#i need two syllables max here people

[idonutlose]

Ok renders of the boys and the new name are nice and all but.

Where is my beautiful wife (Milly)

[pucksandpower]

Royal Pardon

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s best friend!Reader

Summary: Charles isn’t a violent man at heart, but when he saves you from being harassed while celebrating his Monaco win, he quickly realizes that there’s not a single line he wouldn’t cross if it means keeping you safe

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, and injury

Note: a break from your regularly scheduled October programming because Charles just won the United States GP and that calls for a celebration

The music pulses through the club, a steady, hypnotic beat that thrums in Charles’ chest. He’s never felt like this — untouchable, invincible — as if tonight could stretch on forever, an endless loop of victory and laughter.

He’s just won Monaco.

Monaco. His Monaco.

The thought alone makes him smile, a small, private thing that he hides behind the rim of his champagne flute.

Around him, the crowd swirls in a blur of lights and shadows, everyone shouting their congratulations over the music, pulling him into hugs and clapping him on the back. Arthur is here somewhere, of course, dragging you along because where else would you be? The two of you are like shadows, inseparable since childhood.

Charles can still see you, just barely, out of the corner of his eye, chatting with a couple of Arthur’s friends near the bar. You’re laughing, a sound that somehow cuts through the noise and settles in the back of his mind. It’s a good sound, one that feels familiar, like home.

“Charles, mate!” A voice shouts, pulling him back. Max is there, leaning in with a grin that’s all teeth, like he’s just as buzzed on adrenaline as Charles is. “I swear, you’re going to be insufferable after this. Monaco, finally!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, though the truth is he probably will be insufferable. But can anyone blame him? He’s worked so damn hard for this, pushing through every setback, every disappointment. And now, here he is, celebrating the win of his career in the only place that really matters.

He’s about to respond when someone else pulls him into a hug, a flurry of excitement and congratulations that Charles barely processes. He doesn’t mind, though. Tonight, it feels like nothing can touch him, like nothing could ever bring him down from this high.

But then, something shifts. It’s subtle at first, just an itch at the back of his mind, a sense that something isn’t right. He glances over to where you and Arthur were standing, but Arthur is gone, nowhere to be seen. And you … you’re not laughing anymore.

Charles’ stomach twists. You’re cornered against the bar now, a man leaning in too close, too aggressive. Charles can’t see your face clearly through the throng of people, but the way you’re holding yourself, tense and small, tells him everything he needs to know.

His blood turns to ice, freezing the euphoria in his veins. He can’t hear what the man is saying, but it doesn’t matter. The way the man’s hand snakes around your waist, the way you try to push him off with trembling hands — Charles’ vision goes red.

He’s moving before he can think, pushing through the crowd with a single-minded focus. The people congratulating him moments ago scatter as he brushes past them, their laughter and cheers fading into the background noise.

“Hey!” Charles’ voice cuts through the music, sharp and commanding. The man doesn’t even turn at first, but you do, your eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Charles feels something break inside him at the sight, but he channels it into a fury that propels him forward.

When the man finally notices Charles, it’s too late. Charles is on him, grabbing the man’s shoulder and yanking him away from you with a force that sends the man stumbling backward. “Get the fuck away from her,” Charles snarls, every syllable dripping with venom.

The man barely has time to react before Charles slams him against the wall, the impact rattling the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. Charles’ forearm presses against the man’s throat, cutting off whatever protest he might have had.

“Charles, stop!” You gasp, your voice choked with a mix of fear and something else, something that twists the knife already lodged in Charles’ chest. He doesn’t stop, though. Can’t stop. The image of the man’s hands on you is burned into his mind, and all he can think about is making him pay, making him hurt.

The man struggles, clawing at Charles’ arm, but it’s useless. Charles is stronger, fueled by a rage that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for too long. The man’s face turns red, then purple, and still, Charles doesn’t let up. His grip tightens, and he leans in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deadly serious. The man’s eyes widen, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face, but Charles doesn’t care. He wants him to be scared. Wants him to know that there’s no escaping this, no escaping the consequences of what he’s done.

“Charles, please!” Your voice breaks through the haze of anger, and it’s only then that Charles realizes how close you’ve gotten. You’re right there, your hand on his arm, tugging gently, desperately trying to pull him away.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and sees the tears streaming down your face, the fear etched into your features. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, shocking him back to reality. The club, the music, the people — all of it comes rushing back in a disorienting wave.

Charles blinks, his grip on the man loosening just enough for the man to gasp for air. He’s still furious, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but he’s no longer blind with it. He takes a breath, then another, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Charles says quietly, his voice barely more than a growl. He shoves the man away from him, watching with cold satisfaction as he stumbles and nearly falls to the floor.

The man doesn’t stick around. He scrambles to his feet and disappears into the crowd, no doubt eager to get as far away from Charles as possible. Good. Charles hopes he never sees the man again, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself if he does.

For a moment, Charles just stands there, his chest heaving with the effort of reining in his emotions. The crowd has started to notice the commotion, a few curious onlookers craning their necks to see what’s going on. But none of that matters. None of them matter.

All that matters is you.

Charles turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?” His voice is gentler now, full of concern that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You nod, but it’s a shaky, uncertain thing. “I-I’m fine,” you manage, though it’s clear you’re anything but. You look like you’re about to collapse, your legs barely holding you up.

Without thinking, Charles steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist, you just sink into him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is.

“It’s okay,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” He holds you tighter, as if he can shield you from the world, from everything that just happened. And for a moment, it feels like he can. Like nothing bad can touch you as long as you’re in his arms.

You don’t say anything, just press your face into his chest, your breath hitching with the remnants of your tears. Charles presses his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that feels both instinctive and impossibly intimate. He’s never held you like this before, never been this close, but it feels right.

The music still pounds in the background, the lights still flash in a dizzying array of colors, but it’s all distant now, muted. The only thing that matters is you, and making sure you’re okay.

Charles pulls back just enough to look down at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Where’s Arthur?” He asks, his voice still soft but edged with a protective concern.

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “He was here a minute ago, and then …” Your words trail off, and Charles doesn’t need you to finish the sentence to know what happened next.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his anger in check. Arthur should have been here, should have been looking out for you, but he isn’t. Charles isn’t sure where his brother is right now, but he’ll deal with that later. For now, he needs to focus on you.

“It’s okay,” he says again, though the words feel inadequate. “You’re with me now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

You nod again, but this time it’s a little steadier, a little more certain. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the music.

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice rougher than he intends. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

The weight of those words hangs between you, a promise that feels more real than anything else in this moment. Charles knows, without a doubt, that he means it. He’ll protect you, no matter what. Even if it means facing down every threat, every danger, with the same ferocity he showed tonight.

He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the lingering anger. The night isn’t over yet, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be here, in this place that suddenly feels too crowded, too loud, too full of people who didn’t notice, didn’t care. Charles’ grip tightens on your shoulders as he scans the room, trying to spot Arthur in the sea of faces. But it’s a lost cause — the club is packed, and he knows Arthur could be anywhere.

“Come on,” Charles says, his voice a bit steadier now. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue, just nod and let him guide you through the crowd. The bodies pressing in around you both feel suffocating, the music that once electrified the night now grating on Charles’ nerves. He keeps a firm hold on your hand, as if letting go might mean losing you to the chaos.

As you near the exit, the cool night air becomes a welcome relief, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat inside. The streets of Monaco are quieter now, the party shifting indoors as the night grows late. Charles doesn’t stop moving until you’re both far enough from the club that the noise fades into a dull hum, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

He finally releases your hand, only to immediately wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You’re shivering, whether from the cold or the shock, Charles isn’t sure. Either way, he holds you tighter, wishing he could do more, say more.

But the words don’t come easily. They never have. So instead, he just walks with you, slowly, allowing the night air to calm the both of you. You lean into him, and he can feel the tension gradually leaving your body, though you still seem a little too fragile, too breakable.

Charles isn’t sure how long you walk like that, side by side in the near silence, before you finally speak.

“Charles, I …” Your voice is hesitant, unsure. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He stops walking, turning to face you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to think about that,” he says, his voice firm. “I was there. And I always will be.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for something — reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just understanding. “But what if next time-”

“There won’t be a next time.” Charles cuts you off, his voice harder than he intends. He takes a breath, softening his tone. “I won’t let there be a next time.”

He can see the worry still etched on your face, the remnants of fear that haven’t quite faded. He wishes he could take it all away, erase the memory of that man and the way he made you feel. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there, to protect you, to make sure you know that you’re not alone.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, quieter now, but with no less conviction. “As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, and he wonders what you’re thinking, what’s going on behind those eyes that have always been so easy for him to read. Eventually, you nod, and some of the tension in your posture seems to melt away.

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Charles nods too, though a part of him still feels on edge, like the danger hasn’t completely passed. But he pushes that feeling down, focusing instead on you, on the fact that you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters right now.

“Let’s go,” he says again, but this time, his voice is softer, more gentle. He takes your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours, and starts walking, leading you away from the club, from the noise and the memories that he hopes you’ll never have to revisit.

As you walk, the tension between you both begins to ease. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Charles allows himself to breathe.

He glances over at you, your profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. You look calmer now, more like yourself, though there’s still a shadow of what happened lingering in your eyes. Charles’ heart aches at the sight, at the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from that, even if he was there to stop it from getting worse.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just keeps walking, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, you reach the familiar streets that lead back to your apartment. The night is quiet now, the revelry of earlier giving way to the peaceful stillness of a city that’s finally starting to sleep.

When you reach your building, you both stop, lingering on the sidewalk as if neither of you wants the night to end just yet. Charles knows he should say something, anything, but the words are stuck in his throat, too heavy and too complicated to untangle.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice soft but clear. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, echoing his earlier words. “I meant what I said — I’ll always protect you.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that stretches on just long enough to make Charles wonder if you’re going to say something more. But you don’t. Instead, you step closer and, without warning, wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

Charles is momentarily stunned, his breath catching in his throat as he processes the warmth of your embrace, the way you cling to him like he’s your anchor in a storm. He hesitates for only a second before his arms come up around you, holding you just as tightly, if not more.

