he finished pissing down his mother's young throat he simply began fucking her now cock sucking face as if he'd been doing it all of his life. The purely deviant behavior of his mother when she was a teenager was just too wantonly filthy for him not to. After all, how many guys did he know even in his own time period that had as beautiful a woman as Daphne, let alone that she was willing to actually drink their urine? And how easily she had accepted the magic marker condemning her as a whore still had his emotions smoldering. "Can I gather by this that you reached a decision to actually be my whore while we are here together at this concert?" Johnny inquired looking down at her, and taking in every inch of her lush pristine body. "I'm already naked, Joe, are you stripping my skin off, or what?" "Just trying to memorize," he retorted, "you are the most lovely creature to share a bed with, as I'm sure you're well aware." "What does being your slut entail?" Daphne asked after taking his cock out of her mouth for a moment. "Challenges," was all he could cough out as he started to ejaculate just as she popped his dick back into her mouth. Again she swallowed down all of his essence, as if she just couldn't get enough. "I thought you might like to be the inspiration for the term "Groupie." He fucked her again, as that was all he could do once she jumped on top of him still naked impaling herself on his cock. He loved watching her big titties swaying, and flopping around in front of his face like two pillow clouds dog fighting. Her face scrunched up in painful bliss as she undulated in the throes of many mini orgasms. He really didn't want to cum in her cunt, but Daphne gave him no choice as she refused to dismount long enough for him to cum anywhere else. Johnny could only hope, and pray to God that there wasn't enough left in his pistol to cause any real damage. "Ever think of having sex with a black man?" Johnny asked her as they finally got dressed to rejoin the rest of the world. "Oh, you really are nasty, aren't you," she giggled. Then figuring that she had nothing to lose telling Joe, after all this wasn't her one true love just a photo copy, "To be truthful, it's a fantasy that I've had ever since seeing the movie "Gone With the Wind." I mean I've heard all of the legends, of course..." "But you'd like to find out if they're true, right?" He finished for her. "Well sure, what girl wouldn't? But..." "But then you'd be a real free lover, wouldn't you?" He prodded sarcastically. "I..." She stopped then, and he watched as she struggled with herself, and her conflicting background. "I guess what I'm saying is that as your whore, I'd be foolish to not to comply with your wishes. Even if it meant that I'd have to give my body to black men." Johnny could see what a real leap of faith that had been for her. Especially with her southern background, but the woman he knew in the future didn't have an ounce of bigotry in her, and maybe his being here had ordained that. In any event, he was determined to make this concert a real eye opening experience for his mother, especially knowing that the rest of her life as the wife of John Jr. would be fairly sedentary at best. If nothing else, she'd never forget this as the biggest, and best adventure of her life. "Look, I just thought," he suddenly felt foolish, and almost apologized before remembering that in this time period Daphne was nobody's mother, "I have a friend, and he's the lead singer in one of the bands playing here, and I just thought you might like to meet..." "Hell yes!" Daphne broke in interrupting his train of thought. The explosive eyes wide excitement as she fairly jumped up, and down in place taking him aback. "I'd do it with Jimmy if I could get close enough to him." "You've heard of him then?" "Jimmy Hendrix? Who hasn't?" "Hmmm, he didn't actually give me his last name, but I know he's playing in one of the bands at this concert." And Johnny took the time then to explain how he'd met Jimmy. "I thought that was his bus when I saw you get out of it," Daphne replied when he'd finished. "So you only hit on me to get closer to a rock star?" Johnny inquired. "No, I approached you because of that, but when I saw your face, well..." The entire campgrounds were a buzz with anxiety as the time for the live concert rapidly was approaching when they left Daphne's tent. John Jr., and his thin brunette sidekick were in a heated debate with the redhead, and her Native Indian friend about the evil war mongrels dying in a far off land fighting for their right to argue. John Jr. gave Johnny a nod of knowing acknowledgement that turned into a scowl by the time it reached Daphne. "We're going to see Jimmy backstage," Daphne announced, instantly getting a raised eyebrow from John Jr. "Can you keep an eye on my stuff?" "Nobody's gonna rip off your homemade fruit punch Daffy Dilly," John Jr. threw back sarcastically. "Not when there's so much pot floating around here." Then to Johnny he said; "I'd be careful if I was you. Now that you broke her in, she might want a taste of some dark meat for comparison." "I can live with it," Johnny replied, "can you?" "What's that supposed to mean?" "Hey, you're the one into FREE love, right?" Johnny said, then turned and walked away, his hand possessively clasping his mother's rear over her denim skirt. Daphne giggling outrageously as he slipped a finger into her pussy from behind for John Jr.'s benefit. They didn't get more than twenty steps further when they were suddenly jumped upon as Johnny's own father tackled him, and started swinging wildly. "You son of a bitch!" John Jr. screamed, and threw a right cross that slammed into the side of Johnny's head knocking him out cold. It was dark again when the world swirled back into his vision. He found himself back inside of Daphne's tent, and he wasn't alone. "Thank God!" His father's young voice said. "I thought I'd killed you." "Are you alright?" That musical voice of his mother at 18 inquired. "I... I think so," Johnny said, and tried to sit up before the world started spinning madly around him again. "Hey! Take it easy," his father urged gently pushing him back down. "You could have a concussion." "I thought you said he wouldn't hurt a fly?" Johnny groaned as his mother's young face moved into view over top of him. "My father says even a cornered rat will strike out if you scare it enough. I also told you he was jealous." She actually snuggled up to John Jr. affectionately then. "Is that music I hear, or are the angels calling me?" Johnny asked then. "The concert started hours ago," his father replied, "looks like Woodstock is going to be an historical event." "Then what are you two doing in here missing it all?" Johnny inquired. "We're trying our honeymoon out for size," his father said with a smirk, and his mother had the sensibility to at least blush profusely, "if it works out we'll live together for a while as common law, and maybe then make it legal, and have some kids after I graduate from MIT." "Sounds like a plan," Johnny said, and tried again to get up, but much more slowly, and succeeded, "I guess I need to find some other tent to sleep in." "Use mine," his father insisted, "I owe you at least that much. Oh, and the brunette likes it ruff, and ready, but she downplays it. As if everybody already didn't know she was into kink." "Hmmm. Maybe I'll introduce her to Jimmy then," and they all snickered at that. "In any event I have to leave early tomorrow. I have something personal that needs attending to back home." "Well, I can't say that it's been an entire pleasure meeting you Joe," his father said taking his hand and shaking it, "but it has been interesting. I hope we meet again." "Oh, there's plenty of time, I'm sure we will. The wheel always goes full circle." The man who stood waiting in the basement as Johnny returned to his own time period, and home had a little of that old cocky arrogant look in his eyes, even if surrounded by many wrinkles. His father once again putting out his hand, now withered, and gnawed by age. "Welcome home... Joe."

