#i missed doing colour chaos. it's nice to get back to it

[pokecolours]

Hey, sorry it has been a while. Turns out trying to complete a phd with multiple disabling chronic health conditions is really hard, so I've not had much chance nor energy to do swaps. (Un)fortunately I am having more forced time off for recovery so I have started to fill up the queue again. We'll see how long this keeps up ^^;

Thanks for your patience!

[acidblum]

COLD • A.A.

Wife!Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader (AU) pt2

MASTERLIST DO NOT BUY TLOU

PART I AO3

after what had gone down a week ago, you and your wife go to visit your father-in-law whom seems to have a few guests over and it builds a new fear deep inside you and more chaos ensues in your marital life, forcing you to take a step back, or at least try to do so.. (w/c: 5.2k im so sorry)

WARNINGS: 18+ minors dni..angst, ooc abby anderson, abby calling reader baby, slut. abby choking reader, INFIDELITY, abby hitting reader. bruises. drinking. no smut only angst, dina and ellie cameo, no mention of readers skin colour, or hair texture. (also there will be no part 3)..

A/N: i apologize for being sooo late with this one, life been super hectic lately (which i’m kinda thankful (not really) for otherwise i would’ve never finished this part) it’s been 4 months in the making and i hate to admit that but yah..pls pls tell me your thoughts and inputs on it i wanna know what y’all think about it. if there’s any mistakes or warnings missing please notify me.

After what had gone down you started viewing Abby in a different light entirely, now cold were the arms she wraps around you late at night, the weather was much warmer then how her embrace felt.

She’ll come home smelling of this awful floral perfume when you wore yours in sandalwood and honey. Unfortunately the both of you are on your way to meet with Jerry for the weekly family gathering, on any of the previous ones you would’ve had fun but not now, not after what she did.

Today you woke up with dread filling your body, usually the first thing you feel is the warmth of her body against yours but you can hear her murmuring under her breath.

“make sure to not say anything about what happened last week” she says as she’s tying her bolo tie in front of the mirror in your shared bedroom, the sun peaking through the sheer curtains and reflecting on her french braided hair.

you catch her eyes over your shoulder while you put your light cream boots on “wouldn’t dream of it, don’t worry i already learned the consequences of my actions” your sarcastic tone wasn't news to her— you stand up just to find her face close to yours, hovering over your frame.

“ Did you though?....with that tone of yours it sounds the other way around t’ me” raising an eyebrow at you a dark look washes over her face with her eyes searching in yours for answers.

she closes the distance between you, brushing her cheek against yours—leaving no room for you to take a step back before she brings her cheek against yours, inhaling as much as she could she wraps her strong arms around the front of your neck engulfing your figure. whispering “be nice or else-”

cutting her off “or else what?” A look of hatred all over your face is something you never imagined looking at her with, the love of your life, someone who you thought wanted you, And only you.

smirking at you menacingly “you certainly won’t like the outcome” from where the both of you are standing she looks at the door that leads to the living room where the shotgun is, before giving you a knowing look.

“Oh- and also, a few of my dad’s acquaintances will be there for dinner so make sure to look your best baby” kissing the side of your head she goes back to getting ready, putting the final touches of wearing her trustee black cowboy hat.

Holding yours you follow her. Choosing to stay silent but now it’s ailing you cause Jerry always likes to keep it in the family when it comes to gatherings and outings. Unless she told him something, you choose to brush it off before loading up in Abby's red truck, highly aware of what’s under the seat. Biting your nails she glances at you trying to pay attention to the road with one hand on the steering wheel. “Oh for fuck sa-” reaching out to hold your hand that you’re busy gnawing on.

You flinch, your whole body tensing up when she looks at your face. Seeing the look that she once promised to never be the reason for, blasted all over it “ ‘m not gonna hit you” rubbing her forefingers against the balm of your hand “just’ stop…please” the switch up was crazy and it prompted the lines to start blurring up in your mind, you decide to look outside disassociating as you passed by the big trees and farms thinking that whoever she's been seeing behind your back might live on one of these lands.

Pulling up Jerry's farmhouse you can see his horses roaming freely and a couple of bodyguards in working attire pass by the truck nodding their heads at Abby like some obedient puppets. She passes by them and barks her truck right behind Jerry's, killing the engine. Abby opens the door trying to come and open yours for you but you open it on your own in a haste.

Standing with her arm stretched in front of you, you hear Jerry's heavy footsteps, staring her down before giving her your back and painting a big smile on your face as you walk up the porch where he’s standing with his arms stretched wide open for you with a cigarette dangling off of his left hand “ohh here comes my favourite kid” you try to laugh Hugging him back in a shallow hug. You go on to stand to the side whilst he hugs abby just the same

“Hmph alright..hey dad” smacking her back twice before pulling away and ushering the both of you inside.

“C’mon i need the both of you to meet my new business partner”

Walking into the very expensively decorated living room, funny you’ve already been here many times before marrying Abby with your uncle and also had your wedding in the very spacious backyard but it never stops amusing you how put together it is being kept. You hear the sounds of no more than two people in the dining area, one of them giggling softly with her back towards the both of you.

when you feel Abby slither her hand on your waist to rest there casually without looking at you when the full bearded man notices the three of you walking towards them he starts addressing jerry.

“And here i thought ya’ bailed on me”

“Who me? Isn’t that a dream a’ yours eugene??” they share a chuckle before he turns around and puts his hand on your shoulder. your father in law starts speaking again “this is my very special daughter in law right ‘ere and that's eugene linden my former friend and now work partner” he finally addresses the big elephant in the room which frankly is the prettiest girl with short red auburn hair, the deepest green for eyes and reddest of lips you’ve ever seen.

“Here is his daughter Sara Linden” she takes a glance at Abby noticing how she’s turning fidgety all of a sudden beside you and tips her root beer glass at the both of you in greetings.

smiling back at her tightly you choose to ignore the odd feeling you got from the way she looked at your wife feeling as if you’re missing something—after a moment of silence eugene beckons the both of you to take a seat at the table, you sit beside abby which also puts you facing sara with jerry at the head of the food filled table.

“Sara here has her own company” already at it was jerry when Abby clears her throat and looks across the table at her in an interestingly faux surprise “oh- interesting”. putting your hand on Abby's thigh you act as if nothing is seemingly wrong. you can see her looking at you through your peripheral vision but choose to not look at her, too entranced by the one across the table trying to pinpoint why you feel something is odd. You try to chime in “wow that’s actually amaz-“ just to end up getting cut off by her

“it is! couldn’t imagine doing it any other way luckily i have a supportive family and all that..i’m sure you know quite a lot about family huh?”

Trying to stay composed you can feel abby smirk, the air feels dry and you can feel yourself heaving and your blood boiling. Instead of lashing out you take Abby's left hand and put it on the table to showcase your rings with a bright fake smile.

“Oh my- of course i do..i know plenty as you can see”

Jerry looks at you with a proud look-maybe he does have a soft spot for you- and it just sends your mind spiraling over if Abby's words about her father siding with her had an ounce of truth. maybe you’ll rat her out and see where it goes from there.

“ Now who wouldn’ dream of a daughter in law like mine??” he starts laughing with eugene while sara is glaring at your -still- intertwined hands.

Abby puts her hand on top of yours, patting it twice before pulling away, busying herself with opening another beer bottle. Taking big gulps while you’re still looking at your hand on the table. Seeing Sara looking at you smugly followed by a condescending look.

Eugene and Jerry are in their own world talking about god knows what whilst nursing their beers, the sun is setting and sounds of fireflies buzzing is filling the western humid air. and you can’t help but feel the boredom seeping in.

-

after saying your farewells and goodbyes you’re already halfway to your farm with abby who insisted to drive whilst tipsy when you offered your help, but ooh god forbid she lets you do anything talking all about how she’s ’not that drunk’

trying to put a stop to it “abigail let me drive..the car is literally swayi-”

she glances at you with crazed eyes “oh shut up you fucking slut!” she lands a punch on the steering wheel setting the horn off making you flinch. “don’t even fucking breathe or so god help me” pointing at you.

you roll your eyes at her, turning your back to her,paying no mind to your wife–still– going off at you. noticing how quiet the world is outside of the big car. when a strong fist connects with your face at wild speed. prompting your ear to ring loudly and all you can hear is the loud ringing. It's like the world stopped for a minute, nothing is moving but the trees and the cold air wafting against your burning skin.

a few minutes passed when she finally pulls up to your quiet farm, still in your shock you question how this is the first time she ever actually landed a hit on you, yes she did threaten you but never did she actually do it, trying to catch your bearings, the both of you sitting quietly in the car, blood boiling— you get out of the car. Smacking the door of her beat up truck as hard as you can.

You open the door running straight into the bedroom locking the door behind you.

Taking full strides behind you but facing none other the locked door was Abby “C’mon you can’t do that!” pounding on the door full force, whilst you try to scramble anything you own putting it into your barrel bag that you usually used for when she had work far away from home and you had to tag along. Trying to breathe deeply and ignore her yelling from the other side of the door,heading into the bathroom to check on your bruise, standing in front of the mirror with tears brimming your eyes. You spit in the sink feeling the iron taste fill your mouth, call it whatever you wanted to call it but you had to get out of there..before you ended up 6 feet under somewhere unknown in this godforsaken farm.

Opening the door with the bag in your right hand, you try to hide it behind your back. But she instantly finds it “oh no baby please no-” with knotted brows trying to hold your face in her hands you winch when her left hand rubs the bruise. You whisper “let me go abigi-”

Shaking her head in defiance tears filling her eyes.

“ i did nothing wrong don’t do this”

“You finally did it abby..look at this” pointing at your face you try to search for remorse in her eyes, anything that tells you she’s sorry for what she did..you find nothing.

“You had it coming!” she holds your hair in her fists bringing your face closer to her’s

“look at me” leaning her forehead against yours“Abigail no” you whisper—faint murmurs of her begging you is all you can hear. finally looking into her eyes that are brimming red with them beautiful pouty lips you’ve grown to love and ache for, but you know there’s no going back after this.

“i’ll just..go to dina’s for a while hm?”

“we can talk this ou-”

“just for a few days please abby” you beg “i need this” you try to put your hand on top of hers to make her ease up the harsh hold she’s got on your hair. She scoffs “and what am i supposed to do huh?” thrashing her arms around she throws a vase that is next to her on the floor, shattering it into pieces.

she pauses “Fine alright you can go..it’ll do us some good” searching her eyes “really?” she hums, turning her back towards you with finality.

“i’ll drop you off..c’mon” picking the bag you walk behind her towards the door whilst questioning what came down onto her that made her change her mind. She turns abruptly “on a second thought tho-” before you know it she has the side of your head in her palm and smashes it against the wall. And before you can react everything turns dark.

-

The sun is shining through the curtains furiously, you try to open your burning eyes. Just to find a man with his back facing you in a suit with a lab coat on standing at the door with a bag clutched in his hand talking to Abby whom still didn't notice you stirring awake in the bed you've been tucked into neatly, no longer in your clothes from the previous day -or was it days?- with an IV connected to your wrist. Wincing at the horrible pain you’re feeling on the side of your head and cheeks you try to catch your bearings, listening to what the man is whispering.

“Does your father know of this?”

“No he doesn't…and don't you dare gale”

“Just cause i owe ya’ one” she puts her arm on his shoulder in silent thanks, he nods before he walks out of the door silently. Trying to fake sleeping you close your eyes shut tightly hoping she’ll just not talk to you or call out your bluff.

Staying still you hear the clattering of things around and what seems to be Abby putting on her jacket followed by the thudding of her boots—shes murmuring under her breath and you can hear a faint harsh “fuck” spat right out of her mouth like venom. The door closes behind her and of course she locks the door shut twice. you open your eyes, trying to regulate your heart that's hammering inside your rib cage, making an effort you know you shouldn’t do.

you sit up slowly trying to get accustomed to the harsh lighting. Looking around the bedroom thinking of a way to get out of this hell, in a moment of irrationality you pull the iv needle as fast as you can-gasping at the pinch of pain—you get out of the bed, taking small steps towards the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror you think to yourself that your eyes must be deceiving you, your face looks very foreign. A bruise on your cheek with a split lip, followed with a feeling of lightheaded-ness prompting you to clutch the sink with your life. Shaking yourself awake you splash some water on your face. Knowing full well you can’t just sit still and wait till your wife comes back and ends you, it never ends well once it starts.

Calling Dina from the landline phone, you bite your nails. You don't know where abby’s gone and all you can do is hope that she doesn't come back before Dina gets here-if she would even pick up- she does interrupting you clattered thoughts “hey?”

Getting choked up upon hearing her voice you can hear Ellie in the background asking her who it is whilst JJ seems to be fussing. “Dina” whispering as you try to find your voice and failing miserably-She calls your name “breathe f’ me” you try doing as she says. Tears well up in your eyes.

“what happened?..where’s your useless wife now!?”

“Dina p-please can you-” you take a moment sniffing and trying to not think of it and the sudden cruelty that must’ve been brewing all of the past months. “and Ellie come pick m-me up?”

She replies instantly “yes of course..hang in there we’ll be there in a second”

“t-thank you dee” wiping the tears off of your cheeks-you hang up before getting up and opening the closet, taking the first thing you see and putting it on all whilst trying to keep your ears on the door—for if Abby shows up, you see the bag tucked neatly under the bed and take it out thanking god she didn’t put everything you've packed back or else you’d have to leave without anything. Tears are still streaming down your face, wetting your white shirt.

Sitting at the edge of the bed you look around—contemplating if this is the right thing to do.

it hurts physically to admit but you’ve always loved Abby and you’ve always imagined growing old next to her. She made you laugh and was the absolute most loving wife..until she cheated. You never asked if her cheating was emotional but based on the kiss that was on her collar you can tell there was more than just that happening. Maybe it’s time she understood the loss of your love and affection, fuck the consequences and to hell with what Jerry would think of you, he might even send someone searching-you’re well aware of what happens to those who choose to stay-it becomes a non-ending cycle.

A few minutes pass by whilst you’re engrossed with your thoughts before the sound of a car pulling into the driveway fills your ears, jumping on your feet in quick movement that nearly knocks you down just as fast as you stood. Praying that it isn’t Abby you clutch the bag in your arms before walking reluctantly towards the only window in the room-which is facing the driveway- just to see Dina followed by Ellie get out of the car with A look of fear blasted all over their faces.

You start knocking on the window frantically, Ellie noticing your face and -the bruise clear as day- her mouth moving in whispers calling out to Dina whose hand was close to knocking the door. You can hear her muffled words in anger “fucking Abigail-” wiping her face in distraught she gives Ellie a look and a nod towards the car, the taller brunette goes to the backseat taking out what seems to be a club hammer and you can already understand what she’ll be doing-taking ten steps back into the bedroom-

Your mind wanders to Abby, she could come back anytime now and it’ll get more severe. The history that went down between Ellie and Abby was bad and lasted until Abby isolated you and made up plans out of her head whenever you’ve voiced that Dina invited you to her house or any of that sorts. She was very adamant on making you exist as hers and have no other friends-unless it’s her-

The sound of glass shattering fills your ears prompting you to curl inwards against the wall—flashes from the other day filling your vision, Ellie helps Dina step in, who sprints towards you and you can’t help but break down in tears when she hugs you tight, rubbing your back.

“What did she fucking do now? Hm?” in a tone of concern, you can sense how hard she’s trying to stay calm with the way she’s rubbing up and down your arms in consolation. Shaking your head “what didn’t she do?” your voice breaking in agony. Ellie notices the bag in your hand-taking it without a word- pursing her lips in anger “that bitch-we need to get you out of here c’mon”

Gnawing at your lips you can’t take the idea of Abby coming after you out of your mind whilst trying not to dissociate. Dina helps you jump out the window and into the open green field-taking full strides- you get in the car hastily—praying that the blonde doesn’t come back now. Shaking you out of your trance is Dina's hand holding yours from the front seat. You look into the rear view mirror where she looks at you in reassurance.

That's how Dina always was with you, the most caring, loving, understanding. Even after telling her about Abby who always had a pristine history-she still wasn't getting it-but was very considerate about how you felt for your wife. When you showed her the engagement ring she and Ellie gave you the talk-if you were hundred percent sure of your choice- she even took a step further and went with you to pick your wedding attire.

The further the car goes the louder your heart beats against your rib cage-sensing yourself hyperventilating-you try to take deep breaths. Seeing your friends mouths move but unable to hear them clearly, you feel the need to claw at your throat. You can make out Ellie mouthing at you to breathe deep, blinking frantically. All you can see is red, vision going foggy before Dina is suddenly beside you in the backseat whispering in your ear “breathe f’ me” looking at her with tears brimming your eyes with her arm looped around you rocking you left and right, she starts taking deep breaths and it isn't that long before you start following her steps, feeling your ears pause the ringing. “ ‘m good now” you nod sniffing.

Ellie looks back “if she ever comes back i’ll kill her”

“Hell i’ll do it first” Dina retorts with her arms still around you, she glances at you before averting her eyes to the moving road outside “we’re with you” she promises.

“Thank you..the both of y’all” you whisper.

looking back at the farm. observing everything that has gone down in your memory, the marriage, the love and all the growth—all of that for nothing?..

Abigail Anderson..oh how soft and warm inside saying her name made you feel, as if every time you said it and mentioned her you fell more and more in love with her. saying it now makes the hole in your heart expand with hatred and dread.

“oh hell no” Ellie spits out when you notice what she’s talking about. Abby's truck is tailing ellie’s at a dangerous speed. you try to duck down the seat—you can feel your knees weaken. Looking into Dina's eyes “She’s gonna kill me” comes out in a choked whisper.

“Oh i’d love to see her try”

“The bitch knows where we live but don’t you worry”

“Dina baby grab the pistol f’ me”

She does as told by her wife, kneeling and taking said pistol out of the compartment under the chair, checking the glove,which seems to be loaded. A look of terror passes your face-yes you’ve thought and tried to kill Abby but now the possibilities are endless and honestly Dina would take one for you and do it with no hesitations-in the end her and Ellie have Joel and he is no easy man for Abby to try and hurt his daughter and daughter-in-law.

Soon enough Ellie is pulling up to their farm, you’ve been here a handful of times before you married Abby and once after you married her and it was hell because you had to beg her for a whole week to let you visit them and promise you’ll never ask anymore-which you never did afterwards. And every time you saw Dina and Abby was with you she'd tell you that you’re leaving-without even letting you say your goodbyes she’d yank your arm straight to the car. Making you very embarrassed and the next day you’ll call Dina to apologize.

Abby parks right behind Ellie in front of the house, before getting out of the car and coming to ellie's side of the car, tapping twice on the window. Ellie sighs—rolling her eyes before complying.

“Anderson” tapping her fingers against the steering wheel

“Cut the bullshit Williams i know damn well she's there with you”

“Uhh no she isn’t??”

“Yes the fuck she is” going as far as trying to open the car door and side track the brunette-Ellie locking it just as quick. “Not very quick Abigail..gotta work on that” she chuckles in your wife’s face whilst you’re trying to stay silent. Dina breathes before preparing and when Abby takes two steps back. Dina taps Ellie's shoulder to open the lock. Getting out of the door she tucks the pistol in her pants. Walking up to the other one in full strides.