The hug lasts longer than it probably should, but neither of you seems to want to let go. When you finally do, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his with a softness that makes his chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice equally soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment between you.

You give him one last, lingering look before turning and heading into your building, the door closing softly behind you. Charles stands there for a moment, staring at the door, as if willing it to open again, as if hoping you might come back out and say something more.

But you don’t, and eventually, Charles turns and starts walking back the way you came, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he’s not sure how to deal with.

The night is still, the only sound the distant crash of the waves against the rocks. Charles lets the quiet seep into him, trying to find some semblance of calm, but it’s difficult. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, keeps flashing through his mind, a constant reminder of how close you came to being hurt.

He knows he should feel relief — that you’re safe, that the night ended without further incident. But instead, all he feels is a gnawing sense of guilt, of not having been there sooner, of not being able to protect you from everything.

Charles clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he walks. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there, doesn’t want to imagine the fear and pain you might have endured.

But he can’t stop the thoughts from coming, can’t shake the anger that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

As he rounds the corner to his own street, Charles makes a silent vow to himself. He’ll be more vigilant, more careful. He won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. He’ll be there, always, to protect you, no matter what.

And if anyone tries to come between you and your safety again, well … Charles isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold back next time.

He reaches his apartment, but he doesn’t go inside right away. Instead, he stands outside, staring up at the stars barely visible above the city lights, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and turns to unlock his door, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him with a quiet click. The apartment is dark and silent, but it doesn’t feel like home tonight. It feels empty, hollow, as if something is missing.

And Charles knows exactly what that something is.

As he heads to bed, his thoughts are still on you — on the way you looked at him tonight, on the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And somewhere, deep down, Charles knows that you’re more than just Arthur’s best friend to him.

But he’s not ready to confront that just yet. Not tonight.

So he pushes the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the promise he made to himself: to always be there for you, to protect you, no matter what.

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

***

The morning sun stretches over Monaco, its golden rays catching on the waves that lap against the harbor. The city is just beginning to stir, and for a moment, everything feels like it should: calm, peaceful, normal. But as Charles hits his stride on his morning run, his mind is anything but calm.

The events of last night replay in his head on a loop, the image of you — shaken, scared, fighting back tears — burned into his memory. Every step he takes feels heavier, weighted down by the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s tried to push it down, to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, but it’s no use. The rage is still there, as fresh and raw as it was the moment he saw you in that club.

Charles turns a corner, heading down toward the harbor where the yachts bob gently in the water. The morning air is crisp, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in his chest. He needs to clear his head, to shake off the lingering sense of helplessness that clings to him like a shadow.

But then he sees him.

The man is walking casually along the harbor, hands in his pockets, his face a picture of smug indifference. He looks like any other tourist enjoying a morning stroll, not like someone who was grabbing you, hurting you, just hours ago.

Charles stops dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining it, that his mind is playing tricks on him. But no, it’s him. The same face, the same sneer that Charles wanted to wipe off with his fist last night.

Something snaps inside Charles. The anger he’s been trying to control, trying to bury, erupts like a dam breaking, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His vision narrows, locking onto the man who dared to touch you, who thought he could get away with it.

Without thinking, Charles changes direction, his strides long and purposeful as he closes the distance between them. The man doesn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts a man like him could have. But then, as Charles gets closer, something makes the man glance over his shoulder.

His reaction is immediate. The smug look falters, replaced by a flicker of recognition, then quickly by a lazy grin that only fuels Charles’ rage.

“Well, well,” the man drawls, stopping to face Charles, clearly not sensing the danger. “If it isn’t the big hero himself. What’s the matter, Leclerc? Didn’t get enough attention last night?”

Charles doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly he can feel his teeth grind together. He’s close enough now to smell the lingering stench of alcohol on the man’s breath, the same breath that spewed vile words at you.

The man chuckles, a sound that grates on Charles’ nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You know, she had it coming,” he says, his tone almost conversational. “The way she was dressed, the way she looked at me — what did she expect?”

That’s all it takes. The words cut through Charles like a knife, sharp and searing, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, shoving him back against the railing of the harbor.

“What did you say?” Charles’ voice is low, dangerous, barely more than a growl. His knuckles are white where they grip the man’s shirt, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The man’s grin only widens, unfazed by the fury in Charles’ eyes. “You heard me,” he sneers. “And you know what? There’s nothing you can do about it. We’re in public, Leclerc. You’re a famous guy — can’t have your precious image tarnished, can you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a smile, but it’s not the kind that reaches his eyes. It’s cold, calculated, the kind of smile that sends a chill down the spine. “You think I care about that?” He asks, his voice dangerously calm.

The man’s bravado falters just a bit, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna do anything. Not here, not in front of all these people.”

Charles laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a bitter edge that makes the man shift uncomfortably. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Charles says, his voice softening into something almost pitying. “This is Monaco. And I’m Charles Leclerc.”

The man’s face pales slightly, but he still tries to hold his ground. “So what? You think being a driver gives you a free pass to do whatever you want?”

Charles’ smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it. “Exactly.”

Before the man can react, Charles yanks him away from the railing, dragging him along the harbor. The man stumbles, trying to pull away, but Charles’ grip is ironclad, unyielding. The few people who are out this early watch with interest, some even clapping or calling out congratulations as they recognize Charles.

“Hey, what the hell?” The man protests, his voice rising in panic as he struggles against Charles’ hold. “Let go of me!”

Charles doesn’t respond, his eyes focused straight ahead as he forces the man to walk, his grip tightening whenever he feels him start to resist. The man’s attempts to free himself are pathetic, laughable even, compared to the strength Charles has built up over years of training, of pushing his body to the limits.

As they pass by a group of people, one of them cheers, “That’s the way, Charles! Show him who’s boss!”

The man tries to appeal to the onlookers, his voice frantic. “Someone stop him! He’s crazy!”

But no one moves to help. They just watch, some amused, others indifferent, as Charles continues to drag the man through the streets of Monaco like he’s nothing more than a piece of trash that needs to be disposed of.

“Where are you taking me?” The man demands, his voice trembling now as fear starts to seep in. “You can’t do this! I’ll-I’ll call the police!”

Charles’ laugh is cold and devoid of any warmth. “Go ahead,” he says, not slowing down for a second. “Tell them Charles Leclerc is dealing with a problem. See how far that gets you.”

The man’s protests grow weaker, his struggles more desperate, but it’s clear he knows there’s no escaping this. Charles is too strong, too determined, and the reality of his situation is starting to sink in.

The two of them reach a more secluded part of the harbor, where the buildings are fewer and the noise of the city fades into the background. There’s no one around to witness what’s about to happen, no one to hear the man’s cries for help.

Charles comes to a stop in a narrow alleyway, shoving the man against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He leans in close, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“You made a mistake last night,” Charles says, his tone icy. “You thought you could get away with it because you were in a crowded club, because she was alone. You thought no one would stop you.”

The man’s eyes are wide with fear now, all traces of his earlier arrogance gone. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“But you did,” Charles cuts him off, his voice like steel. “You meant every word, every touch, every threat. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

The man tries to push Charles away, his movements frantic, but Charles is relentless. He grabs the man by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his grip just tight enough to make him understand how serious this is.

“You think I can’t do anything to you because we’re in public?” Charles hisses, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “You’re wrong. In Monaco, I can do whatever I want. And no one will stop me.”

The man’s hands claw at Charles’ arm, trying to pry his fingers away from his throat, but it’s useless. Charles is too strong, too focused, his anger giving him a surge of power that the man can’t hope to match.

Charles leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You hurt someone I care about. Someone I’ve known my whole life. And for that, I’m going to make sure you never forget what happens when you cross me.”

The man’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he realizes the gravity of his situation. He tries to speak, to beg for mercy, but Charles isn’t interested in hearing his excuses.

“Please …” the man finally manages to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m sorry …”

Charles’ eyes narrow, his grip tightening for a moment before he abruptly lets go, letting the man collapse to the ground in a heap. The man gasps for air, his hands trembling as he scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with fear.

But Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the collar, dragging him deeper into the alley, where the shadows swallow them both. The man’s struggles are weak now, more out of instinct than any real hope of escape.

“People like you,” Charles says, his voice low and menacing, “think you can do whatever you want. But here’s the truth: you’re nothing. Just another coward who preys on the vulnerable. And cowards like you don’t get to walk away.”

The alley is cold and dark, the early morning light barely reaching the grimy corners where Charles drags the man like a lifeless doll. The sounds of Monaco are distant now, just a low hum that fades into the background. The only noise that matters is the ragged breathing of the man at Charles’ mercy, and the echo of their footsteps on the uneven pavement.

Charles stops abruptly, his grip still tight on the man’s collar. He looks around, taking in the silence, the isolation. This place, this forgotten corner of the city, is perfect. No one will find them here. No one will hear what happens next.

He shoves the man against the wall again, harder this time, the force of it knocking the breath out of him. The man lets out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with fear, the bravado from earlier completely gone.

“Please,” he stammers, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean-”

Charles cuts him off with a sharp punch to the gut, and the man doubles over, wheezing. “Don’t bother,” Charles says coldly. “You’re not sorry. You’re just scared. There’s a difference.”

The man tries to straighten up, but Charles doesn’t give him the chance. He lands another punch, this time to the man’s jaw, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. The man’s head snaps to the side, blood already beginning to trickle from his split lip.

“You like hurting people, don’t you?” Charles asks, his voice calm, almost conversational as he paces in front of the man. “That’s what you were doing last night, right? You saw her and you thought you could do whatever you wanted.”

The man groans, trying to push himself up from the ground where he’s fallen, but Charles is on him in an instant, his knee pressing into the man’s chest, pinning him down.