[ashroseevans]

Kingdom Hearts Cinderella 2

Seven Years Later…

“Andi! Stop spacing out!”

I jumped a bit and turned my head to look at my friend, Hatori. She stood a few yards away from me, barefoot in the sand of the beach. She had quite the relaxed stance. Too relaxed, and in her hand pointed at me was her keyblade. Why did she always insist on these after school sparring sessions? I always kicked her ass.

“Huh?” I blurted out before I could think of anything more elegant.

“It’s not much of a match if my partner lost just because she wasn’t paying attention,” she said.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just got lost in my memories.”

“It’s the anniversary today, isn’t it?” she said as she ran towards me, surprisingly quick in the sand.

I held up my own keyblade to block hers and nodded. “Yeah, seven years today, Dad left,” I said, ducking and breaking the block to swipe at her feet.

She jumped. “I know it won’t mean much, but I’m sorry,” she said and slashed at my back.

Without even turning around, I put my keyblade over my shoulder to stop her attack. “You’re right,” I said and spun on my feet, knocking her down, and when her back hit the ground, I put my food on her chest lightly and pointed my keyblade at her neck. “It doesn’t mean much.”

Hatori sighed. “You win,” she said and held her hands up in surrender, her keyblade disappearing.

I removed my food and my own keyblade disappeared as well. I flopped back onto the sand. “I just can’t wait until I can get off the stupid island and leave my own personal hell behind me.”

I reached behind my head and pulled my knee length black hair out of its pony tail as Hatori reached towards the sky and spoke. “After high school we’ll both go away,” she said. “To a world where no one knows who you are or who your father was.”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. Talk about dreaming of the impossible. Organization XIII is known everywhere and I’m the spitting image of Dad,” I said. “Not even to mention that everyone knows who wiped them all out, Dad included.”

She shrugged. “It could still be poss—”

My phone started to ring, witches shrieks cutting Hatori off. I sighed. “Hold that thought, Ha’ri,” I said and stood to grab my phone that I left next to my backpack.

“Tifa?” She asked.

“Eyup,” I said and answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Don’t hello me,” Tifa practically snarled. “I need you to come home now. The floors need cleaning.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll be right there,” I answered, my voice oh so carefully void of emotion.

“You better,” the line disconnected.

I sighed and looked back at Hatori. “Her royal witchyness wants me to scrub the floors.”

She flinched. “Ouch, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

I sighed as I picked up my stuff, dusting off all the sand. We should really find a better place for these sparring sessions. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I waved at Hatori and headed off the beach.

“Oh, yeah! Andi, hold up a sec!” Hatori called after me.