She growls “You fucked up Abigail..big time fucker!”

“Oh c’mon she just fell”

“As if I'll believe your lies” she spits

“How many times did I tell you if you hurt her I'll kill you? Hm??”

The blonde folds her arms in defiance “she’s my fucking wife! I’ll do whatever the fuck i please to her”

Getting fed up you open the door punching your wife in the face as hard as you could, wincing when it hurts your knuckles instead, Ellie gets out of the car after killing the engine.

“You need to leave Anderson, you’re not welcome around here”

“Not without what belongs to me” she glances at you

Dina holds your face in her hand “look at what you did! Is this the way we treat what belongs to us??”

“She’s not going with you”

“Just leave Abby” tears stream down your cheeks “you disgust me”

“And i’ll send you the papers in the mail..make sure to sign them”

“Oh she will” Dina looks at Abby with her nose high.

“Are you out of your mind?” You can see a vein pop in Abby's forehead.

“I’ll always love what we had..but you broke it apart with your own paws”

Abby tries to walk your way—getting stopped when Ellie puts her gun cladded hand on Abby's stomach. “I think you heard her” raising an eyebrow at her “my dad will never allow you to tarnish our marriage” she spits in your friends faces “that’s questionable..oh my! we can go dad for dad how about that Anderson??” she says sarcastically

“Goodbye Abigail” you say in finality. Dina puts her arm around your shoulder-walking you inside their humble farmhouse, Ellie follows after shoving Abigail out the way.

a few weeks passed after what had gone down at your friend's farm—you’re still staying with them. You’ve promised to find a place as quick as you could but got brushed off by Dina saying that it’s best if you continue to stay with them.

You never know when Abigail—whom still didn’t sign the papers..will find a way to nudge herself back into your life. The bruises she gave you look dark and purple-ish as of now, you knew it’ll take some time to heal but also it’s a matter of time until someone sees it and then everyone living within a five-mile radius will know about what your wife has done to you.

“There’s a gathering in the bar today to celebrate miss moo’s 85th birthday” Dina says, shaking you out of the trance you’ve been in “i think you should come with us”

looking down at your hands. “I don't know dee..”

“it’s alright, take your time, but it’ll be a nice change hm? you haven’t been out since that day”

you nod at her from your place at the dining table. looking down at yourself you can see how unkempt you look, maybe it is a good change..hoping nothing bad would happen you make up your mind. Going ahead and taking a cold shower, you wear your usual attire with a button up shirt and a pair of jeans alongside your working boots. making sure to not forget your hat.

maybe it’ll steer their eyes away from the bruises.

-

the ride to the bar was an easy quick one, the bar is well known and everyone around the block frequents it—if there’s any gatherings it’s always done in this bar, owned by Tommy Miller and his wife maria. Even before you’ve grown into who you are now, you used to spend time with Ellie and Dina in this bar watching movies and eating popcorn for free until it was too late to go home—sometimes waking up with Tommy standing with his arms crossed looking down at your guilty—and very hungover faces.

Ellie parks her truck in front of the yellow lit bar which seems to be buzzing with people inside and out—you breathe in..and out holding on for dear life, before heading in with your head low.

The country music was bellowing all across the bar, with Tommy and Joel tending to everyone else you can make out Maria chatting with one of the regular’s to your right.

Ellie chimes “i gotta catch up with the big boss..just a sec’ ” prompting you and Dina to nod before taking your usual table—which all of you agreed upon as teenagers and now has your initials carved into the table top.

“It’ll be real nasty if she showed up here” you mutter

She chuckles before responding “Well it’ll be out of character if she didn’t”

“She’s obsessed” Ellie puts the three beers down before sliding into the chair next to Dina putting her arm on the back of Dina's and you can’t help but notice—now that’s one thing you won’t be able to experience because of her actions.

From your place at the table you see the door open up and lo and behold, none other than Abigail Anderson walks in, all polished up like a mare of a distinctive breed with her hair put in a neat braid—shame she couldn’t be as loyal as horses were. Waltzing in like she owned the place before.. “what the actual fu-” Dina spits out, of course this is the “lady” and it’s Sara.

Everyone around the bar is looking at Abby and her new plaything, some with disgust, some in amusement. Your mind can’t help but wander to her dad and you know too well that he cares too much for his legacy and reputation to allow his daughter to marry a fickle girl like the one that has her hand in your soon-to-be ex-wife’s hand. He tried to come see you but was faced with a very pissed Dina and Joel.

You can see Joel go up to Abby and treat her like any other customer, you also can see Abby smirk at him before telling him what she and her plaything wants which he responds to by pursing his lips into a thin line. When Sara seems to be searching for someone and her eyes fall right on you, prompting you to lift your hat for her to see your face clear as day— a look of fear that gets just as quickly concealed by smugness passes through her face.

Dina tries to jump up before you stop her in her tracks, you shake your head in defiance making her reddened angry face soften and her shoulder’s relax a bit before she mutters “i’m so sorry” you hold her hand in yours “you don’t need to dee” a sad smile graces your face.

“It’s only a matter of time..i feel it in my bones”

Ellie chuckles “amen to that huh?” before taking a few gulps of her beer followed by you doing the same—with a very well concealed heartache bellowing between your rib cage.

© 2024 acidblum

[tinydefector]

Was wondering if you could do some earth spark Megatron x reader, there isn't alot of them and I'd love to see what you could come up with.

The Malto's Neighbour

Megatron x human

Warning: none.

Wordcount: 1.6k

Megatron masterlist

Really hope you guys like this, and woo first piece for earthspark since I've started watching the series. Hope you guys enjoy the chaos which is to come.

________________________

The Malto's property is a busy one, Twitch yelling at the others as they practise. "Keep up slow poke Twitch's madly zips between the hay bales strewn across the yard, chassis buzzing with energy. "Gotta be faster than that, Jawbreaker!" She shouted gleefully, panels flared and fans roaring. 

Hashtag revved her engine competitively, darting around the yard in tight circles as she sought an opening to knock Thrust off his pedes laughter echoing from all of them. Nearby, Nightshade sculpted away as they planned out new projects. 

Dot smiles as she watches her kids run around the yard, and back and forth from the barn. "Play nice you lot!" She calls out while finishing her coffee. The sound of  propellers alerts her to Megatron's arrival. She looks out the other side of the widow with a smile as Megatron touches down. "Megs wasn't expecting to see you today" she calls out while walking out to meet him.

His optics scans the surrounding farmland, ensuring all remains secure within guarded borders, before his powerful lip components peel back in a fierce yet weary grin. "And risk missing the sparklings?" he retorts, striding over rust coloured soil towards the porch Dorothy stood on. 

His field pulses warmth upon seeing his friend, soaking in her calming company. “It is good to see you Dorothy” A gruff hum rumbles his massive frame, relaxing further.

"so optimus, has you playing babysitter today?" She asked with a smirk, trying to ruffle his plating. A scoffing snort bellows from Megatron's vents at the insinuation of playing nursemaid.

Twitch's laughter makes Megatron look up to watch as she flies around with Mo before their eyes and optics land on the ex-warlord. "Hi Mr Megatron!" A collection of voices call out, Dot laughs at her kids. "Believe it or not they seem to enjoy having you around, think they like you better than OP '' she states smugly. A rare soft chuckle rumbles from Megatron's frame. "Well if the Prime cannot appease youthful tastes, it seems his title means less than once assumed," he replies loftily, it earns him a small slap to his plating from Dorothy. 

Beside him, her own amusement rings sweet as Terran continues with their Shenanigans. Megatron's optics glint fondly. He didn't know how to voice his appreciation to the soldier turned ranger, she trusted him so willingly with her family and he would forever be thankful for that.  

Dot walks towards her work vehicle. "You gonna be alright dealing with all of them by yourself?. Alex shouldn't be far away" she replies while getting into the driver's seat and ready to head off to work. 

"Twitch Not fair only you and Nightshade can fly!" Hashtag calls out.

 

"Too bad bozo should have picked a better alt mode instead of a Ghost Van '' Twitch calls back as she takes off with their basketball before throwing in through the hoop.

This handful of newsparks posed no threat whatsoever, and he'd make sure they were protected while she was away.

"Worry not, I shall keep them entertained and out of trouble until your return" he rumbles, His massive frame shifts casually aside as Dot's vehicle rumbles past, optics following until taillights fade into rural tree line. Massive peds crunch soil as Megatron straightens, surveying once more. 

It's only once the kids mother has left do they go about doing their own things. 

Nightshade and Hashtag with little projects together. “Can you give me a tutorial on renovating?” Nightshade ask Hashtag as the two work away 

Jawbreaker finds himself sitting beside Megatron with Mo sitting in his lap. “But I never thought you had a grounded alt” Jawbreaker states while watching the ex Decepticon. “Much has changed since my time on cybertron and even while here on earth.” He starts. “I was once a miner, my Alt was that of a Mining Drill, it's only as of recently I've taken an alt mode of a flying type” he replies, a sad smile on his lips as he remembers. He's broken out of his memory when Twitch flies back in a panic. 

"There is someone on the property!, they didn't see me but i didn't stick around to get seen" She states and it makes all the young ones tense up. 

"You don't think it's GHOST again?" 

"It could be the neighbour!" Robbie states trying to calm everyone.

"Show me," he rumbles curtly to Twitch, striding toward the perimeter of the woodlands. His engine rumbles a warning growl. "Remain here. Stay out of sight, Little bird stay in drone mode in case it is GHOST."  The young terrans all retreat back into the barn watching. The wind whispers against his armour as he and Twitch move through the woods, Twitch stays close to Megatron's side hovering as they slowly scan the area. 

A loud whistle leaves a human as they move throughout the woodlands. "Bluey!" They call out while looking through the woods. "Blue! Come on!" They call before their eyes catch movements, they huff to themself moving closer hoping to find their dog. 

As they turn down another track they freeze when Scarlet optics linger on them, their body goes into fight or flight mode but instead of either they sand frozen to the spot hoping they hadn't been seen. Megatron freezes as well, optics narrowing to analyse the stranger before him. No weapon was drawn, but their presence alone was alarming. A low menacing growl rumbles leaves his intake, Twitch hovers over his shoulder plate quick to hide behind his back as she transformers, ember optics watching the human from behind Megatron as she clings to the large Mech. 

"Explain your business here, human," he demands. "You trespass" Twitch's faint glow flickers beside him, awaiting the answer that could mean swift action, depending on what the human said would decide how quickly she would fly back to the barn.

They fall to the ground moving backwards quickly. "BLUE!!" They shout loudly. The sound of heavy footsteps crunching against branches, leaf litter and rocks follow before a large cybernetic Dog stands in front of the human growling at Megatron. Its ears are pinned back as it barks loudly at the large Mech, guarding their human. 

Twitch's optics widen in shock. “No way you have a Robodog!” she squeals out in delight only for Megatron to make sure she stays behind him. 

 Megatron's optics narrow as he watches the Metal dog and vice versa. Bright blue optics watch his every move, the creature looked like a merge of cybertronian tech yet at the same time his scans said it was something different.

"Explain," he rumbles again, optics narrowing upon the trespassers. Loyalty to one's charge he respected, if nothing else. But his main concern was his charges and their safety. More footfall alerts Megatron to one of the children running towards them. Robbie pants as he catches up to Megatron, his eyes going wide when he sees his neighbour. “DON'T BLAST OUT NEIGHBOUR!" He yells loudly.

 

"You know them?" he asked Robbie who nodded. "Yea they leave across the woods, their another one of my Parents friend's!" He states only to flinch as the cyberdog sniffs him. its ears perk up and whines at the young man waiting for a pat. "Robbie?" The other human calls out in shock.

“Um Hey!, sorry about him” Robbie says sheepishly while patting the dog's face. "Um... when did you get a robot dog?" He asked his neighbour, they let out a groan as they continued laying on the ground. Crimson optics scan the pair, A rumbling purr vibrates his massive chassis, posture shifting from confrontational to watchful. "You seem acquainted. Explain yourselves further - why have these 'neighbours' not been introduced before now?" He asked Robbie. 

The young man turns back to Megatron. "Because the terrans are hiding from GHOST, Megatron," He states, but the shock of reality finally kicks in after he says those words. "We are all gonna be in deep shit when mom gets home," he says in a panic. Twitch perks up. "Ohhhhh, Robbie said a bad word! I'm telling mom!!" She shouts while flying out from behind Megatron's shoulder.

"Troubles abound it seems," he finally replies, his tone modulated into something approaching conciliatory. "Explanations are due. But not here, it isn't safe out here." Crimson optics scan the forest shadows. 

That's how they end up sitting in the Kitchen of the Malto's house with both Robbie and Mo, along with the Terrans watching them from windows and Megatron sitting on the ground beside the house watching. They slowly sip on their drink as the kids look at them with worry. "You're not going to tell anyone about the bots right?" Mo asked.

"What!, no, no! That would put Blue in more danger, I'm out here hiding him for the Government" they state. It makes all the terrans relax before questions fly about themself and their cyberdog. 

Megatron scans Blue appraisingly where the cyber-hound lies on the Doorstep near his Pede. He had never seen anything like this creature. He had his run in with turbofoxs and other creatures like on cybertron, but this one almost reminded him of Ravage in how protective they were of their human.

A sigh vents softly from Megatron's frame, he reaches out slowly running a servos over the dog's back which makes the mutt huff, before it rolls over in delight, soft chafing noises leave them. 

It's only when Alex returns that he realises something is up. "Kids... what's going on?" He asked his children. The older of the collect waves. "Um Hey Alex, you might wanna sit down" they call out to him. He nearly drops his shopping bags when he sees the Metallic Dog.

Enjoy the Art of Blue.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Partners in Crime 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, allusions to abuse including body-shaming, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Lee Bodecker

Summary: you’re left reeling after your divorce but the chaos has only begun. (short!reader)

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

“Wakey, wakey,” the voice draws you up from the sludge. You pry your eyelids apart and groan. 

You’re still nestled against Lee but you can see something past him, a fleshy blur. The man at your side squeezes you and rolls onto his back. He sighs and rubs his eyes. 

“You gonna sleep all day or we gonna get down to it?” Lloyd asks. 

You squeak as you spy his bare chest and stomach, blocking out the rest as you cover your face with your hand. Lee snarls and untangles from you as he sits up. “Goddamn, Hansen, put some fucking clothes on.” 

“Don’t be jealous,” Lloyd snickers. “You like the way it hangs?” 

“Piss off,” the slap of flesh makes you flinch and Lloyd yelps. 

“Damn it, that was too close,” he exclaims. 

“Next time I won’t miss,” Lee’s weight leaves the bed. “Cover up.” 

A huff and a rustle follow and you dare to peek out between your fingers. Lee comes back to you, in a tank and boxers, holding a fluffy pink robe open. “Come on, darling. We gotta get the day started.” 

Lloyd’s behind him in a black silk robe, smoothing his mustache with his fingers. He looks agitated with the bristly hairs. You sit up, quaking, unsure what else to do but what you’re told. You got too used to waking up alone and peaceful. Yet, you can’t say what’s worse, them or your ex. 

“We’ll get ya washed up and dressed, then we’ll sit down and eat,” Lee slings his arm across your shoulders. He seems even bigger than the day before. They both do. “How’s that sound?” 

“Good,” you eke out. What you know is that obedience is safe. Any sign of resistance only got you worse. 

He keeps you wrapped up and Lloyd grumbles as he leads you past, “we really gonna drag this out?” 

“We have a plan,” Lee insists. “You agreed. We wanna take care of her. Give her what she never had. Stop being a jerk.” 

“I’m not. I'm just saying. Rip the bandaid off,” Lloyd turns and follows. 

You look over your shoulder as he crosses his arms, his blue eyes sharp as he squints back at you. Of the two, he makes you more nervous. You know better than to trust in self-control, but Lee it a bit less scary. 

You turn your head straight and take in the hallway. The house is nice. The walls are half-panel, half floral. An old-fashioned sort of domesticity. The white trim is clean and elegant and the runner rug is delicate patterned in a complementary pattern. 

Lee turns you through a door with a crystal knob. You fold your hands together as he ushers you into the bathroom. The porcelain shine and the counter is the same ivory as the trim in the hallway.

There’s an oval mirror over the sink basin, a shelf of neatly folded towels in various sizes mounted on the wall. The bath mat is a blue rose, the walls a lighter shade of the same, and a clawfoot tub stands near the far wall.  

You take it all in. In any other circumstance, you would be in awe. You can only curl into yourself as you try to disappear. This can’t be real. These men can’t be either. 

“You go on, get yourself in,” Lee detaches and steps forward to twist on the faucet. He bends with a grunt to put the stopper in place. “Got everything you need. Soaps, salts, bombs.” 

Your eyes scan the shelf along the tub and all the colourful bottles, jars, and trays. You slowly come forward and peer down into the lapping water. Lee backs up as you sense Lloyd lingering behind. 

“Want me keep an eye on her?” Lloyd slithers. “Don’t want her to fall in.” 

“Go get her something to wear,” Lee commands. 

“No, you,” the other argues. 

“Don’t be ornery,” Lee rebukes. 

“No. You.” Lloyd repeats more tersely than before. 

There’s a sigh, “we’ll both go.” Lee insists. 

You stay as you are. You wait until the door shuts before you move. You look down at the silk night gown and the cool air sets prickles across your skin. There’s a click behind you. They’ve locked you in. As nice as they are trying to be, they don’t trust. You’re still their prisoner. 

You brace your head as you quiver. How could this happen to you? Why? How did they know who you are? How to find you? You don’t quite believe everything they’ve told you. They seem to know more about you than they should. 

Maybe it’s your ex-husband. He can’t torture you so he sent these two to do so. How cruel can he be? 

When the door opens again, you flinch. You rub your arms and shiver.

“Now, don’t let the thing overflow,” Lee chides. “Get in, honey.” 

Lloyd hums in agreement. You glance back at them. You want them to leave but you don’t think they will. You face the tub again and shudder. 

You close your eyes. You're back in the bedroom you once shared with your husband. Alone. You’re in a towel, sifting through your closet, looking for something to wear to his work thing. You unwrap the cotton from around you and hear a scoff. 

“Sixteen,” your husband’s voice crawls across the room as he appears in the doorway. “Sixteen dimples in your ass. Last time I counted, was only twelve.” 

Your eyes snap open as the balmy air roils over the tub. Your nose tingle hotly. The two strange men are going to see all your dimples and marks and scars. You know they did last night but you were too terrified to think about it. And this is different. It’s so bright in here. 

You scrunch the satin in your fists and lift it slowly. You sniffle as you unveil yourself to the room. To them. You tense and swoop the fabric over your head and drop it. You shake as you step forward and angle your leg over the edge of the tub. 

You try to ignore your audience and the gristly noises wafting from them. Are they disgusted by you? Disappointed? You turn and lower yourself into the hot water. Their silhouettes loom beside you. 

“Ain’t that nice?” Lee asks. “You just relax.” 

“Hard to relax fully-cocked,” Lloyd snickers. 