“You thought she was alone,” Charles continues, his voice still eerily calm as he looks down at the man struggling beneath him. “You thought no one would stop you.”

He leans in closer, his knee digging into the man’s ribs, making it harder for him to breathe. “But she wasn’t alone. And now, you’re going to pay for what you did.”

The man tries to shake his head, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know-”

Another punch, this one to the side of the man’s face, silences him. Charles doesn’t care about his excuses, his lies. All he cares about is making sure this man understands the pain, the fear that you felt last night.

He grabs the man by the hair, forcing his head up so their eyes meet. The man’s face is already swelling, bruises blossoming under his skin like dark flowers. “You think this is bad?” Charles asks, his voice low, dangerous. “This is nothing compared to what you deserve.”

The man whimpers, his hands weakly trying to push Charles away, but it’s no use. Charles is relentless, his grip like iron as he drags the man up and slams him back against the wall.

“You like to take what you want, don’t you?” Charles says, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “Well, let’s see how you like it when someone takes something from you.”

Without waiting for a response, Charles delivers a brutal kick to the man’s knee, and the sickening sound of bone cracking echoes in the alley. The man screams, a high, desperate sound that only fuels Charles’ anger.

He watches dispassionately as the man crumples to the ground, clutching his leg, his face contorted in agony. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Charles asks, his voice devoid of any sympathy. “Now imagine how she felt. Imagine how scared she was, how helpless.”

The man tries to crawl away, his movements sluggish, hindered by the pain, but Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the ankle, dragging him back, his face set in grim determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Charles says, his voice flat, emotionless. “Not until I’m finished.”

He pulls the man up, slamming him into the wall again, his grip never loosening. The man’s head lolls to the side, blood dripping from his nose, his mouth, but Charles doesn’t care. He won’t stop until the man feels every bit of the fear and pain he inflicted on you.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but there’s a dangerous edge to it that makes the man’s eyes widen in fear. “You think you can just go back to your life, like nothing happened?”

The man shakes his head weakly, but Charles doesn’t believe him. He knows men like this, cowards who prey on the vulnerable, who think they’re invincible because they’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions.

“Wrong,” Charles says, his voice hard, unyielding. “You’re not walking away from this. Not ever.”

He lands another punch, this one to the man’s ribs, and the man gasps, the air knocked out of him. Charles steps back for a moment, watching as the man collapses to the ground, coughing, wheezing, barely conscious.

“Look at you,” Charles says, his voice filled with contempt as he circles the man like a predator. “Pathetic. All that confidence, all that arrogance — gone. Now you’re just a scared little boy, begging for mercy.”

The man’s eyes flutter open, bloodshot and filled with pain. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low, pitiful moan. Charles crouches down beside him, his eyes cold, calculating.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost gentle, but there’s a cruel undertone that makes the man flinch. “Did you think no one would care? That no one would come for you?”

The man doesn’t answer, his body trembling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Charles watches him for a moment, his anger still simmering, but there’s a part of him — a small part — that feels a twisted sense of satisfaction. This man, this coward, is finally paying for what he did.

But it’s not enough. Not yet.

Charles reaches down, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh. The man’s eyes go wide, panic setting in as he struggles to breathe, his hands weakly clawing at Charles’ arm.

“You’re not going to forget this,” Charles says, his voice low, dangerous. “Every time you look in the mirror, every time you see those scars, you’re going to remember what happens when you cross me. When you hurt someone I care about.”

The man gurgles, his eyes rolling back in his head, his body going limp in Charles’ grasp. For a moment, Charles considers finishing it, squeezing the life out of the man until there’s nothing left. But then he releases his grip, letting the man collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The man barely has the strength to lift his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “You … you can’t … do this,” he wheezes, his voice weak, barely audible. “I’ll … have you arrested … for attempted murder …”

Charles stares down at him, a cold, humorless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down the man’s spine. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Try it. See how far you get.”

The man’s eyes flutter closed, his body trembling uncontrollably as the reality of his situation sets in. He’s helpless, broken, barely clinging to consciousness. And Charles knows that the man’s threats are empty, born out of desperation, a final attempt to grasp at some semblance of control.

“You’re nothing,” Charles says, his voice cold, final. “No one is going to believe you. Not after what you did. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

The man’s breath comes in short, shallow gasps, his body shuddering with pain and exhaustion. Charles watches him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally stands up, looking down at the broken, bloodied man at his feet.

“Consider this a warning,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “Stay away from her. Stay away from Monaco. If I ever see you again, I won’t stop next time. I won’t show mercy.”

The man doesn’t respond, barely clinging to consciousness, his body slumped against the wall like a discarded puppet. Charles takes one last look at him, his eyes cold, before he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silent alley.

As he steps out into the morning light, the anger that had consumed him begins to fade, replaced by a cold, detached calm. He knows what he’s done, knows that he’s crossed a line that most people wouldn’t dare to. But he doesn’t care. He did what he had to do, what you needed him to do.

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

***

The atmosphere in the police station is tense, a quiet hum of activity threading through the open space. Officers move about, their conversations muted, eyes occasionally flicking toward the door where Charles Leclerc is expected to enter any moment. There’s a palpable discomfort in the air, a mix of respect and unease. No one wants to be the one to arrest Charles Leclerc. And yet, protocol demands his presence.

When Charles finally walks in, the room seems to still. Heads turn, eyes widen slightly. He’s dressed casually — sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Despite the nonchalance of his appearance, there’s an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

The desk sergeant, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a lined face, stands up hastily. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins, his tone overly formal, almost reverent. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. We’re, uh … we’re very sorry about this.”

Charles offers a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “What’s this about?” He asks, even though he already knows.

The sergeant hesitates, glancing around nervously. “We, uh, received a complaint this morning,” he explains, his voice wavering slightly. “From a … an individual who claims that you assaulted him.”

Charles’ lips twitch into something resembling a smile, though there’s no warmth in it. “He’s not wrong,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “I did.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s a nervous shifting among the other officers in the room. This isn’t how these things usually go. “Monsieur Leclerc,” the sergeant begins again, more carefully this time, “we understand that this man may have … done something to provoke you. But we have to follow protocol. We need to ask you some questions.”

Charles crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as he regards the sergeant with a cold, detached stare. “Protocol,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

The sergeant shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Did you, uh, did you physically assault the complainant?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the officers around them, as if they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing. The sergeant blinks, clearly taken aback by Charles’ bluntness. “And … do you regret it?”

Charles laughs then, a dark, humorless sound that sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. “Regret?” He echoes, shaking his head. “No, I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d do it again.”

The sergeant’s face pales, and he looks around as if searching for some way out of this conversation. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins again, his voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think you understand the situation. You’ve just admitted to a serious crime. We … we can’t just let you go.”

Charles’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice cold, unyielding. “And you will.”

The sergeant opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, the door to the station bursts open, and the man from the alley stumbles in. His face is still bruised, his movements stiff and pained. But there’s a look of triumph in his eyes as he spots Charles standing there.

“There he is!” The man shouts, pointing a shaky finger at Charles. “That’s him! That’s the bastard who tried to kill me!”

Charles turns slowly to face the man, his expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. The man, emboldened by the presence of the police, takes a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “You think you can just walk away from this, Leclerc? You think you’re untouchable? I’m going to see you rot in prison for what you did!”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The man falters slightly, confused by the lack of reaction. Charles taps the screen a few times, then puts it on speaker.

“What are you doing?” The man sneers, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Calling your lawyer? That’s not going to save you.”

Charles doesn’t bother to reply. The phone rings once, twice, before a familiar voice answers on the other end.

“Charles,” comes the smooth, authoritative voice of Prince Albert of Monaco. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off the man as he responds. “Your Highness, I’m at the police station. There’s a man here trying to press charges against me for something I did last night.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Prince Albert’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room through the speakerphone. “I see. And what exactly did you do, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes narrow as he stares down the man, who is now looking increasingly nervous. “I made sure he understands that there are consequences for hurting people I care about,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “I made sure he knows that no one lays a hand on her without answering to me.”

The silence in the station is deafening. Every officer in the room is holding their breath, waiting to see what happens next. The man’s face drains of color as he realizes what’s happening, who Charles is talking to.

Prince Albert’s voice is measured, careful. “And you believe this was necessary?”

“Yes,” Charles replies without hesitation. “It was necessary.”

There’s another pause, and then Prince Albert speaks again, his tone decisive. “Then I trust your judgment. You did what you had to do. Consider this a royal pardon. I’ll have an official document delivered to the station within the hour.”

The man’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You … you can’t do this!” He sputters, his voice rising in desperation. “He assaulted me! He nearly killed me!”

Charles finally lowers the phone, ending the call. He slips it back into his pocket, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. “You heard him,” Charles says quietly, his eyes locked on the man’s. “You’re done here.”

The man looks around wildly, as if searching for someone to back him up, but all he finds are the wary, sympathetic gazes of the officers. No one is going to help him. No one is going to defy Prince Albert.

The desk sergeant clears his throat, stepping forward. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he says, his voice carefully controlled, “it appears that you’re free to go.”

Charles doesn’t smile. He simply nods, his gaze never leaving the man who stands trembling before him. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I have more important things to do than waste my time here.”

The man opens his mouth to protest again, but the words die on his lips as Charles steps forward, his presence overwhelming, almost suffocating. “You should leave Monaco,” Charles says, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The man stumbles back, his bravado crumbling as fear takes hold. He casts one last desperate glance at the officers, but they all turn away, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s alone in this, and he knows it.

With a final, defeated whimper, the man turns and flees from the station, his steps hurried, unsteady. Charles watches him go, his expression unreadable, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction.