“My dude, I have to do!” I said but turned to look at her anyway. “What do you want?”

“I heard Sora and Riku were back! That they’ll be in school tomorrow!”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Really?” I said, my eyebrows shot up and a small grin formed on my lips.

She nodded. “Yup!”

“Cool!” I answered simply. “I really have to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right,” she said. “See ya.”

I waved and started to walk home again, feeling excited for something for once. Riku as coming home after three years of being away. I’ll get to see him again.

Three years ago, he and Roxas left the islands on an adventure, blowing up this world in the process. Everyone was scattered. Even me. It’s how I got my keyblade. Riku was tempted by the darkness so in a way, what happened was his fault that the islands were destroyed. Roxas went looking for him and nearly a year later, the islands were restored and I was pulled back some “World Order” bull crap.

It was around that time that everyone forgot who Roxas was. We all suddenly remembered though a year later. He tried looking for Riku again. He did find him, but in the process he wiped out all of Organization XIII, including my father.

I was ostracized by everyone long before that, when Dad first left. It only got worse however, when Roxas killed him. People avoided me like the plague and when they weren’t, they were bullying me. I forced myself to put up with it because I knew that if I did anything to fight back, defend myself, or try to stop it, it would only make it worse.

But Riku was coming home. I would see him again at school and everything would be a bit more bearable until the day I graduate and get to leave this place. I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for Riku. Okay, really, it was all I could do not to turn to much when I was around him. He always seemed to know what I was going through and whenever he came by to see Kairi, he would always make a point to say hello to me and engage in a bit of small talk. He didn’t avoid me as deliberately as everyone else.

Unfortunately, no matter how much I may want it, I knew Riku and I would never end up together. He had an appearance to keep up now and on top of all that, he didn’t see me as anything but the girl he’s nice to because if he wasn’t, no one else would be. He pitied me. I don’t want anyones pity. I just want him to look at me the way my dad looked at my mom, to like me. Not see me as something to be pitied.

I sighed and pulled out my house keys and opened the door. Just as I pushed it open, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I heard footsteps behind me. It wasn’t anyone in my family. I didn’t recognize this person.

The second a hand touched my shoulder, I sprung into action. I grabbed the wrist of the person and pulled them forward and twisted their arm behind their back before I pushed them against the door frame.

“Whoa there, Andi,” came a voice I’d never forget. “It’s just me.”

I gasped. “R-Riku?!” I blurted out and let go.

He turned around and rubbed his wrist. “That was my name last I checked,” he answered and rolled his shoulder. “You’ve certainly gotten quick there.”

“I am so sorry,” I said and bowed my head.

“Hey there, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that,” he said.

“I still shouldn’t have pinned you,” I said, and shrugged. “You’re here to see Kairi, yeah?” I asked, hoping the disappointment in my voice sounded more like remorse for attacking him.

“Is it so hard to believe that I may have come to see you? It’s been what? Three year?” he asked. “How have you been? “

“Well first, Kairi is in her room,” I said in response to his first question, and walked inside. He followed behind me. “And, you know, same old, same old. Everyone still hates me.”

“That’s a lie. I don’t hate you,” he said and shrugged. “I actually think you’re pretty cool.”

“Yeah, well, you—” I stopped, catching myself.

“I what?”

“You’re not like everyone else,” I went with. No need to drop the p word to him. “So what about you?”

“Nothing all that exciting,” he said.

“That’s a load of crap,” I said. “A huge pile of smelly shit. You were gone for three years and you’re trying to tell me that you’re adventures were nothing exciting?”

He smirked just a bit. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ll tell you about them someday.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I smiled at him.

“Well, I’d better go find Kairi,” he said.

“All right, see ya.”

“Maybe I’ll find you on the way out,” he said and turned to walk away through the halls.

I quickly walked up to my room which used to be the attic until Dad left and Tifa kicked me out of my old room. I’m just glad I had some saved up birthday money to make the attic more comfortable to live in. I flopped my backpack on my bed and tied up my hair. Sometimes I enjoy having really long hair and other times, I like now for instance, it was a real pain in my ass. Maybe I should just cut it all off… I’ll have to see if Hatori would be willing to do it for me.

I walked back downstairs and into the kitchen where Tifa was already waiting for me with a full bucket and a scrub brush.

“Get to work,” she demanded

I sighed and took what she had thrust at me. “Yes, ma’am.”

I lugged the bucket to the hallway Kairi’s room was in. I could come up with some bull shit excuse as to why I’m starting there, when honestly, I just wanted to hear what was going down between Riku and Kairi. A master of eavesdropping, that’s me.