“Shut up,” Lee snaps and slaps his arm. “Get outta here.” 

“Stop telling me what to do.” 

“We’re both gonna leave her be,” Lee insists. You stare at the tiled wall, humiliated. The way they talk about you like you’re not there, like you’re a thing. “Let her get situated then we can get her settled in.” 

“You’re a fucking softie, Bodecker,” Lloyd sneers. 

“And you’re a pain in my ass,” he shoves the man back, “stop cussin' and come on.” 

[ofmdrecaps]

11/09-10/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; More Starfury Republic of Pirates Pictures!; Samba Schutte; Vico Ortiz; Kristian Nairn; Samson Kayo; Guz Khan; Damien Gerard; Dominic Burgess; Articles; LettersToSeaForSeason3; Love Notes;

= David Jenkins =

Chaos dad has broken his silence of several days with a very important question (about his pups).

Source: David's Bsky

He also shared this awesome work by @tabbystardust, which is still one of my faves.

Source: David Jenkins Instagram / Tabby Stardust

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys was interviewed on Flightless Bird with Rhys' old buddy David Ferrier! You can check out the Spotify Episode here!

Source: Rhys' Bsky

Another excerpt from Rhys' 25 year show on his instagram!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rhys Darby (@rhysiedarby)

Source: Rhys' Instagram

= Darby Daily Doodle =

Source: Rhys Darby's Free Substack

Source: Rhys Darby's Free Substack

He was also on Craigio On the Radio!

Source: Craigio On The Radio

== More Starfury Pictures! ==

Starfury Conventions posted some more picture from the convention!

Source: Starfury Twitter

= Samba Schutte =

Samba's posting more selfies of his latest work.

Some of the shows that Samba's been doing voice work for have been getting some acknowledgement over at The Velma Awards! First up was Monster High which received the "Best Guest Star Extravaganza".

Jurassic World: Chaos Theory won "Best Queer Relationship That's Just a Plain Ol' Relationship" in the Velma Awards!

And BAFTA Nominations are up! Call of Duty: Black Ops 6 has been nominated for three BAFTAs! Congrats Samba and Damien!

Best Game

Multiplayer

Audio Achievement

Animation

Source: Samba's Instagram

= Kristian Nairn =

Apple Music has been recommending Kristian's new track!

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram Stories

= Vico Ortiz =

I'm running a bit late so the Tales of the Trancestors just happened in this weekend! Check out some BTS for it!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by CHLOE BALDWIN (@chloeglowyflowy)

Source: ChloeGlowyFlowy Instagram

= Samson Kayo =

Samson is out in Abu Dhabi for the F1 Filming.

Source: Samson's Instagram Stories

= Guz Khan =

Guz finished filming the last season of Man Like Mobeen recently, and he spent a few minutes reflecting on watching the last episode <3

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Guz Khan (@guzkhanofficial)

Source: Guz's Instagram

= Damien Gerard =

One of Damien's recent works "Blame!", a short film by Suzanne Roche is an official selection for the 2024 Hollywood Best Indie Film Awards!

Source: Damien's Instagram Stories

= Dominic Burgess =

Have a lot of extra cash and want to dine with Dominic and help out a Charity at the same time? Well good news! You can! You can bid on a chance to dine with Dominic at this Charity Auction!

Source: Dominic's Bsky

== Articles ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew have been keeping us posted with lots of articles about OFMD. It's nice to see the show being featured in so much media even a year later after S2 ended!

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Bsky

== LettersToSeaForSeason3 ==

More helpful information about the LettersToSeaForSeason3 to netflix! Mailing window cheatsheet:

US: 12/31/24 - 01/07/25

Europe: 12/26/24 - 01/02/25

Other International Locations: 12/22/24 - 12/29/24

Source: Aproperpirate's Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Never Left Podcast =

Source: NeverLeft Podcast Spotify

= OFMD Colouring Pages/Wrapping Paper! =

Our fabulous crewmate @patchworkpiratebear is back! They've made wrapping paper for the holidays! Check out these adorable patterns! If you want some high res versions to download you can do on on the Repo.

Source: PatchworkPirateBears Bsky

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies. I have been having a bit of week so I'll be brief so I can make sure to get this out tonight. We are coming to the end of the year, and I hope very much that you are being kind to yourself. Please oh please give yourself a hug tonight, drink some water, or some tea, and have one of your favorite treats. The new week is starting soon and you'll need your strength. Be good to yourselves <3 Sending hugs your way.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Dominee Calderon (@selfloverainbow)

Source: Self Love Rainbow

[ken-dom]

Did You Get It?

Holland March x gn!reader

Summary: You and Holland find yourselves home at the same time for a brief moment during the day. Despite a fresh injury, and Healy waiting outside, you can’t keep your hands off one another.

Author’s notes: this one is for @hollandstrophyhusband who inspired this naughty little story with the spark of a brilliant idea that quickly spiralled!

Warnings/content: nsfw, hand job, subby Holland, praise, cum play kinda?, suit kink, kind of public since Healy can probably hear if he listens hard enough, injury mention, light angst, mention of edging, smoking, biting

You watched from your relaxed position on the sofa as Holland burst through the front door and leapt into the kitchen, ransacking the cupboards one by one. He left every cabinet door open after he’d rifled through the contents behind them, tupperware and pans falling everywhere in a cacophony only he could create, urgently moving to the next and the next until he reached the kitchen drawers and began his assault on them, too.

‘Need some help, handsome?’ you called, calmly stepping over to the chaos.

Startled, Holland shot up from his hunched position over the cutlery drawer, bashed his head directly into the open cabinet door above, and, dizzy, spun haphazardly around to bump directly into you.

‘It’s just me!’ you said softly, holding your hands up, and he dropped back against the counter.

‘Oh, Holland… let me take a look at that,’ you soothed, reaching up to thread your fingers into his tousled hair and feel for a bump.

‘I’m looking for the- for the- I forgot… fuck, do you think it was the bang on the head? Do you think it knocked out my goddamn memory?��

‘Well, let’s see. Do you know who I am?’

‘Yeah, a hot piece of ass, that’s who you are,’ he smirked, trying to dodge your caring hands to kiss you on the lips, missing spectacularly and scowling like a sulking child.

‘I’m sure whatever you were looking for, it’ll come back to you.’ you chuckled, ignoring his advances and moving his face around to check his pupils were dilating in the light.

Holland rubbed at the sore patch on his head again and for a moment you worried he would think back to the bump on his head that lost him his sense of smell. Thinking about that too much usually ended in him getting horribly drunk for days on end and sobbing into your shoulder every night until he worked through it.

Time to distract him.

‘You’re so sexy in this suit, Holland. Blue is definitely your colour.’

It might have been a distraction technique, but it was also a complete truth. You could never resist him in this outfit. And he knew that.

You moved back, caressing his cheek with one lingering palm and trying to keep your thoughts on track as you wondered whether he would still be wearing this when you saw him tonight. You hoped so.

‘You seem good, I think you were just shocked.’

Holland took a deep breath to steady himself, but he recovered quickly, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes. ‘Didn’t expect you to be home.’

‘Took a late lunch and decided to come make something nice. You want some?’ you offered with a vague gesture to the sofa where you’d left your plateful on the coffee table.

‘I want some of this,’ he drawled, grabbing a handful of your ass to pull your body flush to his.

You gasped, falling against him and finding that his cock was already straining against your belly in those tight pants of his.

‘Naughty,’ you smirked. Leaning up to kiss him, but you heard a cough outside and paused. ‘Is that Healy?’ you sighed, dropping back disappointedly.

‘Yeah, he’s waiting outside,’ Holland shrugged, and leant back in to you as though it made no difference to him that his partner was feet away, probably counting down the minutes right outside.

‘Oh Holl- we can’t- not with him- Holland surely you’re not going to-’ each protest amounted to nothing as Holland stooped to kiss and suck sloppily at your neck.

Now who was getting distracted.

‘Alright hold up, horndog,’ you finally got out, sliding both hands down Holland’s chest to push him back against the counter. ‘Think with your brain and not with your dick for one second, baby, ok? Healy’s a detective. And your partner. He’s gonna come bounding in here with his gun when he gets suspicious about how long you’re taking, and he’s gonna see… well, whatever it is you’re wanting to do with me.’

Holland whined in disappointment, knowing you were right. But god, he wanted you. Needed you.

‘But…’ you whispered, pressing yourself to him and snaking your arms around his lithe waist, ‘I can give you a little something to keep you going… until later?’

Holland’s eyes lit up and he straightened, readying himself for whatever you had in mind. ‘Y-yes… please-’

‘We have to be quick, alright? No holding off.’

Holland nodded, biting his lips together in anticipation, eyes wide with wonder at your genius.

You wrapped your fingers around his tie and yanked him down, kissing with madly crushing lips as your hand slid down the brown silk and found the waistband of his pants instead.

Popping his fly open with ease, you swiftly pushed his shirt away and slid your palm inside his underwear, dragging up his thick length painfully slowly.

Holland shuddered, rolling his hips as you began to pump with a loose fist, watching with delight as he gradually lost composure.

‘Jesus- fuck-’ he muttered breathily, head dropping into the crook of your neck. ‘Mmh, f-fuck-’

‘Listen, Holland, baby, when you get home tonight, I’m gonna make your favourite dinner, take you to bed and fuck you senseless. Does that sound alright?’

He nodded against you, whimpering, feeling tears threatening his eyes. He’d found he cried during or after an orgasm quite regularly these days, but it felt pretty good and you didn’t seem to mind, so he didn’t fight it anymore.

His throbbing cock twitched in your tightening grip as your thumb swiped copious amounts of precum from the tip and the first tear slid down his cheek, wetting your shoulder.

His legs shook as he rocked into your fist and you knew he was trying to draw out his pleasure, not wanting to end this feeling of safety and warmth and bliss that overpowered everything else. Overpowered his pain. And usually you’d let him. You could edge him for hours until he was a whiny, begging mess, and he was just as beautiful each time.

You wished you could do that for him now, but the sound of Healy’s feet shuffling on the gravel outside came as a sharp reminder, and you sped up the twisting of your wrist, the snapping of his hips unconsciously matching your pace.

His knuckles had turned white where he gripped the counter behind him for balance, but they flew to your shoulders now instead, and you could feel his desperation through his fingertips.

‘You’re gonna have to stay quiet when you cum, ok, baby? Or Healy’ll hear you.’

He nodded, whining desperately and trembling, knowing how loud he could be but not feeling in control enough to modify his volume. He was putty in your hands and if you couldn’t keep him quiet then he’d simply have to suffer the consequences.

He tried, though. He really did. His head flung back, his eyes shut tight and he bit down on his bottom lip so hard you thought he might draw blood.

Then his jaw dropped and a strangled moan slipped out that he just couldn’t stop. You quickly slapped your free hand over his mouth, muffling the end of his high pitched cry.

He hummed against your palm, moaning a little more freely now his sounds were muted.

The vibrations of his low tone and the warmth of his wet lips against your palm made your core clench.

‘That’s it, baby,’ you cooed, working him just the way you knew he liked, alternating between soft and slow then fast and rough — chaotic, just like him— until he was ready to explode. ‘Let go for me…’

He bit down on your fingers then, his steadily rolling hips stuttering as his cock twitched through rope after rope of creamy seed pumping from the tip, spilling into his underwear and over your hand.

He fell back, limp and panting while you grabbed the nearest tea towel to wipe your hand clean, returning to lean up and kiss him tenderly on the lips.

‘Will that keep you going, baby?’

He whimpered an incoherent response, nodding slowly.

‘You were so good for me… just you wait until tonight,’ you smiled, smoothing his hair back. ‘Here, let me help fix you up.’

Holland focussed on catching his breath as you tucked in his shirt — and his cock — and carefully pulled up the zipper on his fly. You could feel his eyes burning into you as you neatened him up, and the heat seemed to pool in your stomach. If only you had a little more time right now.

While you were fastening the clip on his waistband, you looked up to see Holland had surreptitiously lit himself a cigarette and was blowing out a long stream of thick smoke on a relaxed exhale.

He held his cigarette out to you when you looked up, and you shook your head.

‘You enjoy it, baby, you deserve it. Now, go back to Healy before he gets antsy.’

Holland groaned, pawing at you. ‘But Healy doesn’t make me feel the way you do…’

‘Tonight, Holland,’ you promised again, ‘Go!’

‘Alright, alright. Hey, how do I look?’ He spun around as he walked away and you stole a glimpse of his perfect ass in those tight pants.

‘Completely fucked out, but somehow tidier than when you arrived.’

He smirked and nodded, swaggering out of the door with an obnoxious amount of confidence.

****

‘Did you get it?’ Healy’s gruff voice echoed down the drive.

Holland froze, staring at Healy like a rabbit in the headlights.

‘Jesus, March, did you get it?’ he repeated, perturbed.

‘Uhm,’ Holland shifted uncomfortably, feeling his own seed, fresh and slick, coating his cock inside his underwear. He hoped you’d give him a chance to shower before you undressed him tonight. ‘Y-yeah I-’

‘Forgot what you went in for, didn’t you?’

Holland let out a dramatic sigh of relief, running his fingers through his hair and turning on the spot with a gentle, ‘Ha!’

‘What, don’t tell me you got drunk in the-’ Healy checked his watch, ‘fifteen minutes you were in there?’

‘No, no- I-’

‘Forget it. Come on,’ he gestured for Holland to follow him to the car, and like an obedient puppy, he did, while Healy considered him. ‘Why are you walking like you just dismounted a horse? What the fuck were you doing in there?’

‘Nothing, I was just… y’know, looking for the… thing-’

Just before Healy had a chance to unlock his car, you thrust open the front door, waving a piece of paper containing the information you assumed Holland must have been looking for. It had been right on top of the fruit bowl all along. ‘Hey, baby, I found it!’

Holland’s eyes turned wide and Healy’s eyebrows pulled into grim suspicion as he glanced from Holland to you, and back to Holland again.

‘You’re disgusting, you know that?’

‘What?’ Holland shrugged, like it was nothing.

‘I was right outside! Can’t keep it in your goddamn pants for a minute, can you, March? Jesus. Go get the goddamn paper. And no hanky panky, come straight back this time! Jesus Christ!’

Holland jogged over to you, wincing at the slick dripping onto his thigh now, and placing a tender, lingering kiss on your cheek as he slid the paper out from between your fingers. ‘Thank you, baby,’ he whispered with a wink, ‘for everything.’

‘See you tonight, handsome,’ you winked back, watching him jog back down the drive to Healy who was already firing up the engine. ‘And you can keep that suit on.’

[hellfiremunsonn]

Desperate. Joseph Quinn x Reader

Desperate.

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

Summary: Attending the premier of Josephs new film Hoard, you get a little needy seeing him in his element, so you take matters into your own hands... literally.

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

Warnings: fem!reader, reader has a vagina, established relationship, Josephs a bit dom, praise, pet names (baby, babe, dove, little thing) swearing, dirty talk I guess? suggestive. (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

AN: apparently I'm still capable of writing! Who knew! Hope you guys like it. NOT PROOF READ

Wordcount: 1k

You were antsy, but you always were when you attended these premier with Joe. No matter how big or small, your nerves were always amped up to 100 and although Joe claimed to be as nervous as you, you could never tell with how perfectly he handled it all. 

Smiles and laughs, cracking jokes, the man could have everyone swooning over him in the matter of seconds. It came so effortlessly to him, and it was an honour to watch. 

Your hand clung tightly to the back of his black button up, posing for pictures with him, smiling towards the many shouting photographers with their flashing cameras. Josephs hand firm on your hip, a grounding sentiment to help with the nerves. 

When you stepped away so Joseph and his costars could get photographed together you felt your heart squeeze watching them all together. You also wanted to bite Joseph for how goddamn good he looked. With that stupid watch you helped pick out, snug on his wrist. You didn't know why it was such a turn on, but it was, and later when he was taking pictures with Laura Lightfoot Leon, while wearing that cream coloured jumper, with his curly hair and goofy smile, you thought you might explode if you didn't have him soon. 

Joseph can tell something is up, he's watching you shift your weight from foot to foot, legs crossing over each other but he can't decipher what's got you so fidgety. When he finishes taking pictures he saunters back over to you, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head, a lazy smile on his face and you had to fight the urge moan at the sight of him. Hands going straight for your waist, you step up only slightly to wrap your arms around his neck, letting him pull you closer. 

"Sun getting to you?" He asks, one hand coming up to your cheek, thumb resting on the apple of it, feeling its warmth under it. 

You shake your head. "No, why?" You ask tilting your head. 

"You look a little flushed, maybe we should get you inside" he smiles, one arm still wrapped around your waist. Your cheeks burn hotter, was it obvious to anyone else how badly you craved him?

Making your way into the air conditioned venue he walked you down a long hallway away from so many people, with the nod of a security guard who allowed you both to pass. "There's a green room over here, we can have a moment to ourselves for a bit, without all the chaos" 

Although the sentiment was nice, and you loved that he wanted to have a soft moment with you but you couldn't wait any longer. Rounding the corner you tugged on his hand pulling him a little harshly until you were both out of view from any potential onlookers. Your hands are trembling when they reach his belt, trying to get it off quickly. "Babe, baby, woah-" he sounds like he's going to stop you but his hands don't move from where they rest on either side of your ribcage. 

You're about to complain about the belt buckle when it slips free, and you rush to pop the button and pull the zipper down just enough to slide your hand past the two layers separating you from his cock. He groans softly when your hand brushes against his already hardening length, the soft tuff of his pubes tickling your skin as you begin to palm him. 

"I'm so horny Joey" you babble, leaning your head forward so it rests against his chest, watching your hand disappear into his pants. "Need you" you mumble, looking back up at him with desperate eyes. "Need you so bad"

"Fuck" he says through gritted teeth, pulling your face towards him with a firm hand on the back of your neck so he can kiss you. It's messy and clumsy, and you can't control the needy moan that slips from you when you feel his tongue touch yours. You grip him a little harder in your hand, feeling him stiffen more with each desperate stroke. 

"Baby I can't fuck you in a- fuuuuck" his words are cut off by another firm squeeze. "I can't fuck you in a hallway" he says a bit quieter glancing down each end of the hall.

"Then don't fuck me" you say, removing your hand from him, only to reach up under the skirt of your dress to pull off your soaked panties, shoving them into the front pocket of his pants. "Just touch me, please, anything" you beg bringing his hand between your legs, your intertwined fingers dancing along your slick folds together. 

"Holy shit" he mumbles in disbelief. Your knees start to buckle the second he makes contact with your clit, your hand falling away to hold onto his bicep to keep yourself up. "Baby" he coos, rubbing you slowly, your slick covering his fingers. He removes his hand from you slowly and you whine, instantly reaching down to redirect his hand but he stops you. 

"Gimme a second my love, I've got something better, come here" he pulls you closer, wet fingers digging into the plush of your thighs where he hitches it up against his hip. He takes both of your hands and pulls them up to his shoulders. "Hold onto me" he instructs before taking his cock in his hand, pushing his pants down just enough to get it out. Swiping it against your entrance you hum, head tilting back exposing your neck to him where he places a few small kisses.