The desk sergeant shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Uh, I … we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” he stammers. “It’s just … we had to follow procedure …”

Charles waves a hand dismissively, already heading for the door. “It’s fine,” he says, though there’s a hardness in his voice that suggests otherwise. “Just make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The sergeant nods quickly, grateful for the reprieve. “Of course, Monsieur Leclerc. It won’t happen again.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He steps out into the sunlight, the tension slowly draining from his body as the warmth of the day washes over him. The streets of Monaco are as busy as ever, people going about their lives, oblivious to what just transpired inside the police station.

He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, grounding himself. The day is far from over, and there are still things he needs to do, but for now, the threat has been neutralized. The man who hurt you is gone, and Charles made sure he’ll never come back.

As he walks away from the station, Charles can’t help but think of you, your face, your voice, the way you smiled at him when you were just a little girl. He knows he’s crossed a line today, done things that most people wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t condone. But he doesn’t care. He did it for you.

And he’d do it all over again if he had to.

***

Charles stands outside your apartment, a paper bag of takeout in one hand, his other raised to knock on the door. He hesitates for a moment, nerves he didn’t expect twisting in his stomach. It’s strange, feeling nervous about seeing you. He’s known you for years — watched you grow up, shared countless family dinners with you, laughed at your jokes, teased you about your school crushes.

But this … this feels different. Everything feels different now.

He finally knocks, a light tap that he knows you’ll hear. A few seconds pass, and then the door swings open, revealing you standing there in a casual outfit, your hair pulled back, a soft smile on your face.

“Charles,” you greet him, your voice warm, familiar. “Come in.”

He steps inside, glancing around the cozy space. It’s a small apartment, but it’s yours, filled with little touches that scream your personality — bookshelves overflowing with novels, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. It’s homey, comfortable, and it smells like the vanilla candle you always seem to have burning.

“I brought lunch,” Charles says, holding up the bag. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You smile, your eyes brightening at the sight of the food. “You know me too well. What did you get?”

“Your favorite,” he replies, setting the bag down on the table and beginning to unpack it. “Pasta from that little place near the harbor.”

“Perfect,” you say, moving to grab plates from the cupboard. “You always know how to spoil me.”

Charles chuckles, though his mind is far from the light-hearted conversation. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest, something he knows he needs to tell you, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he focuses on the food, dishing out generous portions onto each plate.

You both sit down at the small dining table, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of forks scraping against plates and the occasional hum of satisfaction as you enjoy the meal. It’s comfortable, easy — just like it’s always been between you.

But then, as if sensing his unease, you break the silence. “So, I heard the craziest thing this morning,” you say, your tone light, almost teasing. “One of my friends told me that you were almost arrested yesterday. Can you believe that?”

Charles’ fork pauses midway to his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so casually, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. He forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh? What did she say?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She said she heard you were involved in some kind of fight and that the police were called. I told her she was crazy. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”

There’s a playful glint in your eyes, but Charles can’t bring himself to join in. Instead, he sets his fork down, the sound of metal against porcelain unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He looks at you, his expression serious, all traces of his earlier smile gone.

“Actually,” he begins, his voice low, steady, “it’s true.”

Your smile falters, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Charles leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he meets your gaze head-on. “I was at the police station yesterday,” he says, the words heavy, deliberate. “They called me in because that guy — the one who … hurt you — he tried to press charges against me.”

You stare at him, the shock evident in your wide eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? This isn’t some joke?”

“I’m serious,” Charles replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed of it either. He deserved what he got.”

For a moment, you just sit there, trying to process what he’s telling you. You set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “But … Charles, what did you do?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I made sure he understood that there are consequences for his actions. That he can’t just walk away after what he did to you.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your glass of water, taking a sip to steady yourself. “You … you didn’t …”

“I didn’t kill him,” Charles says quickly, sensing your fear. “But I hurt him. Badly. And I don’t regret it.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your mind racing. The Charles you know — the Charles you grew up with, the one who used to give you piggyback rides when you were too tired to walk — wouldn’t do something like this. But then again, this isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. This is you. And for Charles, you’re different. You’ve always been different.

“I did it to protect you,” Charles continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with what he did. I couldn’t …”

He trails off, his gaze dropping to the table, his shoulders slumping slightly. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him, leaving behind only the raw, honest truth of his actions.

You swallow hard, trying to make sense of everything. “But … you could have been arrested. You could have gone to jail.”

Charles laughs, a bitter sound that holds no real amusement. “Not in Monaco,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for this.”

You furrow your brow, confusion evident in your expression. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to Prince Albert. He gave me a royal pardon. The guy had no chance.”

You blink, stunned by the casual way he says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “A royal pardon? Charles, that’s … that’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not,” Charles agrees, his tone somber. “But I don’t care. I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. You’ve always known Charles was protective of you, but this … this is something else entirely. He’s crossed a line, and there’s no going back.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the tension in the room thick, suffocating. Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for you to say something, anything. He’s prepared for you to be angry, to be horrified by what he’s done. But he wasn’t prepared for the look of sadness that crosses your face, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky. “I never wanted you to do something like this for me.”

Charles leans forward, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, steady, and for a moment, it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the panic that’s been rising in your chest.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But it’s what I needed to do. I couldn’t just stand by and let him hurt you.”

You squeeze his hand, your grip tightening as if you’re afraid to let go. “But what if you had been arrested? What if you couldn’t get out of it? I couldn’t bear the thought of you being locked up because of me.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Charles replies, his voice firm, resolute. “I told you, I’d do anything to protect you. And I mean it.”

You look up at him then, your eyes searching his, trying to find some sign that this is all just a bad dream, that you’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. But all you see is the truth — the raw, unfiltered truth of what Charles has done, and why he did it.

“I don’t know if I should be angry or grateful,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been there for me. But this … this is something else.”

Charles smiles then, a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to be anything,” he says softly. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

For a moment, you just sit there, holding his hand, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. There’s so much you want to say, so much you want to ask, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Instead, you focus on the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes never leave yours.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you lean across the table and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepens, the tension that’s been building between you finally finding release.

Charles’ hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed — desperate, passionate, full of all the emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. Charles’ eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and there’s a look in them that you’ve never seen before — something raw and vulnerable, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence heavy with the weight of what just happened. Charles’ hand is still in your hair, his thumb gently stroking the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel his breath on your lips, warm and steady, as if he’s trying to anchor himself in this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your own heart pounding so loudly in your ears that you’re sure he can hear it too. “Charles …” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not sure what you want to say, what you’re supposed to say. Everything feels too big, too overwhelming.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just watches you with that same intense gaze, his eyes searching yours for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your hair, his fingers trailing down the side of your face before he lets it fall to his lap. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling cold, and you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you, to kiss him again and forget everything else. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and try to gather your thoughts, your mind racing. “What … what does this mean?” You finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He looks down at his hands, his brows furrowing in thought. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve known you my whole life, but … this is different.”

You bite your lip, trying to make sense of it all. “I’ve always cared about you. You know that. But I never thought …” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air between you.

Charles finally looks up at you again, his expression softening. “Neither did I,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But now that it’s happened … I don’t think I can go back. I don’t want to.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. There’s a part of you that wants to be cautious, to protect yourself from whatever this is, but there’s another part — one that’s stronger — that wants to take the leap, to see where this could go.

“I don’t want to either,” you whisper, the admission almost too much to say out loud. But it’s the truth, and once it’s out there, you feel a sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Charles’ eyes soften even more, his smile widening slightly. He reaches out, taking your hand in his once more, his grip warm and steady. “Then let’s see where this goes,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Okay.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, hands intertwined, the food on the table long forgotten as the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. There’s still so much you need to talk about, so many questions that need answers, but for now, this is enough. The kiss, the confession, the promise of something more — it’s all more than you ever expected.

Charles gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I know,” you say softly. “And I’m here for you too.”

He nods, his expression earnest. “Good.”

The silence between you is comfortable now, the tension from earlier finally dissipating. You feel a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling that everything will be okay, no matter what comes next.

Finally, Charles glances at the table, his smile turning sheepish. “We should probably finish our lunch,” he says, his tone light.

You laugh, the sound easing the last of your lingering nerves. “Yeah, we probably should.”

You both pick up your forks, and the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, the ease between you returning as if nothing has changed. But you both know that something has. There’s a new understanding between you, a new connection that wasn’t there before. And as you finish your meal, stealing glances at each other across the table, you can’t help but feel excited about what the future might hold.

***

Monaco at night is a different kind of magic. The streets are quieter, the buzz of the day replaced by the hum of luxury cars and the distant sound of waves crashing against the harbor. The city glows with a soft, golden light, the kind that makes everything look a little more romantic, a little more surreal. And tonight, with you tucked into Charles’ side as you walk home from dinner, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

You’ve been together for a few years now, and yet there’s still a thrill in the way he holds you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as if he’s claiming you all over again. There’s something comforting in the familiarity of it, the way your bodies just fit together, like two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be.

The conversation between you is light, filled with teasing banter about the dessert you shared at the restaurant — how he insists you ate most of it, and you argue that he’s the one with the sweet tooth. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that comes with knowing someone inside out, with having weathered storms together and come out stronger on the other side.

But as you turn down a quieter street, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle at first — a flicker of movement in the corner of Charles’ eye, the sense that you’re being watched. And then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the night, crude and jarring in its tone.

“Hey, baby, how about a smile?”

You freeze, your muscles tensing instinctively. The voice belongs to a man leaning against a lamppost, his eyes raking over you with a leer that makes your skin crawl. You feel Charles stiffen beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders protectively. But before you can react, the man pushes off from the lamppost and approaches, his hand reaching out to touch you.

It all happens in a blur. The man’s fingers graze your arm, and you flinch back, your heart racing. But before you can fully process the disgust that courses through you, Charles is already moving.

The look in his eyes is one you recognize — a dark, dangerous glint that you’ve only seen a handful of times, but each one burned into your memory. It’s the same look he had that night at the club, the night he became more than just your protector, the night everything between you changed.

He’s about to lunge, his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash all the anger simmering beneath the surface. But you place a hand on his chest, stopping him just in time.