When I got to the room, I gently put the bucket down so that the sudsy water wouldn’t splash on the ground. I plugged my headphones into my phone. I was smart. If it looked like I wasn’t listening then Riku and Kairi wouldn’t expect a thing. I had years to hone these skills and by now, I was a master at playing the fool. I knew everything that went on in this house, like Kairi talks to herself in the mirror and that Tifa was sleeping with both Cloud and Zack. I once heard her on the phone with Aerith after Dad left and found out that she was sleeping with both of them while she was married to Dad. I nearly vomited when I found that out.

I shook my head before the memories overtook me and I got to work, focusing my hearing into Kairi’s room. Riku was speaking.

“—think we should be together,” he finished.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I do not think we should be together,” he repeated, a harder edge on his voice. “I’ve changed. I’ve seen what’s out there. I’m just not the same person I was before.”

“What do you mean? How aren’t you?” Kairi said, sounding more angry then heartbroken. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was a Heartless.

“I’m just not, okay? I’ve had a lot of time to think while I was gone and I realized something,” he said,sounding calm.

“Realized what?” now she sounded like she was about to cry, frustration maybe.

“I don’t like you the way I used to back then.,” he said. “But we can still be—”

“Don’t you dare say friends,” she gritted out.

Riku sighed. “Look, I just came here to tell you that in person. You deserve that much.”

“I still don’t understand! Why are you doing this? Was it something I did? Tell me what I can do to change your mind!” she shrieked.

I flinched. I almost felt bad for Riku. But after all, it was technically his fault he was in this situation in the first place.

“There’s nothing you can do. “Goodbye Kairi.”

Kairi shrieked something again but I was too focused on making it look like I was cleaning as I heard Riku’s footsteps walk to the door. When I heard it open and close, I heard something hit the door. I forced myself not to flinch. I felt more so then saw Riku’s flinch. He let out a sigh of what sounded like relief before he noticed me.

“Andi?” he said.

I didn’t answer, just bobbed my head to the nonexistent music. Riku walked up to me and crouched down before poking my forehead. I jumped and looked at him.

“Riku?” I said, pulling a earbud out.

“Did you hear that?” he asked?

“Hear what?” I tilted my head to the side?

“Guess not.”

“What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, something like that. I just ended things with Kairi.”

“Really? How come?” I asked, curious.

He shrugged. “I wasn’t really feeling anything when I was with her I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah, I guess. It also didn’t help that she didn’t understand the first thing about me,” he joked, “or that there’s someone else?”

“Someone else?”

He smirked a bit and put a hand on my head. “I should go. I’ll see ya at school tomorrow,” he said and stood up, walking down the hall.

“Wait! Riku!” I called after him. “What do you mean someone else?”

I thought I heard him chuckle as he waved behind him, not turning around. I sighed and shook my head, actually turning on my music this time.

I took a deep breath when I walked out of that house. I don’t know what it was, but the air felt different no. I didn’t feel like the air was suffocating me anymore. I guess dumping Kairi had helped me more then I thought it would. I felt lighter. Maybe it was because I never have to worry about Kairi or her mood swings and be able to focus more on myself and what I need instead of being at the whims of Kairi’s moods.

I stretched as I walked off the porch and down the street. Sora had told me to head over after I finally broke it off with Kairi. He wanted details as any best friend would demand from such an event. I couldn’t blame him. He and I knew what could come from miscommunication.

I flinched as the memories came flooding back to my mind. That first year of my adventure was certainly not the best start. And then that time spent on the other side of the Door to Darkness wasn’t exactly fun either. I shook my head. I knew I told Andi I would tell her about what happened, but truth be told, it was something I’d really rather forget.

I sighed, at least I was home now If I was completely honest, I was a little homesick. I missed the smell of the salty sea air nd the sand. It almost made me wish I had never left, that I never found out what was out there. Ignorance is bliss they said.

But thinks could never go back to the way it was. I looked at my hand as my keyblade formed. Not that I had the keyblade, I had a responsibility. I just hoped it didn’t come knocking too soon.

I let go of my keyblade and it disappeared as I walked up the steps to Sora’s porch and knocked on the front door. I heard a muffled shot to come in before I opened it wand walked into see Sora lounging on the couch.

“So this is how Mr. Keyblade Master spends his days off?” I said.

He looked at me and shrugged. “I deserve a break. I saved the worlds twice and Roxas worked with Organization XIII.”

“You know, Roxas may be apart of you now, but his experiences didn’t transfer to you. Just the memories.”

He rolled his eyes and sat up. “Yeah, yeah. So did you do it?”

“Yeah.”

“How did she take it.”

“Hard. I think she threw a book at me.”

“You think?”

“I was already out the door.”

“Nice. So you’re free now?”

I nodded and sat down on the couch. “For now.”

“Oh?”

“Theres someone else I have my eyes on,” I said as an image of black hair and violet eyes flashed in my mind.

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