"You're fucking filthy you know that?" he pushes slightly, not enough to slip in but enough to have your mind going fuzzy. "Needy little thing, in the middle of a premier, you're so desperate for cock that you're willing to get caught for it huh?" he teases, but you shake your head no, holding onto his shoulders a little harder when you feel him push just a bit more. 

"No?" He questions. "Oh so you're not desperate for cock?"

"Jus' yours" you mumble. "Only yours" your eyes meet his and Joseph swears he could cum from that look alone. 

His smile is almost sinister when he looks at you but you can still see the love there. "Thats a good fucking answer" he praises while finally pushing himself entirely into you. 

"Oh-Ohmygod" You whimper, shoving your face into his neck, fingers clutching at any piece of him you can touch. He tugs you closer somehow, while his hips pull back every so slightly only to shove himself right back in. His thrusts are slow but deep, making your lower abdomen ache with how full he's making you feel. The one leg that you're balanced on is trembling with how hard you're trying to keep yourself steady, the six inch heels no longer a good idea. "M'gunna have to carry you out of here aren't I?" Joseph laughs, his breath fanning across the side of your temple. 

You try to reply but the words are stuck in your throat, only small 'uh' noises able to escape. "Quite down dove, you wanna cum before we get caught yeah?" 

"Please" You whisper, head tilting back once more, mouth hung open. His pace quickens only a little, but he somehow manages to hit that sweet spot even deeper over and over. "Fucking christ" your hand moves to your stomach. "You're so d-deep"

"Just how my baby likes it huh?" his hand reaches down to toy with your clit, not much needed other than some pressure with how good he's fucking you. "I'm so close baby, want you to cum first, can you do that for me?"

Your eyes are shut tight, but you manage to nod. Your climax sparking in your stomach begging to burst. "Close" you whimper and he pulls your head back into his neck while he continues to fuck up into you. Your whole body starts shaking before your orgasm fully hits you, and you have to bite down on the collar of his shirt to help keep you quiet. You sound like your crying, sobbing into him but Joseph knows better than to stop whatever hes doing when he's got you sounding like this. "That's it, fuck baby you're so good to me" he rushes, his own orgasm coming to a hilt fast. "F-fuck, I'm gunna cum"

"Yes, yes, please, I need you to cum in me" you whisper into the dampness of his neck where your mouth has been stationed. 

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck-" He almost growls, holding back as much noise as he can as he feels himself spill into you, the way your cunt clenches around him perfectly, milking every ounce until you're both a panting mess. Only when Joseph is able to come back into himself, he lowers your leg, slipping out of you slowly while you quickly cross your legs tightly. You wobbly, barely able to keep yourself straight. 

"You okay?" he asks, brushing the hair from your face, holding your flushed cheeks in his hands. Only this time he knows why they're flushed.

"So good" you purr, leaning into him for a short moment before he's pulling away from you and buttoning up his pants. 

You pout at the lack of contact but then he's kneeling in front of you while helping you step out of your heels, your feet seeking sweet relief on the cold marble floor. "The night is pretty much over, what do you say we get you back to the hotel and until a bath?"

"I'd like that" you say fondly, wrapping your arms back around his neck. He kisses you softly, and you can feel the love he has for you being poured into it. "Can you fuck me again when we get there?"

"Jesus Christ woman" he laughs loudly, picking up your heels and letting them dangle on his two fingers before taking your hand into his free one. "Maybe if you can make it to the car without my cum dripping down your legs" he says lowly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. 

[hannahssimblr]

After art class on Wednesday morning I purposefully take longer than everybody else does to pack away my pencils and gather up the sheets of paper I was working from, slotting them meticulously inside the hard cover of my sketchbook so that the corners won’t get crushed inside the disorganised chaos of my school bag. Evan waits by the door tentatively waiting for me in case I might want to have lunch with him again, but I wave him away, I’ll talk to him after school, and when he’s gone it’s just me and the teacher, the last ones in the room. 

Miss O’Reilly is busy organising papers on her desk. She is separating the watercolour sheets from the cartridge and stacking them into neat little piles for the paper shelf, and doesn't seem to realise I am there until I address her. 

“Miss?” 

She glances up, “Yes?” 

My fingers fidget with the zipper of my bag, pulling it open then closed again. The sound it makes is probably annoying but I can’t seem to stop myself. “Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course, what is it?” 

I approach her desk with caution as I enter this unfamiliar territory, reaching out to a teacher, risking vulnerability, but Miss O’Reilly doesn’t seem to think it weird that I want to speak with her. She simply leans against the front of her desk with an open expression, smiling warmly at me as if I am not the student who routinely ignores what she is saying in class, talks over her and interrupts her lessons by throwing bits of eraser into Philip Delaney’s mad ginger frizz. 

“I’ve been thinking about college, miss.”

“Well that’s good!”

“Yeah, um, I think I want to… like, do… art?” I exhale in a rush. I don’t fully understand why I am so nervous to speak, especially when, so far, she’s being nice. She doesn’t even look like she’s going to laugh, like she’s thinking about doing it soon, or even like she's holding it in so that she can do it later in the staff room with the other teachers. Still I keep my guard up, waiting for her features to twist into a sneer.

“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” Miss O’Reilly beams, and her eyes flick to that drawing I did of Michelle a couple of months ago and which she pinned up on the wall for everyone to see. She’s using it as an example to other students of the right things to do, the right way to capture a perfect likeness, and I should be flattered, but its presence embarrasses me. It is a symbol of my earnest effort, hard work, in which I am not known for, and I wish she would take it down and hide it. I don’t want others to know that I have tried. 

“Do you?”

“Yes! And I'm glad that you've said that, honestly. You’re one of the students in my classes who shows a lot of promise, and who I think could really do well in art school, and I know it’s not often a popular choice with parents, but I think there’s a lot of value in an art degree if you’re passionate about it,” She moves around to the front of her desk and begins rummaging in a drawer. “Here,” She produces a form and hands it to me, “These are the portfolio requirements for some colleges. It seems like a lot, but normally students take a year to do a portfolio course in a local college before applying to university.”

A year out? To just work on my portfolio? The thought of delaying my exit from Dublin for an extra twelve months makes me queasy, but my eyes flit over the paper in my hands anyway. It’s all about figure studies and expression, colour work, painting, charcoal, pencil…

“I don’t want to go to college in Dublin,” I manage, handing it back to her. “I want to move away. And I want to do my portfolio soon, so that I can do that as soon as I can.”

She eyes me curiously, “Alright… Well, there are heaps of options for international study...”

“Yeah, I think that’s what I want.” 

“Do you study French?” 

“No, German,” German, which I chose in first year because I am lazy and it seemed easy at first. The words were just like eccentric cousins of English ones that could all be squished together into hilariously long streams of letters that my friends and I would laugh about. Schwarzwälderkirschtorte. I’ll never forget that one, nor will I Krankenwagen, Backpfeifengesicht, Schadenfreude. All of us lazy boys who didn’t want to make the effort with French took German, whose words actually sounded the way they were written. I admire directness in people, so I expect it in languages too. French is underhanded, insincere. Why speak one that makes you work so hard? It’s absurd. 

“Well,” Miss O’Reilly goes back to her drawer for more shuffling, “Have you considered studying in Germany? Or the UK? There are lots of great universities abroad.”

“I never thought very far ahead,” I admit, “I just know I don’t want to study here.”

“Okay, well, at least that narrows it down some. Have a look at some of these in your free time,” She slots a small stack of forms into my hand, to which I stare dumbly at. The barrage of information is a visual assault with all of these bullet points and new abbreviated words, application fees this, UCAS that… 

I must look stricken as I feel, because Miss O’Reilly softens, “or you could come back to me when I have a few moments free and we can go through it all together. I know it’s a lot to take in, and usually we don’t go so much into depth with fifth years. This kind of thing is for next year, and usually we try not to overwhelm kids with too many decisions too soon.”

“I know, I just think I’d like a head start. Especially if there’s all these, um, requirements.”

“Well, as I said, a portfolio preparation course at a local college-”

“I don’t want to do that.”

She blinks, “Right.”

“I really just want to go somewhere new, miss. I’m willing to work hard at every chance I get to do it, I’ll make art all summer, I’ll have the best portfolio ever-”

She laughs, “I’m sure you will! I don’t doubt you at all, Jude, you’re a wonderful artist and I’m willing to help you with your work whenever there’s time to.”

“Well I don’t do Irish,” I say, “I’m exempt, so I have a free class every day where I usually just try and do my homework…”

“Well come to my class then, even when I’m teaching other years, you can sit down at the back of my lessons and just do your own thing, get working on those figure studies, the paintings, whatever. As long as you don’t cause trouble…” she eyes me warily, “It’s not a problem.”

“Really?” I don’t mean to sound so overwhelmingly grateful to her, as though I’m on the brink of falling to my knees and worshipping her, but truly, I am in slight disbelief at her offer. Most of my interactions with the teachers in this school have been of them snapping fingers in my face, rolling their eyes, calling me out of class so that they can berate me loudly in the hallway while my gleeful classmates crowd around listening at the glass panel in the doorway. It’s almost hard to believe that I have found one who is intent on being supportive.

“Yeah,” she says, and she’s distracted by the crowd of third years piling into the room behind me. “Come by any time between classes, I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks, miss.”

“No problem at all,” she turns to the hoard, “hello everyone! Art history today!” and they let out a collective groan as I slip out into the hallway. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[kellanved-ammanas]

TF2 Drabbles: The Bombinomicon & Merasmus & Soldier

Summary: Soldier inviting Merasmus to his and Zhanna's wedding? The sheer chaos and violence of how Solly does things in general plus their weird bitter exes-ish dynamic are fun.

~

“What is it?” the Bombinomicon asked for the third time since Merasmus had wondered into the library because he was still staring at the letter with that look on his face that said he was confused and unsure how to feel about it. Meaning it had to be something interesting. “Come on now, it’s unfair of you to bring that in here and not tell me what it is.” The only time the Bombinomicon got out was when Merasmus brought it out or when he cast a levitation spell on it, allowing it to float around for a few hours. So the tease of something interesting was just rude.

Finally though, Merasmus looked up. “It’s a wedding invitation.”

“Ooh!” Interesting indeed. “Whose?” They didn’t have many friends so it had to be a trap, right? More of Merasmus’ bad decisions surrounding borrowing money from certain organized crime syndicates coming back to haunt them. To be fair, the Bombinomicon hadn’t exactly discouraged him as much as it probably should’ve so it was partially to blame as well.

“Soldier’s. He’s marrying Zhanna.”

Oh so maybe not a trap after all, making it more exciting. “Haven’t they only been dating for like a year?”

Merasmus shrugged. “It’s Soldier. That’s probably a long time for him.”

“True, true.” Soldier being Soldier also explained the invitation, he was just weird like that. The Bombinomicon had always liked him. “We’re gonna go, right? I know he’s your ex and all but…”

“He’s not my ex, we never dated.”

“Hmm… whatever you say, ol’ pal.” It had looked an awful lot like dating to the Bombinomicon. Not that it had ever dated anyone or was even wanted to but as a book it knew a lot of stuff, including what dating looked like. Trashy romance was one of the genres it read the most after all, making it basically an expert on the subject. “We’re still gonna go, right?”

Merasmus sighed as he folded up the invitation and tossed it on the table. “I don’t know. What is one even supposed to wear to a wedding?”

“A suit. I think you’d look good in a suit. Put me in a bow tie. I’ve always wanted an excuse to dress up fancy.”

With another sigh, Merasmus walked over to stand in front of the Bombinomicon’s pedestal, looking down at it. “You really think I’d look good in a suit?”

“Yes.” Everyone looked good in a suit. “Or a nice dress if you’d prefer. And I think I’ll look good in a bow tie. And it’s Soldier so you know it’s not gonna be a normal wedding. Who knows what kind of chaos will go down during it? When’s the last time you got out and had some fun? Wait, don’t answer that, ‘cause I know that answer; the only time you go out for fun is around Halloween. Which means the only time I get to go out too is also around Halloween. So let’s go and have some fun at your ex’s wedding. Maybe he’ll even see how good you look in fancy clothes and realize what he missed out on, huh? Or he’ll see how happy you are single and get jealous! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Merasmus didn’t respond, his brow still furrowed in heavy thought. At least he’d finally learned to think things through before jumping into them. It only took a few hundred years.

“And if things are boring, well, we got the tools to make it a real blast instead.” Bombs and explosions of all sorts could liven up any boring event. “So what do you say? Sounds fun, don’t it?”

A resigned sigh gave away Merasmus’ decision before he even spoke. “Fine. If you wanna go so bad, we can. I suppose it can’t hurt to get out more.”

“Yes! Finally some excitement. Make sure to find me a really nice bow tie. Pick whatever colour you think I’d look good in. I wanna look my best for my first ever wedding.”

[braveclementine]

Chapter 14

Warnings: None (anyone can read this story)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. I do not condone any copying of this.

𝓘𝓣 was chaos when we got back to the familiar tower. People were rushing out with a stretcher, wearing bright colours. Pepper was running in heels behind them. They opened the car and I hopped into Bucky's lap so that they could pull him out.

Pepper was shouting orders, though it sounded hysterical. Bucky and Steve got out of the car, hurrying through the side of the building. Bucky kept me pressed close to his chest the entire time, but once we were in the building, he pulled me up closer, pressing loving kisses to my forehead.

"Gosh Blizz, you have no idea how long we've been trying to find you." He murmured in my ear.

"You were?" I mewed quietly. It had felt like years. I could feel the tiredness seeping into my tiny bones already. I needed a nice nap.

Preferably on top of Steve's head.

"Can I hold her?" Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head, holding me tighter, "I need to hold her a little longer."

Steve pouted a little, but gave Bucky what he wished. He looked directly at me, "Bucky cried for hours after they took you. I promised him we'd get you back."

Bucky only held me tighter and I felt large water droplets fall into my fur. I peeked upwards, another teardrop landing on my nose and it trailed down, lost in my fur.

"Sorry Blizz." Bucky said, wiping my fur and pulling me up even closer to his face. "I'll pull myself together, promise."

"You are already together?" I was puzzled, tilting my head a little and batting his nose with my paw.

He looked in one piece anyways. I didn't see any cracks.

The elevator doors finally opened and they strode down the hallway towards the bedroom. Steve opened the door, locking it behind them.

Bucky flopped down on the bed, carefully laying me across his chest. Steve reached over, stroking my fur. They were pressed close together and I got up, carefully laying myself as far as I could across their bodies.

Then I mewed in pain, curling up into a ball. My muscles hurt.

"We should take her down to the lab and get some tests done. See where she is hurt and everything." Steve said with a frown.

"No tests." I mewed, backing up away from Steve, cowering down into the blankets.

"No." Bucky said, picking me up gently in his hands. "Look how terrified she is, even when you mention tests. She knows we won't hurt her and she's still scared. We can't-"

"We need to know the extent of the damage so we can help her heal." Steve interrupted earnestly. "What if something is broken? We have to take X-rays at least so that we can get them to heal properly."

Bucky looked hesitant, stroking me with calm, gentle gestures. He looked down at me. "Not tonight."

"Okay." Steve agreed. "Not tonight."

"Mrs. Stark would like you both to know that Mr. Stark is in recovery now and will make it. He should be awake tomorrow morning." The robot lady I had actually missed said suddenly.

"Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y." Steve said. "Can you ask Bruce to prepare the X-ray machine for tomorrow. We want to make sure Blizzard is okay both internally and externally."

"Yes Captain Rogers." F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

"You want to sleep with us tonight Blizz?" Bucky asked in a cooing voice as Steve slipped out of bed, undressing himself into just the short black pants and the rest of him was bare.

I carefully hopped onto his chest, curling up on him so that Bucky could do the same. Then they both slipped under the covers, putting me up between their heads on the pillow.

I laid in a comfortable position, which had taken some time to get to as everything else hurt. But once I did that, I was able to fall asleep fairly easily.

❆❆❆

𝓘 only woke up once Bucky began to stir in bed. I found that I was more or less in the same position that I had fallen asleep in. I got to my paws gingerly, wincing as my muscles hurt in so many different places.

"Do you think there are any medicines we can give her to help her with the pain?" Bucky frantically asked Steve as he took in my state of being.

Steve's eyes looked equally pained. "I don't know. That's a question for Bruce. I think we go down and see him now. It'd be bad to feed her if there's something that needs to be done on an empty stomach. She ate yesterday so she should be okay. . . I hope."

Bucky picked me up with such gentleness, I wondered if maybe I might've died and gone to Heaven. I didn't even know a human- even one as good and pure as Bucky- could handle something as small and fragile as me with that much gentleness.

It still hurt a little- as he was trying to support all four of my legs and one of them hurt to much when pushed next to the others. But once he got me all settled in his hands, I was able to stretch it out again.

His steps were even gentle, walking in a rocking way so that he didn't jolt me to badly.

The elevator ride was as smooth as ever.

"Tony's awake." Nat said as she passed by us. I guessed then that the lab that Tony and Bruce usually worked at and the place that Tony was recovering must be on the same floor.

"Thank you Nat." Steve said sincerely, glancing down at me in Bucky's hands. Nat barely gave me a second glance, hurrying into the still open elevator, before the doors closed right away behind her.

All of the sudden joy of seeing Steve and Bucky and Tony, all of the joy of being free diminished a little upon seeing the red-head. It made me remember just how I ended up in this position in the first place.

The hurt of seeing these two with a woman that wasn't their soulmate.

But I would try not to think about that anyways. It was to painful and I didn't like pain of any kind.

"Bruce first." Bucky said. "Tony'll have a fit anyways if we went to see him first and didn't take care of her."

Steve nodded and we stepped into the semi-empty lab. Bruce was behind his normal desk, and there were several machines that I recognized already.

"Oh good, you can set her down right here." Bruce said, nodding to an empty spot on the counter in front of the machine that I stood on the first day that I was brought into the Avengers tower.

Bucky carefully set me down and I decided to lay on my side for the time being. Bucky hovered with worry until Steve pulled him away and made him sit down on one of the hard plastic chairs that Tony and Bruce had placed around the room in case someone came in for a chat- which was rare.

"Alright." Bruce said, "Blizz, can you step onto the machine for me? We just want to scan for any broken bones."

I reluctantly got to my paws, trooping into the box. I decided to close my eyes against the fright. I heard the tiny lazers whir, but didn't feel anything once again.

Once the lazers whirring stopped, there was a pause, and then there was a robotic voice that said, "Front left leg fractured. Healing uneven, already in process. Minor strains on the ribs, healing in process, even. Small tear behind right ear, needs approximately two stitches, not healing yet. Bruising up and down the torso and back right leg. Healing."

"Mother fuckers!" Bucky cursed angrily behind me.

"Okay Blizz, you can exit the box now and lay back down." Bruce said quietly, and his footsteps walked away from the box.

I backed out quietly, laying right back down on my right side again. It was easier that way.

"Bucky-"

"Those complete, utter assholes!" Bucky continued to rant. His feet paced circles around his chair, becoming heavier stomps the angrier he became. "I'm going to punch every single one of those bastards faces in- starting with Fury!"