“Charles,” you say softly, but there’s a knowing edge to your voice, a familiarity with the situation. “Should I call Prince Albert? Let him know you might need another pardon?”

Charles pauses, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the tension eases. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, a dark, almost feral smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice low and laced with a dangerous amusement. “This must be the fourth one this year.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood, if only for a second. “Actually,” you correct him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “it’s the fifth.”

His smile widens at that, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. But the humor doesn’t last long. The reality of the situation pulls him back, and his expression hardens once more as he turns his attention to the man who dared to touch you.

“Stay here,” Charles says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s the voice of a man who’s about to do something he won’t regret — something he’s done before.

You nod, trusting him, knowing that whatever happens next, it’s out of your hands. And as Charles steps away from you, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a sense of justice in knowing that this man is about to face the consequences of his actions.

The man, oblivious to the danger he’s in, sneers at Charles, clearly unbothered by the presence of another man. “What are you gonna do, pretty boy?” He taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You think you can scare me?”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. He takes his time, closing the distance between them with a measured, almost predatory grace. And when he finally speaks, his voice is as cold as ice.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Charles says quietly, the words laced with a threat that hangs heavy in the air.

The man laughs, the sound grating and unpleasant. “Oh, I know exactly who you are,” he sneers. “You’re that driver, right? Leclerc? Big deal. Doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, as if considering the man’s words, and then, to your surprise, he laughs — a dark, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think being in public will protect you?” Charles asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think because there are people around, I won’t make you regret ever laying a hand on her?”

The man falters, some of his bravado slipping as he realizes that Charles isn’t backing down. He glances around, perhaps expecting someone to come to his aid, but the street is empty, save for a few onlookers who are too far away to hear the exchange.

Charles doesn’t give him time to think. With a speed that takes the man by surprise, he grabs him by the collar, yanking him forward with a strength that belies his lean frame. The man stumbles, his cocky demeanor evaporating as he realizes he’s in over his head.

“You should have walked away,” Charles murmurs, his voice dangerously calm. “But now … now you’re going to pay.”

The man struggles, trying to push Charles away, but it’s futile. Charles is a professional athlete, his body honed for strength and endurance, and the man is no match for him. Within seconds, Charles has him pinned against the wall of a nearby building, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat.

“Get off me, you psycho!” The man chokes out, his voice panicked as he claws at Charles’ arm.

But Charles doesn’t budge. He leans in closer, his face inches from the man’s, his eyes filled with a cold, calculated fury. “You’re going to regret ever touching her,” he says quietly, his words laced with venom.

And then, without warning, he drags the man away from the wall, pulling him down the street with a force that makes it clear this isn’t just a warning — it’s a promise. The man tries to resist, tries to fight back, but it’s no use. Charles is stronger, faster, and more determined, his grip unyielding as he hauls the man toward a darker, more secluded part of the street.

You watch from a distance, your heart pounding in your chest. Part of you wants to stop him, to tell him it’s not worth it, but another part of you— the part that remembers the fear and helplessness you felt when that man touched you — wants Charles to follow through, to make sure this man never does this to anyone else again.

As they disappear around a corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You trust Charles, you know he’ll be careful, but you can’t help the worry that creeps in, the fear of what might happen next.

Minutes pass, each one feeling like an eternity, and then finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, your breath catching in your throat as you see Charles emerging from the shadows, alone.

His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy as he walks back to you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Then, without a word, Charles pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, your hand cupping his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He smiles then, a small, tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m okay,” he says, though you can hear the weariness in his voice. “But he won’t be bothering you — or anyone else — again.”

You nod, knowing there’s more to the story than he’s telling you, but you don’t press him. Not now, not when he’s holding you so tightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

“Let’s go home,” you say gently, taking his hand in yours.

Charles nods, his grip on your hand firm as he leads you back down the street, away from the darkness and into the light. And as you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, a sense of safety in knowing that no matter what happens, Charles will always be there to protect you.

[norrizzandpia]

bff reader x lando where they’re at a party maybs in monaco? pool party and stuff and the night gets messy but lando and reader stays out in the pool till late,and he becomes all clingy bc it’s getting cold and he likes reader 🥹 coz i’m a sucker for bff x lando aswell as cute smutty jealous lando,idk if you’ll be able to make something out of this but thank uuuu ☺️ xoxo

I love a good best friends to lovers

His (LN4)

Summary: When a fun pool party turns into a hurtful disaster, the only good thing to come from it is two confessions.

Warnings: wandering hands 😏, y/n’s ex, slightly jealous Lando, PROTECTIVE lando, the use of “whore” (not in an attractive way) language, major fluff at the end like i was blushing at my own writing

Note: I THINK I LOVE THIS ONE GUYS

To be honest, nobody told Y/n that her ex, David, was on the invite list. As she stood next to Max, him a rambling and blushing mess over Pietra - who was laughing with her friends in the cutest bikini across the way, Y/n tried to convince herself that her eyes were lying. There was no way in hell David was walking through the door to the backyard of whosever house Lando had dragged her to. There was no way in hell David was making eye contact with her, a sickening smile on his face as her presence greeted him. There was no way in hell David was walking toward her.

No way in hell.

Except, there was!

David’s hand squeezed the flesh of her arm as he grinned down at her, “Y/n! What’re you doing here?”

She blinked a few times, her fingers slightly denting the plastic of her cup as his sliminess seeped into her skin, “David! Lando brought me here. What about you?”

The problem with David was that he was always intimidated by Lando. Whether that was because Lando had a bigger build and had a few inches on him or because of the fact that Lando was more successful, she never could tell. However, all she knew was that one of the reasons they broke up was because of his continuous insecurity that controlled their fights over Lando. No matter how many times she reassured him or told him Lando was just a friend, David would never relent. In his mind, Lando and her were basically fucking on the side.

His eyes turned a darker shade, “Lando’s here?”

She nodded, “Yes, he got invited and had a plus one.”

David scoffed, “Oh, and you’re the plus one, I suppose.”

“Yes, she is.” Lando’s voice interrupted the conversation. His body stuck to Y/n’s side like glue, his hand around her waist, as he stared the man down. Another problem with their previous relationship - Lando and David hated each other. At first, Lando had kept an open mind to his best friend’s boyfriend, albeit he was a little standoffish, but the moment Y/n started to show up at his door - sobbing - in the middle of the night because of some bullshit David had said during a fight, Lando was immediately turned off.

Lando was always protective over the people he loved, attentive and caring to its fullest potential. But, with Y/n, there had always been an inherent need to be there for her through everything from the moment he met her. The way he was with her stood out among the rest. They could try and explain the deep connection away with certain things they shared in common, they had tried, but everybody knew.

David’s chest puffed up higher, not enough to scare Lando though, “Lando.”

Each syllable drenched in a need to exert dominance, David’s words made the McLaren Driver glance down at the girl tucked under his arm. His eyes, the ones she could always read, asked for her to trust him. She always would. She smiled back at him.

With the reassurance, Lando’s hand came to rest dangerously low on her back, “Is there anything more you need to say to my girlfriend?”

She did trust him, just didn’t expect that to come out of his mouth. Her fingers almost ripped through the cup in her hands as her firm hold continued.

David’s eyes bulged, “Girlfriend?!”

From some place deep within herself, one she had never met before, Y/n nodded feverishly, “Yeah, we got together a few months ago.”

Lando’s body leaned into her and it all began to feel… comfortable. They would never address it, but there was always some sort of unspeakable tension between them that made hangouts and interactions a bit intense and awkward, too much for people who were supposed to be the closest of friends. For once, as their hands were allowed to sit nicely on places they had been too aware of every time they touched each other, that sense of heightened uncertainty was completely gone.

Replaced was warm palms.

A soft smile plastered on Lando’s face was quickly gone the moment David laughed, “Oh, I saw this coming for ages.” His gaze, dangerous and angry, shifted to Y/n and Lando almost moved his entire body in front of her. Honestly, he wished he had as David mumbled in her direction, “Whore.”

Max, sipping on his drink off to the side, choked as he watched Lando’s entire body tense up. His arm, that was once wrapped around his “girlfriend”, very quickly came to clutch the man’s shirt, shoving him harshly.

“What’d you say?!” Lando said, right in his face as Pietra came to pull Y/n away. The two girls held hands tightly as the entire party’s attention was turned toward the spectacle that was Y/n’s ex-boyfriend and her speculated new one.

David’s face went pale, “Nothing.”

Lando pushed him away once more, slapping his chest harshly before pointing a finger in his face, “Say that about her again and I will make your life a living hell, I swear to God.”

David coughed out an apology to which Lando spit on his shoes and said, “Say it to her not me, dick.”

Her eyes caught his as he stuttered it out, pure fear etched into them - something she had never seen before. He was always eager to make her feel scared during an argument. It was weird to see him in the same position he had put her in multiple times before.

When he stumbled away, out the same door he had come from twenty minutes before, Lando stopped being concerned with the cameras around him, waltzing right up to his Y/n and holding her head in his hands. He whispered, “You good?”

She nodded, leaning into his hands as he began to lead her into the house. She knew it was his friend’s house, but she didn’t expect for him to know the complete layout of it when he brought her to the kitchen so effortlessly.

She looked around, “I’m not hungry.”

He nodded, shrugged, “I know, but I thought we could hide out in here while everyone filters out.”

Her head peeked around the corner and, sure enough, the guests who were once lingering around the pool in the back were now scurrying through the door.

Lando chuckled, “Guess David’s a downer.”

—

An hour later, dinner ingested and everybody gone, Y/n found herself back in the backyard. Her body laid against the concrete of the pool as she stared at the place where David had been, calling her names, an hour and a half before. It hurt to think about, wonder if that’s what he had genuinely thought of her throughout their relationship. Nobody knew that it all got to her, the comments under Lando’s posts about her being something entertaining for him and the others on Twitter talking about the same things David had muttered before, but it did. No matter how much she tried to make it seem as though she knew those claims were ridiculous, a part of her did, she had gradually begun to internalize it all, creating a deep sore spot.