"Bucky." Steve tried again, pushing him back into his seat. "One thing at a time. You can't be running off to SHIELD. You gotta stay here with Blizzard, okay? Besides, it wouldn't do for you to show any violence, you know that. SHIELDs got you on a tight enough watch as it is. I can't lose you."

Bucky softened a little, taking Steve's hand in his. "Alright. I know. Sorry."

"I don't blame you." Steve said softly, kissing the top of Bucky's head. "I'm furious too."

Bruce came back over with a clipboard, some pieces of paper, and a set of tools that looked very pointy and not very friendly at all.

"Okay." Bruce sighed. "Things get a bit difficult from here. The stitches will be no problem. They'll be tiny and she'll be on pain meds and numbing agent anyways. The leg on the other hand is already healing, but it's healing unevenly, which will cripple her in the future. The one and only solution I have right now is to re-break it and then set it straight. That's going to be painful, even on pain meds and numbing agent. I can put her under, but there are always risks with putting animals under, especially ones that are as small as her. If she was a bigger cat, there wouldn't be as many worries."

I looked over at Steve and Bucky. They both looked uncertain.

"There's no other option at all?" Steve asked, pondering Bruce's statement.

"Not with getting it to heal properly." Bruce sighed. "I can leave it be. It'll be shorter than the rest of her legs and most cats can get around pretty well on three legs. Although, it may lead to the option of having to be amputated in the future, which then comes back to the worry of the anesthesia. She's not going to get any bigger than this."

I wasn't entirely sure what amputated was, but it sounded more unpleasant than having my leg rebroken.

"I think you should just break my leg again." I meowed up at him. "I can take it."

I got onto my paws, limping over to where Bruce was standing, his arms crossed over his chest, one thumb to the corner of his mouth. I stuck my broken leg out to him. "Just hurry up. I'm hungry."

"Shit." Bucky said, "I can't watch. Please, I can't watch."

"It's okay." Steve and I said at the same time.

"Here." Steve said, leading Bucky to the door. "Just wait out here. I'll get you again when it's done."

Bucky left the room, water glistening in his eyes. I kept my gaze on Bruce so I didn't start crying myself as Steve came back over.

"Is there anything you need me to do Banner?" Steve asked.

"Just hold her right around the middle so I can give her the pain meds. I'll do the stitches first, give it time to kick in." Bruce said, grabbing two syringes.

I shied away from them, straight into Steve's hands. "It's okay Blizz." Steve whispered softly in my ear and I screwed my eyes shut, my ears and tail twitching as Bruce gently inserted the needle into my side. I mewled, but didn't move.

"I'm sorry Blizzard." Bruce said, "The next one is going to hurt too. Steve, can you support her head. . . right there."

Steve's fingers pressed gently behind my head. Bruce inserted another needle right below my ear. It wasn't as long, but it did hurt more and I mewled in pain again.

"Okay give this four minutes." Bruce murmured. I opened one eye to see a needle and thread in his hands.

"Can't you use staples?" Steve asked, sounding fretful.

"Her head is way to small Steve. It has to be done this way." Bruce sounded sympathetic.

When the procedure was actually done under my ear though, I didn't really feel anything.

Well. . . no. That wasn't it necessarily. It was more that, I didn't feel any pain. It didn't feel comfortable of course. It felt like. . . well it felt like it ought to have hurt, but it didn't really. Like I knew it was painful, but I couldn't actually feel the pain.

Instead, it was this weird, squishy, almost light-headed sort of feeling all around my ear. Like it had become. . . bouncy? It was a very strange concept. I didn't feel as though I could move my ear though, even though my reflection showed that I was, indeed, moving it.

Steve steeled himself once Bruce put down the other implements. Even Bruce seemed nervous himself, taking many deep breaths, before he finally took my paw in between his fingers. He hesitated.

"Shit, I can't do it." He muttered, dropping his hands. "I'm to strong with the Hulk in me. I need someone else to do it."

"Like who? Tony can't do it." Steve said. "Bucky and I can't do it, neither can Nat. I don't know, maybe I could get Clint or-"

"You called?" A new voice asked.

It was a low, pleasant voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. I turned my head to see a strange man wearing dark blue robes with a red cape, come striding out of an orange circle.

"Oh." Steve finished with a mutter. "Or him."

"Yes, I'm sorry." Bruce said and I watched as he put down a phone. "I need you to break the cats leg."

The strange man blinked. "Pardon?"

Bruce re-explained everything and the man sat down in front of me. I noticed he had many scars on his hands and I figured he must be a vet. The scars must be from where several thousands other cats had scratched him.

I lifted my broken leg up again, placing it in his hand. He blinked again, looking between Bruce and Steve.

"She's smart." Was all Steve said.

The man sighed and a very strange orange glow seemed to swirl around my leg. His fingers were gentle, before there was a snap.

I mewled, throwing my head back in pain, my feet shuffling a little, but I tried not to yank my paw out of the man's hand. I knew he had to reset it.

He was very quick in doing whatever else needed to do, finally putting a tiny pink plaster thing around my leg.

I quickly collapsed on my side, panting. Tears were streaming down my fur, matting it.

"I'm sorry Blizzard." Steve whispered, stroking my head. "I'm so sorry."

"You said Fury did this?" The man asked, frowning slightly. His hands hovered, like he wanted to pet me, but didn't dare to in case I reacted badly.

"I don't think he himself did it." Nat said from literally nowhere. Her and Bucky were now standing in the entrance to the room. Bucky wasn't even looking in the room, his gazed fixed to the floor.

"More likely he had some scientists running experiments." Bruce said.

"The idiot." The man scoffed.

I decided I liked the strange man. Besides, he had cool hair. There were gray streaks in it on either side and he was very nice looking. I wondered if he liked cats.

He must if he worked with them every day as a job, right?

"Thank you Stephen." Steve said. "We were trying to figure out who was going to do it that didn't have super strength."

"Wong has me doing stupid things." Stephen said with an eyeroll. "There's been nothing life threatening on our end and one of the interns let the portal to the Pacific Ocean in. Needless to say, it's been a mess cleaning it up. I was glad to get out of the Sanctorum."

He said a few more words between himself and Bruce while Bucky fretted over me like a dotting mother or something. I was honestly surprised he didn't start licking my wounds himself.

Stephen was gone in a whirl of orange.

"Take her back to her room and give her half of one of these every ten hours with both food and water." Bruce said, handing Steve a small orange bottle with a white cap on it. "Half. And don't overload her with food. Whatever she ate yesterday was the first thing she ate in almost six days. I'm not entirely sure why she was starving herself- perhaps because she's smart enough to realize it was her only way out- but either way you need to monitor everything."

"Thank you for everything Bruce." Steve said as Bucky picked me up in his arms. He cradled, me, being careful of my now pink leg.

"It's really no problem Steve." Bruce said, waving it off. He started to clear off his desk of the machine and the other tools that he had used to help me.

Bucky and Steve started to walk out of the room, but I felt I needed to say something else to Bruce for helping me.

"Thank you! Bye!" I said, lifting my good paw and waving it.

Bruce looked up, his serious expression slowly melting into a smile as he waved back slightly, before picking up the machine and carrying it over to an empty shelf.

"Good kitty." Bucky whispered softly in my ear, kissing the top of my head.

I was home

⬅️➡️

[rainintheevening]

Highlights of Anakin and Padmé's wedding

From my Promises of Fools AU. I was dreaming about the wedding today.

-Despite the shadows of his mother's recent death, and the coming war, Anakin is actually incredibly happy. He feels really guilty about that sometimes. He also breaks down at least twice with missing Shmi, and wishing she could be there. But he's glad for a party, he's so glad to celebrate something with so many people who are so important to him. A lot of other people feel the same, like it's a grand joyful event where they can forget about all the darkness, and party for a day.

-Anakin and Padmé have their first real argument over what Anakin should wear at the wedding. Since he's not a Jedi anymore, Padmé wants his to dress fancy, like a proper Naboo groom. He's like, "But I'm not from Naboo. Wearing clothes that fancy would just feel silly and stupid." Anyway, they strike a compromise of Anakin wearing simple clothes of a similar cut to his Jedi robes, but with Naboo colours of blue and green. And some intricate embroidery honouring Shmi.

-Quu-Gon bestows a special gift on Anakin, a remnant of his own wedding. I think it's like a scarf or maybe even a full cloak, that Rae-Lin had woven for him in the time-honoured Stewjon tradition.

-Obi-Wan is Best Man, Sabé is Maid of Honour

-The Larses are reluctant to come, but Anakin arranges for someone to take care of their farm for a week, so they can have a vacation. Cliegg is all gruff and pretends to sniff at the young folks having fun, but he's actually glad to know Shmi's son is finding such happiness. The Larses go home with several useful gifts.

-Cliegg gives Padmé a gift, something from Shmi's wedding.

-There's an open invitation to the Jedi, and to Anakin’s astonishment BOTH Mace and Yoda show up, all solemn and ceremonial. But then Mace gives Anakin a hug and does the same for Padmé, and Yoda gives a solemn blessing. Quinlan crashes the party after the official part.

-Per Naboo custom, both Sabé and Obi-Wan have to give speeches, as the closest friends of the bride and groom. Obi-Wan makes his up on the spot, and it's a cracker. Everyone cries. Except when they're laughing at the embarrassing stories. Sabé gets really emotional when she's giving her speech.

-Qui-Gon sort-of-accidentally, sort-of-voluntarily makes a speech too.

-Jar-Jar brings some chaos, but also plenty of laughter, and is the life of the party, so to speak.

-The heroes of Naboo reunited!!! I REALLY want a picture of them: Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, Padmé, Sabé, and Jar-Jar. All together for a nice holoshot.

-I'm also picturing Yoda and Mace sitting quietly, sipping their glasses of Nubian wine, while Jar-Jar and Quinlan dance wildly in the middle of a circle of jumping, clapping friends. Of course, Mace and Yoda have to slip out once or twice to take calls on urgent matters. 🙄

-But they also attract some of the kids, who drag Mace out onto the dance floor. Yoda gleefully joins the musicians, and plays one song very badly, forcing them to wave him away. It's after that, that they sit quietly, sipping some wine, and watching the revelry.

-Anakin and Padmé dancing. They've prepared by teaching each other the basics of Nubian and Tatooine dancing, so it becomes a mashup of sorts.

-Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan sitting back, Obi-Wan leaning on his dad's shoulder, and Qui-Gon speaking softly of Rae-Lin and how beautiful she had looked on their wedding day. Obi-Wan always likes to hear about his mother, even if it's a little sad.

-R2-D2 records everything.

-Padmé and her girls do a group dance that is all stunning choreography and sheer grace.

-Padmé's dad gives a lovely speech.

-Anakin gets a liiitle tipsy, and goes around saying sweet things to everyone, all of which he means sincerely.

-Anakin and Padmé get to run out of the party to a waiting speeder, giggling like children the whole way. They get a three day honeymoon, before it's back to business on Coruscant.

-The party goes on into the night. Obi-Wan does something he hasn't done in a few years at least, and falls asleep on his dad's shoulder.

[burrowkit]

Okay, I'll give this one a shot. Why not procrastinate further, right? Anyways, villain name inspired by the book name Lady Smoke by Laura Sebastian.

---

{Edit: Added a Read More}

I down another shot of liquor, not even caring anymore what the contents of it was.

No, I do care, I realize as the lemon juice hits my tongue, causing me to cringe slightly at the taste. Sure, I love sour stuff, but straight lemon juice?

"Nice one, Fred." I comment, setting the shot glass back onto the bar.

"Anything for you, miss." He answers calmly, taking the glass back and putting it with the pile of dishes to return to the kitchen. Judging by the tray, he'll have to make a trip sooner rather than later.

I glance in the mirror behind the bar, my reflection always catching me surprise, even though it's been 3 years.

3 years since I pretended that Sir Wavesalot killed me. 3 years is a long time for everyone to believe it.

Hell, some days even I believe it.

The woman in the mirror doesn't look like me. Her eyes appear brown with the fake coloured contact lenses, turning my magenta eyes into a more normal shade. My hair was once many shades of red, orange, yellow. Lady Smoke, they often called me. Not that I really bothered to correct them.

No, a woman villain arguing over names would be seen as petty. And I'm not a petty villain.

"Another?" I ask Fred, my pen and papers discarded for the night. No, pen and notebook. I'm working on a novel. One could call it fanfiction on actual events. What If Lady Smoke Succeeded?

Fred hesitates. "Are you sure, miss?"

Of course he'll hesitate. Another shot of lemon juice? I must be slightly mad.

And yet, for the first time in a year, I almost felt something.

"Yes please." I force a smile. Fred has never once asked for my name. I always pay by cash. I once offered to pay by credit card, just so he'd learn a name.

He just smiled at me, nodded, and pulled the money out of the tip jar to pay my, incredibly small, bill.

"Of course, miss." He answers, flipping the bottle containing the lemon juice and pouring it into my previously emptied shot glass. How he remembered which one was mine, is a miracle. And yet, I know it's the right one. "I love seeing you in here, miss. But perhaps, you'd find better company at the library?" He suggests.

I know he's seen me writing in here. Night after night.

"The chaos soothes my soul." I offer, lifting the glass up. "Cheers!" I toast him. He just smiles at me, heading to the kitchen with the full tray.

I close my eyes and down my drink, not even caring about the sour taste of the lemon juice. Not that it matters.

Then, a hand rests on my shoulder.

"Easy there, miss. You don't want to get drunk."

I recognize that voice. My eyes snap open, briefly confirming in the mirror that my hair, also a muted shade of deep brown to hide my true origins, are all hidden.

They are.

I turn my head ever so slightly, trying not to drop my jaw in shock. Of all the places to be... who would've thought Sir Wavesalot would be in my bar.

Not that I own it. But...

"It's just lemon juice." I offer back, giving him a smile. I force myself to relax, knowing that if I were just a random civilian, I would be in owe. "You're Sir Wavesalot." I comment.

His eyes. As blue as the sea. Somehow, our abilities reflect in our hair and eye colours. His hair is a sandy brown. It's a tad surprising, considering last I saw, it was a brightly blonde as the sun.

"Ah." He forces a smile, taking a step back. "Another fan." His voice is tight. He glances back towards a group, his friends I assume, and turns back to me. "Look, if you want an autograph, I charge 20 bucks. 50 if you need me to supply the photo."

I stare at him for a moment. Is he... is he serious? "Oh, no, I'm fine." I wave him off, focusing back on my notebook.

Unfortunately, I fear I've piqued his interest by dismissing him. I mean, how many regs ignore a superhero standing in front of him.

He slides the book in my direction. "Is this a chronicle of my life?" He inquires.

I grip the book, hands covering his, trying to hide the words. "Sure." I grit out, desperate to keep them away from him. He can't know it's me.

He stares at me, likely notes the true terror in my widened eyes, and releases, allowing me to pull the book to my chest. "You aren't one of those villain freaks, are you?"

Villain Freaks. Either a villain, or a reg obsessed with the villains.

"I think she was handed a raw deal, is all." I answer quietly.

The heroes eyes flicker with pain. No, with fire. Some how, he must've absorbed a slice of my fire in our last battle. And the mere mention of me has reminded the flame of my existence.

I blink, and the fire is gone. Just... grief.

"Do you miss her?" I ask.

"Of course not." He answers automatically. He glances back to his friends. "Look... miss..." He trails off, clearly unsure of what to say.

"Fiona." I offer.

"Fiona." He nods, rubbing a hand over his chin. "Why don't you come join my friends?"

Is it a true offer?

I turn my head ever so slightly over to the table. There, the heroes are less in regular... well, regular appearance. Their abilities practically pulsing around them, giving them an air of undisturbed power.

It's a true wonder, how any of them because heroes instead of villains.

Although, with how the world's been going, maybe a villain is a hero, and a hero a villain. I've certainly spent plenty of time saving regs, even back as Lady Smoke.

"Call me Adam." He offers, holding out his hand.

My initial thought: It's a trap.

We were once pitted against each other because of our abilities. His was water. Mine was fire. And yet, we each hold a small sway over earth. Air. Life. What is the sun, but a giant fall of fire, after all? And plants do require water.

I tentatively take his hand.

A mistake.

He yanks me off the bar stool and I barely have a chance to grab my pen before we're moving towards his friends.

"Hey guys, I want you to meet Fiona." He introduces to me.

I meet the eyes of each and every one of them, keeping my mind guarded.

I recognize most of them by their hero names.

"Nice to meet you." I offer, hugging my pen and notebook to my chest.

"I caught Fi over there writing a story about Lady Smoke." He teases lightly, taking a seat and tugging me into the one next to him. I hesitate a moment before sitting down. Still, I feel tense. Prepared to flee at any moment.

"Fi?" I ask, trying to seem more calm. Adam shrugs.

"You can't seriously be interested in a fangirl? Come on, dude, she's into your enemy!" One of the other heroes practically cries out. Greg. I think I once heard his reg name as Greg.

"Greg, come on." Adam admonishes him. "Besides, maybe if someone else believes in Lady Smoke, I'll be allowed to look for her again."

Look for her again?

"Not this again. Adam, we all saw the videos! You killed her! Water beats fire and all that jazz!" A woman argues, she takes a sip of her daiquiri. "No offence, Fiona. I'm sure your idol would have loved to fight longer. But the facts are, she's dead."

I turn to Adam, surprised. Does this mean... has he been looking for me? Is this why he's here?

"I told you, Cat. She's still out there. I saw a flash of her before she left." He argues, staring down the woman with the daiquiri.

"Adam..." she trails off, looking sad, setting her drink down. "We all saw it. She lost control of her power. She turned herself to ash, and you spread her ashes across the globe. She'll never come back."

I watch Adam carefully. A flare of anger is there. I can almost hear the words I didn't cast the wind. And Lady Smoke was not suicidal!

"Look, maybe me sitting here was a bad idea. I'm clearly just bringing up old wounds." I quickly stand up.

"I'll walk you home." Adam stands up, offering automatically.

"No, no. It's okay. I'll just pay my tab and go. I don't live far." I answer, immediately retreating to the bar.

"Fi!" He calls out, and I can hear something in his voice. Grief.

I quickly slap the bills onto the bar, not caring if I over or under paid. Fred's been good with letting me skip by. I run out onto the street, needing to get away from everyone.

I'll have to find another bar. I'll have to find another city. Another province. Hell, maybe another country-

"Fi!" Adam calls for me, stepping out onto the street.

"Just leave me alone!" I shout back, storming away.

I'm wearing booties, and although they were comfortable for the semi-cold weather, and hanging out at a bar, they aren't exactly ideal running shoes.

"Wait, please." He calls out desperately. And then I feel it. His power.

He wraps me around in a wall of air. One that, if I outed myself as myself, I could break out of.

I don't. I turn slowly, watching as my villain chases after me. The hero to my villainous ways.

"I just..." he trails off, standing so close to me.

I hate being trapped in spaces, and I can feel my mounting panic. "Get me out!" I shout at him, shaking slightly.

"Please, just hear me out." He pleads.

But I can't.

"Please." He begs, ignoring how badly I'm shaking. "Look, if you're as much a fan of hers as I think you are, I can pay."

That... that hurts. He's just looking for some cheap woman to hook up with? Some of that old fire ignites in my bones. The one that becomes furious anytime someone abuses someone else.

"If you truly care about her, maybe you can find her. Maybe you can follow the trail I've been unable to follow." He pleads.

That fire fizzles out.

"What will you do, if you find her?" I ask, unsure if he heard me because he's connected to the air. Because he felt the words push on the oxygen atoms in such a way, or if they just carried my words to him.

"To say sorry." He offers, looking further down the street, then forcing them to look to me. "Look, I know I wasn't the best back then. But without her, I'm nothing."

I want to point out that that's not true. My death earned him a coveted spot on one of the many hero teams.

But then I remember the last several news reports. How he seems to be relegated to the sidekick.

"You could find another villain." I suggest.

"But they aren't her." He shakes his head, and I can see the tears brewing in his eyes. "I just... she was the villain to my hero." He practically whispers the words.

"You would have tried to kill her one day." I say, some of my anger returning.

"No." He shakes his head. "Maybe that was the expectation of the others. Some bit of glory. But here's something that the news never told. After every one of our battles, somehow, our combined powers would cause plants to grow. It was a pain for anyone to investigate anything, because rose bushes or trees would sprout. Sometimes, their seeds carrying for miles. That's how I know she's still alive. If she truly died... there'd be another forest. Another plant. Something, to show she was there."

I stare at him, jaw dropping slightly. "You're lying." I accuse.

"I'm not." He whispers. "Fi, please. She was my best friend. Well, my best enemy, I guess. But I knew anytime I was having a bad day, she'd have my back. And I saw what she was trying to do. Quote me, and I'll be forced to have your memory erased, but there were times that I let her actions go unpunished. She was making a difference, Fi. Maybe not the best way, but she was."

Adam pauses, looking up into the stars for another moment, then focusing back on me. "Were you there for the funerals?"

I shake my head. No, I would've have been able to go. Not with other villains waiting for me to show up. Not for the heroes, hoping I would watch my own fake funeral.

To watch as everyone cheered and toasted over my 'dead body'.

"It was a mess, Fi. The official one, at least. But... another one of her Villain Freaks handed me this." He pulls out something from his wallet. I reach out, and realize the wind shield has disappeared. I frown, staring at it.

The paper is painted in my colours. And it called for a proper funeral.

"I went." He tells me. "I went, because I wanted to see what was going on. And she never showed." He stares me down for another moment. "But what I heard... I heard her regular acts of villainy. She paid the rent for single parents struggling to come up with the cash. Sure, the money was frequently stolen. But then I also learned that sometimes, she came up with some inventions that she sold. She primarily used that to pay their rents. To buy them food. Does that sound like a villain?"

"No." I offer up, because really, how could a villain be running around selling what little they can come up with to keep others safe.

"Sure, she beat some people up. But after the died, I learned they were abusers. I've spent the last 3 years tracking down each and every one of them, and pursuing justice. I've called it the Lady Vigilante." He pauses. "I wonder how she found out about their abuses?"

I shake my head. "I don't know."

But he didn't seem to be looking for an answer. "Fi..." he trails off. I don't bother pointing out that I'm not a fan of the nickname. "Please. I've been trying to find her. To try and see if we can fix the world without the villainous plans. But I can't do that if I can't find her."

I take a few steps back. Because there's no way I can trust a hero. The heroes are the ones in it for the glory. Hell, he did start this conversation off, pretty much, with offering an autograph.

And then I stop. Because if he knows about all I did then, he could easily track me down to my current whereabouts, doing similar tasks.

Slowly, I open my notebook, ripping a sheet of paper out. I jot down my name, Fiona, and my number. "Here." I offer. "I... I don't think I'll find much. It has been 3 years..."

"Anything is better than this Hellscape." He says, taking the paper. "I just..." he trails off as he looks down.

I glance down, spotting a few rose petals.

His eyes flick up, eyes widening in disbelief. "Smoke?" He gasps.

I shake my head, taking a few steps further back. "No, it's just a coincidence." I offer.

"If you have amnesia, I can help-"

"Just leave me alone, Adam. Please." I plead. I take another few steps back.

He doesn't follow. Instead, he bends down, picking up the petals. "If you're her... please, Fi. I need her help."

I can feel my heart cracking ever so slightly. "I can't help you, Adam." I answer. "I wish I could."

"If you're her...?" He prompts.

I shake my head. "Lady Smoke is dead, Adam. Leave her to her afterlife."

He looks ready to make another argument.

"ADAM!" A voice shouts. Greg again. Followed by some laughter. My eyes move to the bar door. There, his friends are stumbling out. There's no way they could be drunk already. And yet... I had no doubt that a bunch of egotistical heroes would have fun getting drunk.

"See you in the next life, Adam." I offer him.

"Fi..." He whispers.

I'm not sure what makes me do this. I really can't explain it. Still, I tug on the wind around us, causing it to whip up, sending the rose petals flying. "Another life." I smile softly at him. Sadness tinging our meeting.

"Another life." He nods. "I'll never stop looking for her." He offers, emphasizing her.

Despite him now knowing exactly who I am.

"She'll never stop running." I answer, turning away.

"Yo, Adam!" Another hero shouts, and I hear the hands slapping his back. "What's up with you and the chick?"

"It's nothing." He lies, as I walk away. I hear him crumpling the piece of paper. "I think in another life, we could've been friends."

You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.

[littlesistersti]

Things from my high school I still think about

This is too long, but uh if you went to the same school as me, I’m sorry. If you’re someone in the list, I’m also sorry. Unless you stole my colour pencils.

a classmate received a mountain of spam musubi grams and has an “oh no, I can’t eat these. It’s Lent!” moment

a student got locked in the bathroom after hours

a non-Vietnamese classmate asked me if I’m eating flan even though I’m holding this hockey puck shaped, orange-brown colored, Vietnamese banh something in a ziploc bag in my hand like a sandwich

Do Latin/Hispanics eat flan in their hand like a sandwich or ??

How can anybody hold flan in their hand? It has the consistency of custard--

SINCE WHEN IS FLAN HOLDABLE

two tennis players fighting for my $1 donation

Me, a then senior looking at the freshmen: Why are there so many white people?

the white freshmen scare me

overheard a kid talking about a teacher noticing his Asian glow

two kids smack-talking this other kid I know, behind their back, based off of what they post on their social media

from what I overheard, all they post is marching band memes and transgender related posts

I think the bullies are invalidating the transgender identity?

most of these stuff happened before senior year so I hope these people outgrew these behaviours

my sister’s friend shouting “chao ban” with the same energy as someone who just learnt how to cuss in Russian five seconds prior

every year, the seniors get to cheat in the sled race (cardboard boxes in the gym) but I sure as hell never saw that come my senior year

that one year the freshmen tried super hard in spirit week and I didn’t have the heart to tell them “every year, the freshmen are always last and the seniors are always first, I think it’s rigged”

they decked out in white for assembly day, oh my gods I feel so bad

a student in Digital Media colored their logo pink and blue because the colors represent the two genders

it wasn’t my place to critique but oh my gods what the ever loving

of the kids who did chose the diaper logo, so many of them drew the diapers with safety pins and I guess that explains a lot of things

everyone in the quad clapping. For a good long minute. I don’t why, bandwagon effect but it’s kinda funny to think about it. I think someone did a nice thing and their group of friends clapped and then the next group of friends clapped and uh domino effect.

whenever I see comments of “and everyone clapped”, I think of this

someone snorted a crushed-up hot cheeto with a dollar bill

this one kid who sits across from me, I keep seeing his ID card in the “missing IDs” for months

I never got my “borrowed” color pencils back

it was my only lavender, how dare you

he also said “hey I turned you into a meme, you went viral overnight” but I know he’s bluffing for my reaction (different day)

everyone recognizing my Doctor Strange costume when I wore it the second time despite the fact everyone thought I was Superman/woman the first time

I let a friend tried on my sleeveless robe and he put it on reversed and I didn’t see it until later

why must the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen switch from glasses to contacts? you were so so so--

as you can see, I’m super gay for her but she’s one year below me but taller than me and I don’t know how to feel about

as you can see, I’m a coward

seniors told me a student asked out a teacher for prom back when I was still in 8th grade which is strange because he’s engaged (when I got the info)?? I hope that made sense

this is the same teacher who likes (insert historical figure I won’t name to not expose him but we’ve all been there) and I said “it’s normal to like a historical figure” or sommat like that

he replied back “oh no, she’s still alive”. The class exploded

“and divorced.” Someone from my table said “Mr. (name) you’re engaged”

hearing the sad news we won’t get senior night because it wasn’t successful for the past couple years

I could’ve gone to Disneyland or Universal Studios

Film club revived from the dead and the reboot team didn’t know

the agenda (or planner as some of you say) said there’s a Hunger Games club but there isn’t

vending machine taken down because it out-capitalized the student store

speaking of capitalism, small school dances canceled because tickets weren’t profiting

student seller looked at me and said “you look like a (flavour) kind of person”. I don’t remember what flavour ice cream I got

What the hell is Sadie’s Dance? Girls ask out the boys? Don’t they already do that for any normal dance?

the Mexican kids dancing when a mariachi band performed for their holiday and the kids had a “who’s going first?” moment

I want to show a gif of Panchito Pistoles dancing the dance but why is there no gif? D:<

some boys wearing the woman ao dai unbuttoned because they’re too big

a dog walked into a classroom, one of my sister’s science

polar bear type of dog

leftovers from a seniors party handed out to lowerclassmen

table neighbor looks at student teacher, “oh s--, he’s pretty cute”

a substitute teacher told us our school’s known for excelling at academics but not at socializing

really said we’re a bunch of introverted nerds/scholars huh?

different day but civics teacher shared when he was went to this school, it was known for gangs

my friend pulled out a fan for an ao dai contest

dressed as BEN Drowned with fake blood for Halloween and a friend called me demon then threw a napkin at me

I came to school as Link, died during first period, and left as BEN

walked into my parents’ work and heard the classic “your kids are getting big”

that one kid on underarm/axillary crutches can goooooo! Faster than anybody walking at normal pace

Back when we had the “300 buildings”, there was a rule of no eating in the hallways. A friend and his friend found a loophole

a pair of jeans just sitting there on this pole thingy (what are they called? It’s roundabout 3 ft / 91.44 cm and I reckon made of cement but I can’t tell if it’s covered in paint)

back when we used to have halls, freshman me ran as fast as I can because I forgot something and zipped by someone shouting “you should join track”

yeah we lost the halls and big pine trees and the turtle terrariums (don’t worry, there weren’t any turtles) and the ASB lockers 

we always have games during assemblies and my senior class cheered this one guy I’ll dub Tommy. He’s up against a freshman. I couldn’t hear what happened but from that day forth, a great deal of seniors hated that freshman because he introduced himself with attitude or something. I just knew him as eccentric, and that’s just me witnessing his behaviour from afar

someone dressed as Homework graded F for Halloween

one teacher disappeared and the last I saw, they were on a gurney

don’t know what happened

different teacher, different year, walked around with a neck cast and a cane... he had no right to look elegant like that... turns out I got him for Viet 2 and understood why he’s elegant by default

accidently mistook a teacher for his brother and I didn’t know

someone hijacked my locker but all they did was rearranged one item and said “cleaned up your locker” with a smiley

happened again and I got a packet of M&Ms, actually which one happened first? don’t remember

different year, cried over my locker could not open because the lock was broken and jammed and I was afraid I could never get it open

panic is not fun kids, please get yourself checked

assuming a big cart or whatever those janitors drive bumped into my locker, I don’t know the paint scuff matched, it’s the biggest vehicle in the school I know 

the lock was damaged bad and cut my thumb

hummingbird with broken beak on the ground, tiny and a few kids almost didn’t see it, one student brought it to the front office

Frederick Douglas shrine in my sister’s physics class and the teacher hated it ... so many pennies

this same teacher got demoted from 11th grade physics to 9th-10th grade maths because the physics department got rearranged

students say he looked like he went through an existential crisis because he went from long pants and nice shirts and shoes to shorts and Hawaiian shirts and sandals

everybody flips out over Viet 2 teacher’s fancy display case of superheroes action figures (they’re big and collectibles) and fancy shmancy teacher desk and TA desk and yeah

Wonder Woman came out and guess what my Viet 2 teacher got

I had this thing called the “backpack train” as a kid where you sit on a rolling backpack and someone pulls. My school got a big quad with lots of empty space. Someone saw my sister fell. 

[womanofwords]

STEM Kids Shenanigans (Chapter 22)

Chapter 22: Matching Patches

Yujin was packing ribbons into her bag with glee. Now that Angelo was no longer grounded, they could come back to his house to meet up. They probably wouldn't be allowed to go back into the basement again without supervision, but that was OK. They weren't planning to do any of that this time.

"What do you need the ribbons for?" her dad asked.

"We're going for a makeover at Angelo's house," Yujin said.

"A beauty makeover?" Yujin's dad raised a skeptical eyebrow. "With two boys?"

"No, not that kind. We're getting decorative patches sewn onto our bags. Angelo said he was going to show us how to make them."

"Really?" Her father leaned over to her. "I didn't know that boy could sew."

"Well, he can. He does it for his sister," Yujin said. "She rips her clothes a lot."

"Hmm." Her father looked thoughtful. "When are you coming back?"

"Seven."

"Good. I'll pick you up when you're ready. Have fun." His tone became more teasing. "When you come back, tell me more about the boy that sews."

"APPA!"

(PAUSE)

Yujin arrived to chaos. Instead of being the first to arrive, she was the last. Angelo's mother opened the door looking exhausted. "I hope you're not as loud as the other three," she said.

"Loud?" Yujin asked. She sighed and took them into the same room they were in before. And there, she saw chaos.

"You are so weak! How did you survive this long?" Dante laughed, sitting on Angelo.

"I just had to run from people a lot," Angelo groaned. "I never actually had to fight anybody."

"This is such an unorganized selection. And why is there so much black thread?" Layla asked.

"Hi," Yujin said, waving awkwardly. They went silent and waved at her.

"Hi," they chorused.

"What were you doing?" Yujin asked.

"Angelo said that he would be able to beat me in wrestling because he was bigger," Dante said proudly. "He was wrong."

"And I was reorganizing the thread," Layla said. "It was a mess."

"You haven't really missed anything. We did nothing productive," Angelo insisted, as Dante let up.

"Let's start designing things now," Yujin said.

"Yes, that would be good," the other three agreed.

"How about a hexagon shape?" Angelo suggested.

"How would we even do that?" Dante asked.

"Fold and cut. Easy." Angelo rolled his eyes.

"Also denim is really difficult to cut through," Layla said.

"Difficult, but not impossible," Yujin said. "But it's still impractical. Let's just go with a simple square shape."

"Finally, some good ideas!" Layla sighed. "Yujin arriving with the common sense!"

Yujin turned red. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"What colours would you like to pick?" Layla asked. "There are a lot here."

"Thank you!" Angelo said.

"We can try out different styles, too," Yujin said.

"Nice! What did you have in mind?" Angelo asked.

Yujin grinned as she brought out her sketchbook. "Well . . ."

(PAUSE)

An hour and a half later, the kind of lettering had been chosen and colours had to be picked out. "There's four letters in STEM, and there's four of us, so each of us gets to pick a colour," Layla said, counting off letters and colours on her fingers.

"Yujin, what colour do you want?" Angelo asked, giving her the repurposed popcorn bucket full of spools of thread.

"Green," she said.

"I'm taking red," Dante said quickly

"I get purple, then," Layla decided.

"And I pick yellow," Angelo concluded. "This is going to be a fun project to work on. They should be done in . . . two weeks."

"Why two weeks?" Dante asked.

"Because I have a life," Angelo pointed out.

"Angie!" Mirella said, stumbling into the room with her arms outstretched. "Cookie."

"More like your sister has a life, and you're just a part of it," Layla teased.

"Angie, cookie," Mirella said, pointing at the kitchen.

"Mimi, Angelo is busy," Angelo said, looking at his friends, who were giggling.

"Yujee!" Mirella giggled, rushing over to Yujin. Yujin squeaked as a three-year-old collapsed onto her, as Dante and Layla laughed.

"I'm so sorry!" Angelo squeaked, as he scooped up his little sister. But Mirella whined.

"Yujee. Yujee is pretty," Mirella whined.

Yujin's heart melted. "It's OK. I'll hold her," Yujin said. "Mirella, you want to try on some of my ribbons?"

"You have ribbons?" Angelo spluttered.

"I brought them because I thought I would need them," Yujin explained. Clumps of ribbons were produced, which made Yujin wince. "Mirella, wanna try? Sit down and I'll put them in your hair."

Mirella sat down immediately, and Yujin expertly braided the ribbons into her hair. Swap and twist, swap and twist. The other three watched in awe as Yujin finished on one side and began on the other.

"How do you do that?" Angelo asked.

"I'll teach you some other time," Yujin said. She put bows on the ends of Mirella's new braids, and the little girl squealed with glee.

"Pretty! I'm pretty!" Mirella squealed.

"What do we say, Mirella?" Angelo prompted.

"Thank you!" Mirella sang, hugging Yujin.

"Oh my goodness, this is adorable," Dante said.

"Do you want me to tie up your hair like Angelo's little sister?" Yujin teased.

"I do it!" Mirella insisted, toddling over with a hair bobble. "I make Dante pretty!"

"OK." Dante sat back and let Mirella tie his braids back into a ponytail.

"You look great, Dante," Angelo said, sneakily taking a photo.

"Shut up," Dante muttered.

"Hi, just wanted to - oh." Angelo's mother stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the scene in front of her. "What is this?"

"We were making matching patches when we got . . . ambushed," Angelo said.

"I can see that," she said. "Why did you do Mirella's hair?"

"That was me," Yujin said. "I'm sorry, I can take it out."

"No, it looks wonderful!" Angelo's mother insisted. "Mirella, do you like your hair?"

"Pretty!" Mirella cheered. "Yujee is the best! She can sleep in my room!"

"Mirella, Yujin has a home that she lives in," Angelo explained. "I'm so sorry, Yujin. Mirella really likes you."

"She is so sweet," Layla said.

"If my little brothers were like that with me, then I would actually want to have them near my friends," Dante sighed. Yujin's phone rang, and all eyes turned to her.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this," she said, sidling out. It was her dad. It had to be her dad. "Appa?"

"You're late. You said you'd be home by seven. It's seven fifteen."

"Sorry, Appa! I lost track of time. I'll leave now."

"No, no, it's dark! Just tell me where you are and I'll get you." Yujin told her dad Angelo's address. "OK. Stay there. I'll call you when I'm outside." He hung up. Yujin walked back in and was ambushed by Mirella.

"Mimi, no!" Angelo yelped.

"Yujee came back!" Mirella cheered.

"My dad's coming to get me soon, but . . . is it OK if I stay here until then?" Yujin asked.

"Sure!" Angelo and his mother said.

"Yay! Angie's friends stay forever!" Mirella cheered.

"Oh god," Angelo groaned, as Dante laughed hysterically.

(PAUSE)

Angelo gave Yujin her patch at school a week later. "It's finished now," he said, handing over a pristine patch. Not a stitch was out of place. Angelo was good.