Nobody knew.

Well, except for him.

Lando’s footsteps pattered against the cold ground before they begun splashing around as he submerged himself in the water. She turned around to see him, one arm hanging on to the edge of the pool while the other wadded in the water. He smiled at her as he begun swimming toward her, coming to rest skin-to-skin right next to her.

He looked on at the spot she was so infatuated with before whispering, “You know what he said was completely wrong, right?”

All she could do was nod, her voice would not be convincing. She knew that. Lando knew that and that’s why his arm creeped around her torso, holding her close.

His mouth was right next to her ear, “It’s not true, Y/n.”

There was a deep sincerity in his words that hit her heart hard, prompting her fingers to trail up his arm before clutching his shoulder. Her head turned, their faces inches apart, and she smiled, “Thank you.”

His body fell further into the water as he let go of the edge, pulling her flush against him right after. He was gentle in his touches as he guided her legs to wrap around him, continuing to hold her waist as her arms wrapped around his neck. A dark, starry sky above them illuminated the twinkle in Lando’s eye. One Y/n found hard to explain away.

He pushed the wet hair out of her face, “He didn’t know what he had.”

Her fingers traced and memorized the sharpness of his cheekbones, “Are you saying you do?”

Her question, however bold, opened their friendship up. For once, one of them was giving the other the opportunity to confess whatever had manifested throughout the time they’d spent together.

She could see it in his eyes, the hesitation and fear in moving into that space with her. Sure, they had been uncomfortable together before, but this was different. This was an opening for something that could make or break them.

This was life or death to Lando.

Though, by the way she smiled at him, he knew he would be stupid, wrong her like David had, if he continued to sweep it all under the rug, “Yes.”

Her hands stopped moving about his face, instead cradling it, “What does that mean, Lan?”

Her question made his heart stop, the moment it all came down to, “Y/n, I hated seeing you with him. I hated seeing you with all of them. I couldn’t stand to see you hanging onto someone else’s arm. It made my skin crawl. And, today, when I got to be the guy that had you under his arm, especially when I got to look your satanic ex-boyfriend in the eye and tell him you were mine, nothing felt better than that. I’ve always known what I had when it came to you. I just wish you would let me show that.”

Her hands tangled in his hair as he continued to hold her, his feet stabilizing them as he stood in the pool. She exhaled a breath, took a moment to think, before leaning closer, “I never said you couldn’t.”

Even in the cold of the night, his face warmed with a tinge of redness. He squeezed her lightly, allowing a moment of silence to pass as they looked at each other before whispering back, “It’s chilly out here.”

Her giggling warmed his body, “Lan, what does that have to do with any of this?”

His hand moved delicately up her back before resting on the nape of her neck, pulling her lips closer, “I’m thinking a kiss or two might warm us up.”

She smiled again and her thumb rubbed against his jawline, “Oh, I got it. I love that idea.”

Max and Pietra watched from the living room, hearing Lando laugh before the two were kissing in the soft light of the backyard. The couple rejoiced on the couch, jumping and down with no regard for Max and Lando’s friend yelling at them to get down. However, once he looked to see what they were screaming about, he joined them too. It felt like everyone had been waiting for this moment. The moment when Y/n and Lando realized that their friendship was never just that and the love they had for each other was never just love. It was something completely indescribable, but as long as the whispers of love they shared between kisses in that pool continued, that would feel like enough.

It sure as hell was more than enough for the smiling, blushing idiot of a Brit who was kicking himself for not telling his Y/n just how much of his she really had been all along.

[riality-check]

more daisy jones-adjacent things. this time, they're finally starting to hate each other a little less.

parts 1, 2, and 3, for your reading pleasure. less drugs this time around, but way more talk about steve's ptsd. part 5. part 6. part 7.

ao3

Steve has never co-written anything before. All of his songs are his, from start to finish. Every note, every chord, every syllable is his invention, and he takes them all very seriously.

That's not to say that he doesn't accept help. He wouldn't be himself if he wasn't constantly bouncing ideas off of Robin and Dustin and Lucas, and he always has other people look it over and offer suggestions.

But the initial creation? That's all him. Steve likes that kind of control.

Writing with a band is very different. Eddie declares it, the song Steve pissed him off enough into writing, done after they've got lyrics and a lead guitar part.

"They'll write the rest," he says, like it's that simple.

Steve can't imagine letting go that much. In all honesty, he's scared shitless. He's never been good at being nice. Charming, yes. Nice, no. And he doesn't know how he'll be nice if the drum, bass, and rhythm guitar parts suck.

It's his song. Well, his and Eddie's, which is weird to think about, but still.

Steve has never co-written anything before.

And, to make matters worse, he fell asleep last night.

He knew it was coming. He's never made it past seventy-two hours, no matter how hard he tries or how high he gets. He knew it was coming, and he prepped as best as he could.

That didn't stop him from sleeping in three hour bursts, at max. Torn between the nightmares and the exhaustion and the crash, he freaked out, passed out, and repeated the cycle until he had to get up and go to the studio.

At least this time, last night, he was back in the Byers house. Scary as shit, with the initial confusion never fading, but it's the best of the nightmares he gets. Between the dogs and the torture, Steve's brain has plenty of worse things to torment him with.

Maybe he should be grateful, but he's never been good at dealing with what he's given.

This morning, he doesn't need to take anything. He's tired, but not that tired, and he's trying to give himself breaks when he can.

He doesn't want to die. He just wants to stay awake.

He has a coffee, though. That's mostly for the taste. His tolerance is shot to hell, so it's not like caffeine makes a real difference.

Steve walks into the studio, coffee in hand, and sees the band setting up and tuning their instruments. Jeff gives him a little wave, Gareth nods absently as he tightens his snare, and Archie positively beams.

"Steve, you're a saint," he says, a little mischief in his eyes. "Different chords, finally. I could kiss you."

Steve laughs and promptly cuts himself off when he sees Eddie staring at him.

"Do I have something on my face?" he asks once the silence has stretched on for too long.

"Why are you here?" Eddie asks bluntly.

Steve, notably, doesn't flinch back. He doesn't snap. He doesn't do anything that he would regret later.

He just says, steadily, "I can go if you don't want me."

He stands there, and he swallows back his hurt. He thought Eddie was finally warming up to him. He took Eddie's fighting words as an improvement from being ignored. And, as usual, Steve thought wrong.

"Hang on a sec," Jeff says. He sets his guitar down and stands between Steve and Eddie. "I said I wanted Steve on backing vocals for this."

"Is Steve not on backing vocals?" Gareth asks from the other side of the room.

"Far as I know, he is," Archie says with a pointed look at Eddie.

Eddie turns to look at Jeff instead. Steve watches their intense staring match and thinks about just walking out.

Before he can take the first step, Eddie says, "Fine."

"Fine what?" Steve can't help but ask.

"Stay."

Steve nods, but he turns to Jeff. "Are you sure? It's fine if-"

"I'm sure," Jeff says. "I think you wrote this song more for your register than mine."

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," Jeff says. "I changed everything I can't hit, but I just want a little more support, you know?"

Steve looks around the little studio space, around at all the cables and amps and mics and instruments, and he counts. Then counts again.

"There's only four mics," he says.

Jeff picks his guitar back up and gives it a little strum. "Share with Eddie."

"What?" Eddie says, looking like he would rather walk out than do that.

"Nothing against you, Steve," Jeff explains, ignoring Eddie. "I'm just a big personal space guy. Can't focus otherwise."

Steve looks over at Eddie, still sitting, still scowling.

"Fine," he says, because he'll be professional, even if Eddie won't.

"You guys are fucking killing me," Chrissy says, and Argyle, the audio engineer next to her, nods in agreement. "Can we get this show on the road?"

Gareth gives them a little salute, one that Chrissy rolls her eyes at. "We all ready?"

"As we'll ever be," the rest of the band choruses.

Steve shrugs. "Yeah."

"You warm up?" Eddie asks, walking toward his mic.

Steve follows. "Never do."

Eddie rolls his eyes, but then Chrissy gives them the all-clear, Gareth counts them off, and they start.

And something switches.

Steve knew this would be higher energy. Different genre, different sound, whatever. But there's something fucking electric about playing with a band instead of being by himself in an iso booth, drilling vocals until he has a take he's happy with.

Recording with a band brings a different sort of energy. It creates a feedback loop, getting them higher, playing faster, sounding better.

Steve tells himself to back off. He's not the star of this show. He's been invited, and a quarter of the people in this room don't want him here.

But filling in the gaps has always come easy to him, and he gives the backing vocals his all.

And somewhere between the guitar solo and the end of the song, Eddie smiles at him for the first time.

It's quick, but it's blinding. Steve didn't think Eddie could smile until he does. It's quick as a flash and wide and feral and a little mean, but it's there, and it's directed at him.

But just like that, the first take is over. It was messy and imperfect, and as soon as it ends, Eddie is back to scowling at him.

But it's not as harsh. And that's how Steve knows that he wasn't imagining that little bit of something.

"Holy shit," Archie says, as soon as they're done. "This is gonna be a good song."

"It's gonna be a great song," Jeff says.

"I want more from Steve," Gareth adds, and the rest of the guys agree.

Even Eddie, however begrudgingly.

"Alright, boys," Chrissy says. "You've got the fun out of your systems. Let's focus and make some music."

Steve looks over at Eddie, who nods, however slightly. And he thinks, because he has never been able to kill hope a day in his life, that they could make a good team if Eddie could stop hating his guts.

[kavrillia]

Kavrillian calendars

I’ve been thinking for a long time I should come up with names for days and months in the Melzeen calendar that my world uses.

There’s no reason they have to have the same number of months in their year, but I found it made sense to have 12 months of 30 days each, with 6 days a week.  Two of Kavrillia’s moons have periods of 30 days and 6 days, so it makes sense they’d build their timekeeping around those two measures.  (The third moon takes barely two days to zip around, so it’s not as useful.)