Yujin turned it over in her hands. "It looks amazing."

"If you want, I can sew it to your bag or . . . whatever you want me to sew it to."

"It's OK. You've already done so much. I'll do this." Yujin stuffed the patch into her badge and walked to class.

"What's in your pocket, Moon?" Melanie asked, popping up out of nowhere.

"I didn't know it was any of your business," Yujin said, walking away.

"I saw Angelo give you something, and I want to know what it was," Melanie snapped.

"Leave me alone." Yujin walked faster, and Melanie grabbed her.

"Show me what it is," Melanie snarled.

"Get off her!" a man's voice yelled. It was Mr Oluwatola. Melanie released her grip immediately, and Yujin rubbed the life back into her arm. "What is going on here?" he asked.

"Yujin Moon was given something suspicious by Angelo Riva. It's in her pocket right now," Melanie said.

"It's just a denim patch," Yujin said, producing the patch. "Everyone in the STEM club has one. We designed it ourselves and Angelo stitched this himself."

"Ah. Very nice." Mr Oluwatola walked away, and Melanie glared at Yujin.

"I'll get rid of your pathetic little club someday," she hissed, before stomping away.

(PAUSE)

Once she was at home, Yujin searched for the glue. It had to be around there somewhere. "What are you looking for?" her father asked.

"Glue. I want to glue this patch to my bag." Yujin continued to search. Her dad pulled it out of a drawer behind her.

"I'll do it. Bring me the gloves and a lamp. And your bag."

Yujin watched as her father slowly glued the patch onto her bag, tongue sticking out with dedication as he completed the painstaking task. Eventually, it was done, glued to her badge with pride.

"Thank you," Yujin said. The patch somehow looked even better now that it was on her bag.

"The stitching is very good. That Angelo boy did it?"

"Yes."

"He's very good."

Yujin giggled as she played with a piece of her hair. "Yes, he is."

To read the other parts of this fic, see Masterlist.

[animereviewsbykyranskye]

Reviews while I watch UniteUp!: Episode 5-7

They have a coffee machine to make two coffees at the same time. I love it. 

Backstory on the partners!

Opening time! I missed this one. Such a bop. I love how some openings are translated and some aren’t. Anyone know why? I really need to listen to their music that’s done separately. I never really do that. 

Confidence! 

This man won’t hear a fire alarm when composing and will perish because of it. 

This is gay. 

So a debut that isn’t a debut?

Why does the cat get the mask XD

XD The snacks have been stolen. And he runs and hides. 

The Anela duo are so cute. 

What was the accident? We will probably find out, that feels like a big reveal thing. 

Aw. So --- transfered with them. And so did Jaxx/Jaxx

Plant.

Turmoil! Is this persent time or past? Past. This must have been the accident. This man is putting so much pressure on himself. 

This backstory honestly feels quite early for this show. Wonder how this will progress thanks to this. 

Bruh. This is gay. 

I love the colour options for the groups suits and ties. 

When is the confession?

----between episode thoughts----

Come on. That final picture. There seriously are hella gay undertones to these two. Don’t know if anyone else agrees. Their backstory was really cute. I liked it. Nice to see some context with those two. 

----Episode 6----

Shame, Banri has stage fright (atleast with showing his face).

This man hasn’t told his father? Eish. 

Something must always go wrong. Shame, everyone was so excited. 

Lin is struggling to keep a bunch of idols in line. XD

I’m loving this.  

What is Lin up to? Also they will end up using the friend won’t they? 

The one man just makes sandwiches, and the other breaks the camera. 

He is too excited about the drones XD

Aaaaaand more stuff goes wrong. Load shedding. 

They really just have four phones on a tripod. That's amazing. What’s the chance the power comes back halfway through their performance. 

They’re wearing mics regardless of the power outage. 

Yeup, power is coming back. 

Song time! And 3D model time!

Really nice song. 

Aaaaaand they’re all in the bath together after booking it out. That's hilarious. Also why do they have spray guns and are shooting Lin? He really can’t catch a break. And they’re dead.

WHY DID THEY SHOW HIM LIKE THAT???

Next episode is going to have issues with their private life. 

Why are they on the floor getting squirted by Lin now??

The father will be in the next episode. 

----In-between episode thoughts----

What the hell was that bath scene? That was fucking hilarious. I loved it. Need more chaos like that. I really like how all the groups work together. There isn’t a massive competition like other idol animes and it is a breath of fresh air. 

----Episode 7----

Chihiro‘s episode time. I feel like he’ll find a way to incorporate this dance style into his idol stuff. 

Imagine being under that amount of stress as a teenager. 

Tomato.

And the cat will be out the bag in a sec. 

Oof. Making promises at a young age. 

And the other two are panicking. 

Aw, the idol group has been good for him. 

We love misunderstandings XD And we love supportive friends. 

His father made the fan didn’t he?

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. trauma. Healing!

Yeup. New art on a fan. It’s great!

Lin causing trouble. And now lives in fear of Chihiro.

And we get childhood photos. Sweet. 

----after thoughts----

Noice. We’ve gotten character development episodes for each of out main characters, thats cool. Wonder what all will be coming next - other than a debut obviously. 

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 5

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector

Summary: You try to befriend Marc with mixed results. Or alternatively: God this man is cranky.

Word Count: 7080

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The thing about vanishing off the surface of the earth is that even if the missing person themselves doesn’t notice, people around them will. 

We live in a society where we’re all accountable to someone or something. Your landlord will want the rent paid at the end of month. Your parents will ring to moan about you not calling them often enough. Your boss is going to send chaser emails asking for progress reports. A person cannot just disappear for a week, reappear and expect nothing to come of it. There are always going to be repercussions. 

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when Steven stands before you, looking absolutely gutted as he tells you that his supervisor has assigned him the worst possible schedule. He’ll have the unenviable honour of manning the gift shop every Saturday and Sunday for the rest of the month, and on top of that he’ll be on the second shift most weekdays where he’ll be stuck unboxing inaccurate ancient Egypt souvenirs late into the night.  

“I’m sorry, love.” Steven looks down at the ground, then back up at you, all contrite apology and puppy-dog eyes. “I tried talking to Donna about it, but she just threatened me with more inventory. Not sure why she’s got it in for me, but it’s been worse than ever this last week.”

You hum sympathetically, though you’ve got a pretty good idea of why his supervisor might be hacked off—missing a whole week of work can’t have endeared him to anyone at the museum.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry that I’ve gone and messed things up again.” He looks like a sad puppy in a rescue video, disappointment and remorse colouring his features. 

“You haven’t messed anything up,” you reassure him, reaching over to touch his arm. “You don’t have control over your schedule. Besides, we can still spend the nights together, even if we can’t laze about together in the morning. And maybe you can ask Donna nicely to switch you back to your old schedule when you have your performance review at the beginning of next month?” 

He gives you a small nod, but he still looks like the world is ending. It’s frustrating and painful to watch him struggle with the consequences of a disappearance he knows nothing about and couldn’t control. Having his body arbitrarily borrowed and spirited away is hardly something he planned just to spite his supervisor. Not that you could tell her that (or Steven for that matter). 

“We’ll have plenty more weekends together.”  You slide your hand up his arm until you can cup the back of his neck and pull him close, resting your forehead against his. "Not going anywhere, remember?" 

You hope it’s the truth.

Steven smiles a bit at that, and warmth blooms in your chest. All you want is to make him feel better. 

“Maybe I can phone in sick tomorrow?” you offer up as a consolation prize, “Skive off work so we can have a proper lazy morning together.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree at your suggestion. “That’d be amazing!” he enthuses, then hesitates. “But are you sure you can do that? I don’t want you to get in trouble for chucking a sickie on my account.” 

“It should be alright. I haven’t taken a sick day for years, I can afford to do so now so long as we don’t make a habit of it. One day shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”

You’re wrong about that. 

The situation in Steven's flat the next morning proves as much. 

You’ve never understood the expression cooking up a storm, but there’s no other words to describe the way Steven Grant lays waste to the kitchen. 

It’s chaos. 

Steven whirls through his kitchen space with the uncoordinated choreography of a drunk elephant. Pots and pans are banging. There are tomato specks spattered across the kitchen tiles like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Smoke is rising, and there’s a strong burnt smell permeating every inch of his flat. The fire alarm has already gone off twice, and no doubt would be doing so again now if not for your executive decision to remove the batteries. 

Even with the smell of smoke hanging heavy in the air, you’re smiling as you watch him destroy his kitchen. His enthusiasm is contagious, lighting up the whole of the room. 

Half an hour and two fully open windows later, the storm subsides, and Steven makes his way over to where you’re seated on the bed, balancing a tray in his arms.

“Breakfast is served,” he announces, setting it down on the duvet with a flourish, and you can’t help the bubbly laughter that rises to your lips at the grandiose theatricality of it.

You watch his expression, enjoying the way he beams with pride as he starts plating out the cutlery and leans down to steal a confident kiss before neatly folding a napkin on your lap. 

He’s gone completely overboard, but you can’t help but love it, love him. 

“You know," he muses as he takes a seat beside you, "I’ve always wanted to do this. Serve someone a romantic breakfast in bed I mean. And now, here we are, and I’m just… I’m thrilled! Can’t believe I’m lucky enough that I get to do it with you, but I’m thrilled.”

And suddenly the joy is gone.

You sit on the top of the duvet, staring down at the breakfast tray of burnt toast and charred baked beans that Steven has prepared for you with such love and devotion, and all you feel is guilt.

You can’t help but wonder how much of his over-the-top enthusiasm is simply because he is so excited to finally have something he's been denied for such a long time. And he has no idea why he’s never been able to have it before. (But you do, and you’re lying to him about it.)

The happier the two of you are, the deeper the guilt festers in you like rot spreading under the still-shiny skin of spoiled fruit. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t seen Marc again. The very fact of his existence is impossible to ignore, haunting your time with Steven like a dark shadow that looms large in the corner of every room you share. You know now that somewhere underneath that shy and sweet exterior, there’s another man hidden behind the curtains, controlling his life. 

You can’t go on like this. You need to tell him. Steven deserves to know. 

Squaring your shoulders, you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to initiate the conversation. You can do this. It will be okay. 

You look up to his warm eyes, which narrow slightly in confusion, and for the briefest of moments you think you see a reflection of Marc within them. That’s all it takes for you to lose your nerve. 

You don’t want him to be taken away from you.

“Everything alright, love?”

Steven’s voice snaps you back to reality and you  refocus your gaze to find those gorgeous brown eyes filled with concern.

You can’t tell him. 

“You looked… worried.” Steven picks at the charcoaled edges of the toast with his fork, brows knitted with concern. “I’m sorry, this is really quite burnt, isn’t it? I’ll make new.” 

You’ll lose him forever. 

You glance at the charred bread and try to smile back at him. Wouldn’t it be nice if burnt toast was all you had to worry about? 

No one else is going to save him from Marc. You’re the only one here, the only one who knows. You’re the only one he has. 

The words falter on your tongue, and when you open your mouth they’re replaced by a different sentence entirely. 

“You don’t need to make me a second breakfast, just come back to bed.” 

You wrap your arms around his waist and drag him in towards you, feeling the curve of his smiling lips against your forehead. He’s warm and solid in your arms, yet the precariousness of his position has never been so apparent. 

You need to protect him. 

“Oh? And just what exactly are you planning for us to do in bed?” Steven asks, and you hear a hint of amusement in his tone. “Cause I don’t think it’s sleep, now is it?”

Your fingers thread through his curls, as you pull him downwards to your lips. “We can sleep after.”

It's noticeably lighter in the room when you wake, you can tell that much even with your eyes still shut. You must've had quite a lie-in if it's gotten late enough to be this bright.

Despite the warmth the afternoon sun brings to this space tucked up under the eaves, the bed feels colder than it should. It's only when you open your eyes that you understand why. 

Steven is not in bed with you, which means...

In a panic, you lurch upright, head swivelling frantically as you search the cluttered flat for any sign of– There! You let out a sign of relief when you spot his familiar figure in the kitchen. He’s standing at the counter with his back towards you. Shoulders square and stiff, his movements sleek and sparse. Calculated. 

It’s all very… un-Steven-like. 

“Morning,” you call out hesitantly even though it must be well into the afternoon. You’re trying to confirm your suspicions, and sure enough, he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t answer you either. 

Definitely not Steven. 

You draw up the covers and clutch them tightly to your chest. It feels like a distorted deja-vu of the first night. But unlike that night, you’re not engulfed in darkness; the slanted golden sunlight is streaming through the large windows of the flat, illuminating every dusty nook and cranny. Unlike that night, he has yet to speak to or even turn towards you, and you don’t have to fumble for your clothes this time. They’re there, neatly folded, in the empty spot of bed next to you. 

Carefully dipping your toes onto the floor, you wrap the covers securely around you before slinking into the loo to get dressed. When you emerge, he’s still there, ignoring you. The silence is unnerving, a warning sign. 

Stay away. Do not engage. 

Given the experiences you’ve had with this man so far, you really should heed that warning. Anyone with half a brain or a scoop of survival instincts would quietly gather their stuff and flee the flat immediately, but not you. You hesitate. If this were a horror movie, you would be yelling at the daft woman on the screen to get the bloody hell out of there.

But if you do, then Steven is bound to wake up to an empty bed and an empty flat. You don’t want him thinking you’ve disappeared on him again, not after he told you how much it upset him last time. Particularly not after you’ve had a taste of the experience yourself. You don’t want to do that to him again. You need to leave Steven a note or something at the very least. 

Your eyes skim the clutter, settling on a yellow pad of sticky notes on Steven’s desk. Perfect! 

As quietly as you can, you tiptoe over to the desk and reach over for them. There’s a loud crash, and you jump, startled, your eyes darting to the floor by your feet. Steven’s pyramid paperweight lies there, staring back at you accusingly. You must have knocked it off the desk, a casualty of your graceless attempt at stealth.

So much for being inconspicuous. 

When you look back up, Marc has turned around to stare at you.

It’s uncanny how unalike they look. It’s like one of those spot-the-difference photo games. The same face, the same body, but where Steven’s gorgeous dark eyes are wide and vulnerable, this man’s are narrowed and impatient. His brows perpetually drawn together and a constant stubborn set to his jaw as he grinds it. 

He’s staring at you like that now, arms flexing where they’re crossed over his chest, and it feels like another warning. 

A red fucking flag. 

Every inch of your skin prickles at the hostile attention, but you can’t leave yet. You haven’t written the note. You can’t leave Steven in the dark again.

Doing your best to pretend that your heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of your chest, you take a deep breath and bend down to pick up the paperweight trying to steady it with your slightly trembling hands. It’s undamaged thankfully, and you quickly find a more secure spot on the desk to set it down, then search out the stack of sticky notes and a pen. 

You can feel Marc’s penetrating gaze on you as you scribble down a quick message to Steven, and it’s all you can do to keep your shoulders from creeping up to your ears. You sign off with a heart for good measure. Hopefully that will allay some of Steven’s anxiety when he inevitably wakes up alone with no memory of seeing you leave.

Sneaking another look at Marc as you finish, you find that he’s still looking at you. Somehow though, it feels different than it did that first night. Less predatory and more... cautious. He is no longer a wolf eyeing his meal, but a wary stray sizing up whether you might pose a threat.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin as you walk over to the fishtank, more aware than ever that he’s watching your every move. He’s eyeing you with all the distrust of a shopkeeper who suspects you of shoplifting. You wonder with nervous annoyance if he thinks you're somehow planning to smuggle the gigantic tank out of Steven’s flat in your handbag.

“I don’t want him to worry,” you explain as you stick the yellow note onto the side of the fishtank. 

At this, Marc finally officially acknowledges your presence.

“The fish?” he asks, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow in apparent confusion.

The… fish? 

You stare stupidly back at him, not quite able to understand what he’s referring to until you follow his line of sight, turning your head to trace his gaze back to the fishtank. 

Dear God. Is he joking or does this man seriously think you’re writing a message for Gus’ benefit? What kind of daft, idiotic— 

“No, not the fish!” You interrupt your own mental tirade. “Steven. I don’t want Steven to worry.” 

Marc doesn’t seem to have anything further to say to that. He just watches you with narrowed eyes as you finish gathering your belongings in silence. He doesn’t mention the dropped paperweight, or check in on your promise to keep his existence a secret from Steven. Apparently, Marc’s biggest concern is how the crazy lady Steven is sleeping with on a regular basis has learned to communicate with fish through written language. 

The fish. Good God.

You want to laugh. All of a sudden, the formidable, larger-than-life image you’ve held of the man in your mind cracks, crumbling slightly around the edges. Amusement at the sheer knob-headed stupidity of his question lingers at the corners of your mouth as you turn and head to the door. 

“Bye,” you call out, but he doesn’t respond to you as you close the front door behind you. You can’t believe you took a sick day for this. 

Steven goes missing again.

When lunchtime rolls by and his trademark silly texts and photos of the odder artefacts from the museum’s collection fail to show up on your phone, you know that Marc must have disappeared into the ether and taken Steven with him again. 

God. No wonder Donna always has it in for Steven if Marc keeps pulling stunts like this. If Steven was in the doghouse before, you can’t even imagine the torture she must be planning for him now. She’ll probably drag the doghouse into the inventory dungeon and throw away the key. 

You glance at your phone where it’s lying next to you on the sofa, then at the palm of your hand where the numbers Marc had once scribbled down have long since washed off. 

You’re allowed to initiate texts, right? He never mentioned that you couldn’t. And why else would he have given you his number in the first place? 

Your hands are sweating as you swipe up your contacts, fingers a little shakier than you would like. It makes it hard to type correctly, despite your text being only three simple words. 

You Is Steven okay? 

You stare at the screen and watch the single tick turn into two. The message has been delivered. There’s no reply, but that makes sense, he hasn’t seen it yet. 

Nothing further happens, but you watch the screen for a long time before eventually forcing yourself to put the phone down. This is not healthy behaviour. You try to busy yourself by pottering around in your flat, tidying the laundry you’ve left strewn about haphazardly, hand washing dishes and clearing out clutter. Anything to keep yourself distracted. But you still find yourself obsessively checking your phone every two minutes. 

An hour goes by, then two. Still nothing. 

And then, on yet another check, you notice the two ticks have turned from white to blue. He’s seen it. Still no reply though. Shit, this was a mistake. 

The phone dings and vibrates in your hand, and you nearly shriek with surprise. 

Marc He’s safe. 

You When will Steven be back?

You don’t receive a reply to your second message, even though the two ticks turned blue almost immediately. But, just like the previous time, Steven returns shortly after, safe and sound and still none the wiser.

Your daily life settles into an odd sort of routine. You spend as much time as you can with Steven, but Marc is never far behind. In your early dating days, you only saw Steven a handful of times a week. It had never occurred to you before how omnipresent Marc was in Steven’s life. 

The pattern goes like this: you and Steven get to play house and enjoy your relationship uninterrupted for a few days at most until, lo and behold, you wake up in the morning to an empty bed and neatly folded clothes next to you. Then it happens all over again. 

At this point, your life has become some bizarro remake of Groundhog Day. 