If I have 12 months, something else that’s measured in 12 is the grades in the American school system.  So I’ve had the idea to name the months after my teachers, in the order I had them.  (Technically there’s 13 years if you count Kindergarten, but my homeroom teacher one year in middle school was later fired and charged with inappropriate conduct so we can skip him and still come up with 12.)  We didn’t really have homeroom teachers in high school, so I picked memorable/favorite teachers from those years.

I hesitated to use what is technically kind of personal information, but I don’t think anyone’s privacy is really violated by taking a syllable from their last name and mushing it into a fantasy word.  Plus, at least two of these people aren’t alive anymore to care.  With that in mind, here are the tentative months of the Melzeen calendar:

1. Flyneder 2. Klaweder 3. Gehreder 4. Kelleder 5. Posteder 6. Ludweder 7. Fetzeder 8. Madseder 9. Barneder 10. Jefreder 11. Lyneder 12. Sampeder

I’d ask if these sound like decent fantasy month names, or if they’re awkward and sound too much like recognizable human names, but...nobody actually reads this blog, so it would be a waste of time.  LOL

I also don’t know why I’m agonizing over these names when it’s very likely I’ll never actually use them in the novel(s).  So far the few dates I’ve given in the text have been written numerically (and yes, my world uses day/month/year and not month/day/year.  I may be American but I hate that format and usually write dates like 04 August 2023 whenever I can.  That said, I’m so used to giving my birthdate as month/day/year that it sounds wrong when I say it the other way around.  United States, why do you have to be so weird about measurements?  I’d love to use Celsius and meters like the rest of the world, but my brain has been trained since birth for Fahrenheit and feet.)

Anyway, now I just need six more names for days of the week.  I’m tempted to be lazy and just name them A____day, B____day, C_____day, etc., and stick random letters in the blanks.  It’ll be easy to remember what order they go in that way.  Or, if I can remember six college professors I could do that.  But I can only think of like 3 or 4, max, who were memorable enough.

This has been another episode of “Thinking Way Too Hard About Things In My Universe That No One Else Cares About Even a Tiny Bit.”  Good night.

[dingdonghyvck]

Still Into You || Lee Haechan x Reader

Summary: Not a day goes by that Haechan’s not into you.

Genre: Angst

Pairing/s: Drummer!Haechan x Lead Vocalist!Reader, Minor College Student!Mark x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, suggestive, mentions of sex and a few sex jokes, alcohol and cigarettes, cheating, manipulation of feelings, angst, and a few others I probably forgot to mention.

Word Count: 4.9k-ish

So I’ve been seeing a lot of Haechan drummer au’s on TikTok, so I thought fuck it and made one! I hope you like it :)

You can read Part two here: The Only Exception

“Can't count the years on one hand that we've been together,

I need the other one to hold you, make you feel, make you feel better.”

Donghyuck's pretty sure that you're the only person from high school that he still bothers to be around, it's been approximately 9 years since the day you two met. 9 years since the day he awkwardly sat next to you in seventh grade, 9 years since the day you drew dick doodles in his notebook as a form of icebreaker since you didn't know any other way of talking to him. It was safe to say that he was more than surprised to see flying dick doodles in his spiral notebook when he got back to class after lunch, still he was somehow amused by the scribbles and the little message you left him introducing yourself.

He immediately talked to you the moment you came  back inside the classroom with your earphones in. He still remembers it so clearly, the way you offered him the left piece of your earphones so you two can listen to music in secret, the teacher had already arrived and you two didn't have enough time to speak to each other. Donghyuck would say it was fate, others would say paramore's just too mainstream, but he didn't care. A cute girl liked the same bands as him, so he made it his goal to get closer to you.

And so you two bonded over music, something you both loved with your whole heart and soul. It was through countless concerts and after-school trips to the record store that got you closer and soon enough you two started messing with GarageBand, creating a few silly songs that were the epitome of teen angst, it was always in good fun. But Donghyuck suddenly came to you with a brilliant proposal one calm afternoon when you were hanging out his room.

"So there's like a battle of the bands at school every year... You sing right? Do you feel like making a band?"

"Yeah, sure..." You had shrugged mindlessly while painting his pinky finger black, mind a bit pre-occupied with what was happening back at home. But Donghyuck takes no notice from this, it was a simple reply but he didn't bother to press further, he could just rally up a few of his friends to start up this band, and if you ever do complain he can also scream blasphemy in your face. Plus he was enjoying the calm atmosphere, so he didn't want to ask any more questions. Well it was as calming as it could get since All Time Low was blasting through his bedroom's speakers, volume maxed out to the point it could make anyone’s ears bleed.

It took him quite a while to fill in missing band mates since you two weren't the most liked people at school, but eventually after a few persuasive talks over milkshakes you two have built a band by the end of February, a little too late for the battle of the bands event. But you all decided that it would be fun to congregate as the band geeks instead of going back to being the outcasts of the school. So practices were held in your basement everyday, you insisted on it since you were trying to spite your parents as much as you could, you hated your life at home, but you could bear the presence of your family if you had some friends around.

Skip a few years and here you are again as "The Innocents"—you honestly don't know why you agreed to the stupid band name, but you lacked the creativity and energy to argue with a caffeinated Donghyuck at 4 am when he had proposed it to the group chat. Although Hendery had complained fifteen times before practice that day, everyone still ended up in your basement, practicing for the annual battle of that bands event your school held, a final hurrah before ending high school.

Donghyuck loved playing the drums, he was drawn to the instrument since a young age so he did he have a natural sense of beat and rhythm. But what he liked the most was the view he got from the back. Not only could he watch the whole band work around the stage, he also had the best view of you. He enjoyed watching you jump around, how you would sometimes lick the side of Jeno’s face whenever you felt a bit mischievous, the way you would laugh at the middle finger he'd throw at you, the way you'd practically lay yourself down the center of the stage as you sang your heart out.

You naturally had the talent, that much was certain. Donghyuck always felt entranced whenever you took on the stage bravely, being the frontman was of course the most challenging position of all. But the way you handled the spotlight made it look so easy, as if you were made to be holding a mic since birth. It was as if you were dancing your own symphony and the rest of the band was nothing but a harmony struggling to follow through since your energy was too overwhelming at times.

But somehow you always made it work, no matter how much your band mates hated it, there was always something unique about the way you presented yourself onstage, demanding the audience's attention. No one was brave enough to even try being in your position, so they had let you bask in the limelight for the most part. But there was particular day you seemed different, as if you had been tuned down. There was something wrong and it was obvious enough to everyone that Jeno had to make up an excuse to leave early with Hendery. They had left abruptly to let you talk it out with Donghyuck, since well, he's your best friend.

Little did they know that you two have been casually fucking for the past year since the time Donghyuck confessed his feelings for you. You haven't given the relationship between you two a label since you weren’t really one to be tied down, but he was glad enough to be even be able to hold you.

You reveal to him that your parents were about to get a divorce, and as much as a shock it was to receive this news, what shocked him more was the moment you sat on his lap. You two were still situated in front of the drum set, but Donghyuck didn't seem to mind. So he helps you take your seat, arms wrapping around your waist as your fingers find its way onto the little hairs at the back of his neck, Donghyuck gulps when he sees you bring out a stick of cigarette.

"What? I'm stressed," You smiled wearily as you lit the cigarette. You take a sharp inhale before blowing the smoke to his face, he scrunches his nose.

"Are you sure you're okay? divorces can be-"

You cut him off by placing the lit cigarette to his lips, the tiny smirk on your face made him frown. You raised an eyebrow at him while you waited, you really didn't feel like talking about your parents, so you evaded it the the same way you'd usually evade him whenever he brought up anything about feelings. He paused for a moment to look at you before inhaling from the cigarette, immediately coughing afterwards. His eyes a little teary as he muttered a small "jesus christ”, you giggled before taking his face into your hands. You push back a few strands of hair as you admired his forehead, he had done nothing but stare back at you.

"Don't tell me you'll leave me too" you whispered as you nuzzled your nose against his neck.

Donghyuck lets out the breath he was holding, gently caressing your backside as he chuckled, finally relaxing into your arms. He knew that it was wrong for you two to not speak about your personal lives that much, since it was pretty obvious you were having troubles at home. But he knew how much you hated to feel feelings, so he never overstepped boundaries. He lets you be for the most part, except for times he reminded you that it’s okay to open up to him. You were always quick dismiss him, telling him you were a big girl and you didn't want to bother or burden him. As much as he'd like to keep insisting, he'd rather just leave you be.

"If I say I love you will you stay forever?" you mumbled as you kissed the mole on his neck, smudging a bit of lipstick on his sun-kissed skin.

Donghyuck felt his heart drop to his stomach,  taking your face into his large palms, caging you into his gaze to see if you were joking, or if you had any doubts behind your gaze. but he was met with the softest gaze he's ever seen on you. Your mascara and eyeliner were running down your cheeks, the little black heart you drew in this morning was smudged to a dot on your pretty face. And a few might say you looked like a mess as tears rimmed your eyes, donghyuck could only think about how much he wanted to kiss you.

"You'll always have me" he whispered, bringing your face towards his. It felt hot, too hot that his skin actually felt like burning the moment your hands touched his backside under his shirt. the kiss was passionate, filled with so much heat and lust that it felt dangerous, he was seconds away from being burned alive; but you suddenly pulled away.

"I love you," you whispered against his mouth, lips brushing past each other as each syllable left your mouth. Your nose gently touched his as you breathed him in, gripping onto his biceps as best as you can, desperate in needing to feel him against you.

Donghyuck does not reply, he simply brings your lips back to his. And as much as he wanted to be more gentle, to take his time with you and make you feel how much he worshipped your body, but your passion burnt too hot that he couldn't smother it. He lets it consume him, his whole being as he loses himself in you, too consumed by your flare and embers to notice how he was slowly burning himself out, that he himself was going to be smothered by you.