Wake up in bed together with Steven, and he’ll lovingly make you burnt toast for breakfast, blow up your phone with cute nonsensical texts during lunch, and surprise you with your favourite takeout for dinner. 

Wake up alone in bed, and Groucho Marx is there serving you cold silence instead, and you spend the hours (or days) alone until Steven, still oblivious returns. 

Rinse and repeat. 

Eventually it occurs to you that mostly ignoring Marc isn't going to get you anywhere in the long run. He is clearly an all-time world champion at the quiet game. If something is going to change, it’ll have to be because you make it happen. You’re going to have to at least try to talk to the man if you want to get enough information to be able to protect Steven from him. 

It’s this half-baked plan that comes to your mind, some weeks after, when you find yourself in Steven’s bed again, with no Steven next to you. 

Instead you find him in the far corner of the kitchen, and your clothes folded on the bed next to you. 

You’re not dumb. The odds of you chumming it up with this man are about the same as an ice-cube’s chances in hell. Your interactions so far have informed you that Marc is not the friendly type. In fact, he seems to be allergic to chit-chat. It makes the act of trying to befriend a person you still find somewhat intimidating all the more difficult. 

Still though, these recent encounters have been downright bland compared with the time he revealed himself by threatening you in your bed. And even that was nowhere near as unnerving as your first encounter. 

Maybe he isn’t as intimidating as you had made him out to be in your head. 

“The fish?” he had asked with genuine confusion in his voice, and you almost crack up all over again at the memory of it. 

Hell, if you do spend enough time with him, perhaps he’ll stop being scary to you altogether (unlikely, the little voice in your head tells you, but necessary, you rebut).

The end goal isn’t to befriend him. You’re never going to be besties. You just need things to be cordial between you, friendly enough that you can make sure that he doesn’t actively put Steven in harm’s way. 

You call out a greeting on your way to the loo. Marc doesn’t answer and he doesn’t even look up or turn around when you emerge, ignoring you completely while you dress. 

He's putting away dishes from the sink from last night at a snail’s pace, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he runs out of dishes, he stands there tapping his fingers as he looks around the kitchen, opening and closing a few cupboards, before he chooses one apparently at random and starts organising the items inside. 

For a second, you just observe him, confused by his actions. Then it occurs to you that he’s busying himself in the kitchen so he doesn’t have to talk to you. That could be rather insulting if you allow yourself to dwell on it, so you don’t.  

Instead, you turn your head, eyes roaming the walls of the space, desperate to come up with some topic of conversation to ease the tension. Your gaze catches on the heaps and heaps of books in the flat. There’s nothing that sets off Steven into an excited flurry of conversation like the mention of Egyptian history, if you’re lucky, their body isn’t the only thing that Marc shares with Steven.  

“Do you have an interest in Ancient Egypt as well? Steven’s told me he’s read all of these books at least twice.”

Marc goes still, then turns slowly to face you. The silence is thick and heavy, and his eyes are mere slits as he looks at you. You suspect he’s hoping to scare you into dropping the subject so he doesn’t have to engage in conversation. But instead of looking away, you stand your ground, meeting his stare with as politely expectant of a gaze you can manage under the circumstances, waiting for his answer. 

Kill him with (strained) kindness, that’s your strategy now. 

After what seems to be an eternity, he opens his mouth to answer. 

“No.” Statement made, he turns his back on you again.  

One word. Apparently all you get is one, single, word, in the negative. Then it’s back to silence. 

Even Steven gave you three words on your first date. God. The all-familiar frustration and deep desire to bang your head against the wall returns, and it takes more of your willpower than you would like to resist the urge. 

You walk over to the fish tank, trying to give yourself a moment to think. Trying to recover. You find yourself smiling indulgently at the one-finned champ through the glass, as you watch as a row of bubbles leave his mouth. 

"Do you think you’ll be gone for long this time? I don’t want Gus to get lonely." 

Marc doesn’t answer, and your eyes catch the postcards that Steven has hung haphazardly all over the wall above the fish tank. 

It’s a collage of iconic landmarks from various holiday destinations, and you read the locations of each postcard hanging on the wooden ledge. Morocco, Venice, Porto, Iceland, Moscow… Gosh, Steven’s mum is quite impressively travelled, isn’t she? 

“Oh hey,” you turn around to face Marc. “When’s your mum coming back to London?” 

He jerks around to stare at you, shoulders raised in a painfully firm line that’s stiff and defensive, even for Marc, and you have to stop yourself from apologising, though you’re not sure for what. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. The words are said with such caution. He’s on guard as if bracing for a blow.

“From her travels?” you try to clarify.

His eyes narrow. The hostility is back. “What travels?” He asks. 

You point to the postcards. 

“Steven tells me she’s currently on a trip abroad. She’s sent him these?” You don’t know why the pitch of your voice rises as you speak, turning the last sentence into a question. There’s just something about Marc’s behaviour that makes you doubt every word coming out of your mouth. 

“I don’t know. I don’t–” his voice breaks, fingers flexing as he curls them into agitated fists then releases them again. 

“We don’t really talk anymore, we’re…” he stops and looks up but not at you. Instead, he looks to the ceilings as if the words he’s searching for will be etched somewhere in the wooden beams. “Estranged.”

That’s not right. You know that can’t be right. The cards are from Steven’s mother, who is always off travelling on some new adventure or other. It’s why he’s never introduced you, despite his excitement to show you off to her. 

“What do you mean? Steven talks to her on the phone almost every day. Where do all these postcards come from then, if not from her? Surely they weren’t sent by a ghost?”

Something painful flashes in his eyes. Marc bites into the bottom lip, so hard it goes bone-white, and you know you must’ve struck a nerve, you just can’t tell which one or what it was you said that’s upset him. 

“Marc?” you try again, voice cautious. 

“I send the postcards,” Marc finally says. 

“Then why does Steven think they’re from his mum?” 

Marc doesn’t answer you, just turns his head to look away, and you’re getting more confusing by the second. 

What the hell does he mean he sends them? And if so then why does Steven think they're from his mum? Either Marc's lying to you or– 

“Wait! Are you sending these postcards to him while pretending to be his mum? Why are you lying to him?"

“Steven doesn’t need to know.”

“You say that a lot,” the words, sharp and bitter, come out before you think to stop them. 

He stays quiet at your accusing tone. Doesn't move and stays seemingly unemotional. But there’s something there. It’s subtle. From the distance between you, it would’ve been easy to miss. 

There’s a tick in the small muscle of his jaw. His nostrils flare ever so slightly.

Regardless of how hard Marc tries to hide it, trying to school his expressions, you know every intimate detail of this face too well for him to hide from you. It’s not an expression you’ve seen on Steven’s face, ever, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it all amounts to. 

He’s really quite upset, isn’t he?  

Any sensible person would stop right about now. You’ve always prided yourself on being a sensible person, but since you met Steven, sensibility seems to have flown out the bloody window. 

“Whatever it is, Steven can handle it. He’s so much stronger than you give him credit for.” 

“Steven shouldn’t have to handle it," he snaps back at you. Voice losing any restraint he held before. 

Once again the sensible thing would be to drop it. But the dismissive, know-it-all tone in his voice rubs you entirely the wrong way.

“He deserves to know. It’s not right for you to keep him in the dark like this. He deserves better. He’s an autonomous adult, and he should be allowed to make decisions over his life just as much as you do. You have no right to control his life the way you do. You’re torturing him.” 

“I am not,” he all but shouts back, voice raised for the first time since you met him. “I'm protecting him. You know nothing about the world I live in. If Steven finds out about me, about the work I do, he will be drawn into that world. Steven will be in danger. Do you understand? Is that what you want? For him to know he's sharing body with a– ” Marc stops himself mid-sentence. Eyes wide in shock, as if surprised by his own outburst. 

A silence falls between you, and he steps back, physically distancing himself  from you. He continues to retreat until he bumps up against the kitchen counter, grabbing onto it to steady himself as he looks down to his feet, sharp eyes now hazy and unseeing, a guilt ridden tinge to his usually unshakeable expression. 

You appreciate the space he’s giving you, but a more pressing thought pushes to the forefront of your mind. What was Marc going to say before he stopped himself? Did you want Steven to know that he’s sharing his body with… what, exactly? 

You search his face, free to stare as much as you like now as his eyes remain downcast. “Just what is it that you do, Marc?”

“You don’t want to know,” he answers, voice quieter now, devoid of any emotion.  

His stance is no longer as straight and firm and usual. His shoulders sag as he continues to stare fixedly at the ground, avoiding all eye contact. The lines around his eyes are marred with sadness, a mark of defeat. He’s curled into himself, the entirety of his body shrinking like he’s trying to make himself invisible. For a beat of a second, he reminds you all too much of Steven, and your heart breaks for him. 

Even though this isn’t Steven you’re looking at, that all-familiar instinct to protect swells up in your chest. Your arms want to curl around him, drape yourself over him and tell him it’s okay. 

You open your mouth, trying to come up with something to salvage the situation. The first words that come to your head is ‘sorry,’ but the problem is that you’re not. Not really. Sorry means that you condone his perpetual lies. 

You hesitate for a long moment, but you don’t know what the right thing to say to him is. Probably because there is no right thing.  And you’ve already bollocksed things up quite enough for one night, haven’t you? Perhaps it’s best to cut your losses now and try to do better next time. 

As quietly as you can, you gather up your handbag, and head towards the door. “I’ll see you around, Marc.”

There’s no answer, and you don’t look back, as you close the door with a quiet click behind you. 

Blue Planet is on in the background at your flat. It’s become yours and Steven’s weeknight ritual, but Steven is nowhere to be seen. 

You sit on your sofa, a dull weight perched oppressively on your chest, as you think of Steven’s other half. 

His words ring loud and sharp in your ears, overpowering Attenboroughs sombre narration on the telly, until Marc’s voice is all you hear. 

“I’m protecting him,” he’d said. 

You think of how small he’d looked this morning, completely unlike the other times you’ve seen him, but somehow, heartbreakingly, you suspect it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him as well. 

What reason does he have to lie to you? None. 

Fishing your phone from your handbag, you pull up Marc’s contact details. You stare at it, fingers hovering over the keyboards, unsure of what you want to say. 

You Are you and Steven okay?

Marc Steven’s fine. 

It’s only a half an answer, and not quite the answer you would’ve liked. But part of you is surprised he responded at all considering the way things ended earlier. 

You When’s Steven coming back? 

He doesn’t answer you (surprise, surprise), and you’re just about to call it in for the evening when you remember Steven's upcoming performance review. If Marc is telling the truth– If he cares about Steven’s well-being the way he claims to, then he wouldn't want him to miss it, surely? 

You He has his performance review at work on Monday. 

There’s no reply, and you’re left on read once again. 

Still, despite Marc’s lack of acknowledgement, Steven returns in time for work on Monday. He’s even on time for once.

You’re awoken in Steven’s flat by the quiet clattering of dishes being put away. The bed beside you is cold and as you reach out your hand, patting the mattress, instead of Steven, you find your clothes folded into a neat square. 

You sit upright in the bed turning your attention to the kitchen, sure enough Marc is standing by the sink, tidying up after you and Steven the previous night. 

“Good morning,” you call out. 

Save for a brief pause in his work on the dishes, he doesn’t respond. The silence between you has taken a different tone now. It’s not unnerving or scary to you this morning. Instead it makes the heavy weight settle even deeper, until it’s carved a hollow dent into your chest at the thought of how you two last left it. 

Dipping your toes onto the floor, you gather your clothes and once again make the habitual walk of shame to the loo to get dressed. 

When you emerge, Marc predictably pays you no attention. You pad across the room until you find yourself standing in front of the fish tank. 

You wonder how long you could stand here, without saying a word before he would have to give in and acknowledge you. An hour? A day? You suspect that you could very well stand here until you both grow old enough to claim pensions, and he’d still keep his silence. 

It’d be easy to just walk out of the door. You have no obligation to Marc. He’s a stranger who wants nothing to do with you. The thought makes you sad.

You grab the shaker of fish food and sprinkle some into the water. It’s at least double the portion size Steven would usually give, but God knows how long he’ll be gone this time. Gus deserves a decent meal before he’s left to fend for himself. 

When you’re done, you put the food back away above the fish tank. A postcard of the Alps catches your eye. Green fields full of cows peacefully munching away against the backdrop of ice-clad mountains. It’s so picturesque and idyllic. 

“This one’s new,” you say out loud, and you observe Marc through the glass panes of the fish tank where he’s standing at the opposite end of the room. He looks over at you, and you gesture to the postcard.  

“It’s so pretty. We went to Switzerland once when I was a kid.” 

No response to that, but you continue to natter on mindlessly, “I got a cheap music box as a souvenir. I loved that thing. Used to listen to it for hours. I cried for a week when it broke and my dad threw it out.”

Marc doesn’t answer. He’s clearly still upset about last time. But instead of capitulating, you keep going. Sooner or later he has to crack and respond. Right? 

“The melody was from The Sound of Music. It was my favourite movie growing up. Used to watch it on repeat on my mum’s old VHS player every day after school until it was completely worn out. Tried to run away once just so I could join a nunnery thinking I could work as a nanny for a handsome colonel and his kids”. 

He hums in acknowledgment. A hum. Stubborn… 

“I was kind of hoping I could take Steven for a weekend trip one of these days. A couple’s holiday.” 

Still no reply, but as you watch him through the glass-panes of the fishtank, you can see his shoulders loosen, body language visibly relaxing. 

“If you don’t mind, that is. Since we’d be bringing you along as well.” You say it facetiously, with as much humour in your tone you can muster, trying to invite Marc to share the joke. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t take the bait. 

"We don't have to do this," he says. Zero inflection in his voice, but at least it’s a response.

You straighten up slowly and meet his gaze over the top of Gus’ tank. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"This,” Marc reiterates. He gestures to the space between you. "You and me. Conversation. We don’t have to be friends,” he clarifies. 

Wow, this man is blunt. 

“I know we don’t have to. But…”

But what exactly? What are you trying to do here, really? The man has made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in your friendship, barely willing to tolerate your mere presence in his vicinity. 

“But,” you start again, “I’m hoping to be with Steven for a long time. And my understanding of the situation is that you and Steven are not…” you hesitate, unsure of what wording to use. If there’s a way to make this sound pretty, you can’t think of it, but you forge ahead anyway. “Well– That you two come as a package deal.” 

Across from you, Marc straightens his posture, folding his arms. He assesses you guardedly from top to toe. 

“It would be good if we could be friendly with each other,” you add hopefully, “Maybe even friends? We don’t have to be, of course, if you’re not willing, but… I think it would make Steven’s life easier. Better.” 

There’s a subtle change in his face, and he rolls his shoulders, looking up at you from underneath his striking lashes. His expression is softer somehow, not the stern, unsmiling face he’s been perpetually giving you. It makes you hold your breath waiting for his answer. 

Except it doesn’t come. 

Seconds tick by, and the line of his lips presses down firmer. He looks away, something akin to frustration in his face, eyebrows pinched tightly together. Once again, you’re left to linger in the limbo of awkward silence. He clearly doesn’t want to continue this conversation.

You try to think of something else to add to your filibustering, but your well of potential topics to keep this one-sided conversation going has run dry. At least you tried. Giving up with a sigh, you flash him a resigned half-smile and turn to pick up your bag. You’re collecting the rest of your things when he finally speaks. 

“I like Switzerland.” 

You turn to stare at him, and you can feel your mouth gaping in what is probably a very unattractive imitation of Gus. You’re in complete disbelief that he actually volunteered information, completely unprompted. Well, mostly unprompted. 

Marc shifts his feet slightly,  redistributing his weight, and then miracles of all miracles he actually continues. “The mountains are nice. Quiet.”

You manage to snap your mouth shut, disproportionate elation building in your chest. You can’t entirely contain the gleeful smile that wants to spread across your lips, but you manage to tamp it down to something a bit more muted so he won’t think you’ve lost the plot entirely. 

“They really are,” you agree warmly, “Nice and quiet.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment, and he doesn’t quite smile back, but something in his face relaxes marginally from the ever-present frown he likes to sport.

You can’t help but be happy (happier than you probably should be) that he finally opened up to you. That moment of joy and relief, of simply staring at this man as he softens before your very eyes extend into a much longer one, until you’re not sure how long you’ve been standing there but you’re too afraid to move in case this armistice breaks the moment you blink. 

Out of nowhere, your stomach cramps. Before you know it, a growl of hunger reverberates across the cluttered walls of the flat. 

Shit… 

A shiver of embarrassment runs down your spine as you stiffen. Surely, it’s one of those moments where the silence of the room intensifies any sound. You’re just aware of it because it’s your own stomach. Surely Marc didn’t hear it. 

“You’re hungry,” Marc states. 

Oh for fuck’s sake! 

It’s the sort of comical nonsense that constantly happens between you and Steven… Not with Marc. If only the Universe had gotten the memo. 

Turning his feet, Marc walks towards Steven’s fridge—or is it his too?—which immediately starts whirring noisily as soon as he opens the door. “There’s not much, but I can manage scrambled eggs and sausages.”

“I… um…” You hesitate. Not sure if you should take him up on the implied breakfast invitation. You can’t help but feel that you’ve pushed your luck about as far as it will go already this morning, and that you’re bound to upset the delicate progress you’ve miraculously managed to achieve if you stay. “I don’t want to impose…”

Marc looks back at you, eyes narrowing as he studies your reaction, and it’s like he can read you like an open book. 

“You’re not imposing. I’m no gourmet cook, but my food won’t kill you. Can't be worse than Steven’s. You ate that and survived.”

You’re stunned. Blinking at his comment, it takes you far too long to realise he means it as a joke. A rush of laughter rises up to your lips, once you do. He’s offering you food and joking with you. That’s a friendly gesture if you’ve ever seen one. 

You stay, and he’s right. The slightly runny eggs and soggy vegan sausages left in Steven's fridge are nothing to write home about, but you eat them with a smile on your face.

You Hi.  Have you taken Steven again? He’s not answering my texts. 

Marc Yeah. He’s safe. 

You When’s he coming back?  We have a date on Saturday. I’ve made a reservation and they’ve taken a deposit. Do I need to cancel? 

Marc No. He’ll be back. 

You Thank you.

You’ve just put your phone face down on your nightstand when an impulse you can’t quite explain pushes at the corner of your mind, and you reach for it again. 

You Be safe.

Placing your phone back down, you expect that to be the end of it.  When your phone pings and vibrates against your night table a moment later, you jump, startled. You unlock the screen to see the new message. 

Marc Thanks. 

~ CONTINUE~

Credits/Dedications

Forever and always to my wonderful, amazing and most perfect friend and co-writer @thirstworldproblemss. I'm just going to keep this simple and true. I love you, in fact I love you the m💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗st

Also a shoutout to @the-ginger-hedge-witch @radiowallet @write-and-buried who have listened to me scream about this.

And last but absolutely not the least to everyone who's followed and read this story. I appreciate you so big-ly!! I am so so excited to share this chapter with you and finally get to delve properly into Marc beyond... mystery guy who frowns a lot. Whether you're lurking, liking, commenting or reblogging, thank you all so much for reading this little work of ours!