“It's not a walk in the park to love each other.                                      

But when our fingers interlock, can't deny, can't deny, you're the worth it.”

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this!?" you screamed, eyes reddening from stress as you pulled at your hair, hard enough to rip a few strands out.

"Johnny's just a fucking friend!" you continued, about to leave the room to run away but he cages you against the wall, hands gripping your shoulders harshly, he was bound to leave marks.

"Baby i'm pretty sure friends don't suck each other off in restaurant bathrooms" he snarled, his voice masked with so much venom that if it were a different person they would be quivering with their knees buckling, but you were different, so you stood your ground.

"I already said I love you what do you fucking want from me?" you laughed coldly, crossing your arms against your chest.

"Love... I'm your boyfriend, I don't know how fucked up your brain is, but don’t tell me you don't know what a boyfriend is." he groans in annoyance, pushing himself away from you. The fighting had been so frequent that you two would be at each other's throats more often than not. The added stress from university and his side jobs was finally ticking him off, he was at his breaking point and he didn't know how long he could still be with you when you were blatantly cheating on him.

"Let's break up then." you muttered, looking down at your feet.

"Fine." He mumbled in defeat, taking a seat on the couch. He buries his face into his palms, trying his best to calm down while his breathing increased. He didn't realized what he had agreed to until he heard his door slam shut. That was the moment he knew he made a mistake, he had let you go too easily. You on the other hand, couldn't help but be the happiest you've been the whole week, finally free. And while Donghyuck was left to try and fix what was left between the two of you, you were out to get coffee, living freely as if nothing had happened.

“Cause after all this time                                         

I'm still into you...”

You sang with the tiniest smile, hiding behind your bangs as you tried your best to jump around the stage and keep eye contact with the blonde male sat front row. It's been 8 months since you and donghyuck broke up and yet you've already found a new boy, some dude you accidentally spilled coffee on. Some random dude who asked for your number and you easily said yes, some random dude that caught your eye. Although it's been months since the breakup, Donghyuck couldn’t help but feel bitter; you had broken his world in half and somehow you still looked fine.

A normal person would walk away. A normal person would leave you and realize how toxic and dangerous you were to the people around you, how you pushed everyone away the second they get too close. But somehow Donghyuck was different, he doesn't know why or how he's doing it, but he sticks by your side. Agreeing to still be in the band and staying as friends, since of course we all fuck our best friends once in our lives right? But like the dumb lapdog he was, he accepted your apology at 12 am in the morning when you showed up drunk at his doorstep. Maybe it was the side of him desperately clinging onto you, looking for some sort of closure or any sign of you regretting the breakup, but months had passed and the days seemed normal for you.

He knew how wrong it was, don't mistake him for someone who's stupid enough to let a girl trample over his heart. He somehow just couldn’t keep away, you had broken him to the point that he didn't want anyone else unless it was you. It really was all so stupid in retrospect. He's handsome, irresistible, and incredibly hot so he could easily grab anyone he wanted but somehow he always ends up pining after you.

No matter how many girls and guys he sees he always ends up in the exact same spot, in the back, sat on his drum set to watch you jump around and light up the stage. But this time you brought a whole different aura, it was his first time seeing you shy. Was it that random Mark guy you started seeing? It's not likely that you'd let the guy stick around, you hated being tied down.  Yet Donghyuck feared this was different, since well, you really seemed off this week since you met Mark.

You don’t even show up at his place shit-faced at 3am every weekend anymore. You even attended some of your classes because Mark would be in them. You smoked less and it seemed like you were finally getting your life together. Did this stranger have that kind of effect on you? Nevertheless Donghyuck could feel the anger bubble in his stomach as he hams up his drumming, annoyed and frustrated at how hard you were to read. he didn't notice that he had been banging at the drums so loud that it muffled out your singing, confusing both Jeno and Hendery who were eyeing him from the sidelines. This continues until the end of the song, but you didn't seem to mind since you decided to ignore it, busy staring at Mark as he smiled shyly at you, raising his glass as you continued to sing your heart out.

“I should be over all the butterflies but I'm into you, I'm into you.      

And even baby our worst nights I’m into you, I'm into you.”

After the last set, you were gulping down the beer Jeno handed you, messily wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you looked for a blonde college boy in the crowd. It wasn't long until you're met with the cutest smiles, his shy eyes hiding behind his glasses as he complemented how great you were, it was his first time watching you sing.

"I wasn't that bad was I?" you asked, giggling playfully, you placed the empty bottle on the counter behind him.

"You were great! the best even," he chuckled as he wrapped his arm around you, his scent engulfed you. You gladly tucked yourself into his arm, you fitted perfectly.

"Mhmm? Then why can't you look me in the face?" you challenged, laughing at the way Mark coughed up his drink from embarrassment.

"Well I don't usually see you dressed up.... like this" he mumbled shyly, of course he hasn't. What you were wearing wasn't necessarily your Sunday's best. You’re pretty sure Mark's father, who's a pastor, wouldn't be too happy to see you showing up for a family dinner in a lace crop top and ripped skinny jeans.

"It's how I usually dress for the gigs, it's not ugly is it...?" you pouted, and as much as you hated acting cute, you loved watching Mark squirm.

Mark wasn't even able to reply when your band mates' presence was made known by  Hendery who ordered everything available in the bar. You couldn't help but giggle while watching your friend drink shot after shot, he offered you some but you declined since you didn't want to get shit-faced in front of Mark, you were better than that. You knew he was totally out of your league, being the perfect christian college boy studying english literature, he's probably the type who'll marry a pretty trophy wife that will give him three beautiful kids. You didn't even know why Mark gave you a chance, you were practically trash on the side of the road compared to him.You were struggling enough to get by with the gigs and college funds, but he doesn’t seem to mind when you would come up empty-handed during dates, he would gladly spoil you— so consider yourself lucky.

"Hyuck you're not looking too hot" Jeno says it while checking the drummer’s temperature, the brunette simply pushed his hand away, trying his best to avoid your gaze.

"I'm fine" he rolled his eyes, opening a few buttons of his silk shirt, grabbing the attention of some of the ladies near the bar.

"What do you mean? Hyuck's hot as fuck!" Hendery shouted, most probably drunk. Jeno tries to pull the shot glass away but it only ends up spilling all over the counter, Mark scrunches his nose in disgust.

"Wouldn't you know?" Hendery continued pointing towards you, he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Mark's arm drop from your shoulder, you suddenly freeze from his comment.

"Yeah wouldn't you know sunflower?" Donghyuck smirked, eyes meeting with those of Mark's who looked uncomfortable. You tried shooting him a glare, telling him to stop ruining your night, you wanted to finally shoot your shot with Mark. The blonde made you feel different, he made you feel stable and safe, it’s been a long time since you last felt this way. You didn’t even know you were still capable of developing feelings and you haven't felt this way towards anyone so you really didn't want to mess it up. But to your anguish, Mark's curiosity got the better of him.

"Oh yo wait, so you two... were a thing?" Mark coughed awkwardly, his hand going to grip your waist which made you perk up.

"Yeah we've known each other for quite... some time, so it's natural that we've tried stuff" Donghyuck shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets to hide the way he's balling up his fists.

"Yeah but that was like a decade ago, we don't really-"

"Pretty sure 8 months isn't a decade long love" Donghyuck raised his eyebrow, a little smirk makes his way as he sees Mark's grip on your waist falter.

"So do you two still...?"

"No! No, never again... Why would I when I already have you?" you immediately cut Mark off, he's startled by your reply but he still smiles at you, not as bright as the ones he'd shoot you when were onstage. There was a long awkward pause but thankfully Mark speaks up.

"Well! I have like four essays due tomorrow, so I'm gonna have to head out. Want me to drive you home?" he offers, and you were about to accept but you saw Donghyuck raising an eyebrow at you so you stop yourself.

"I would but... We still have a second set, I... I'll call you" you said worried that he'd be turned off with the idea that you had slept with your best friend who you're still friends with by the way, but he simply shook his head as if he was telling you to not worry about it. He kisses your forehead gently before saying goodbye to the rest of the boys. You watch his retreating figure but you weren't able to see him exit the club's doors because it's not long before you feel a strong grip on your left wrist and you're being dragged to somewhere.

“Let 'em wonder how we got this far,

'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all.”

Donghyuck leads you to the club's dirty bathroom, lowly lit with the purple and pink lights. He locks the door behind him but the vibrations of the club's speakers pounded against the door, it was still just as deafening as it was outside. Donghyuck stares at your face for a moment, thinking of what words to say. He watched the way you pursed your lips, you probably were thinking the same, so he beats you to speaking.

"Second set? I'm pretty sure we're done for the night sweetheart-" Donghyuck's stopped mid sentence by your hand coming across his face with a harsh slap, he smiles sadistically when he looks up at you.

"Yeah there's no second set but I had to tell you this" you said, eyes lit with a fire he's never seen before.

"Don't. Ruin. Mark. For. Me." you spat as you pushed him with your finger, backing him up against the club's door. His smirk finally falters, he looked just as confused and annoyed the day you two broke up.

"What? Everything I said was true, doesn't he deserve to know? Let him wonder how we got this far... If he ever doubts your feelings for him, then he doesn't deserve you"

You think about how it's actually the other way around, because for the first time in your life, you're finally making a change for the better. Since your abusive past and your parents' divorce you had always been problematic. Rebelling against your mother since she had refused to accept to support your band. You lived buck-wild, mostly relying on Donghyuck for sustenance. You thought your hate for the people around you was reasonable because of your parents, so you closed off everyone, including Donghyuck. You rebelled and used people as much as you liked, you thought it was only fair you'd reciprocate the hurt the world had given you. But after meeting Mark, it felt like a breath of fresh air, he made you feel alive, like you still had a chance to do the right thing.

"I just don't want to ruin things with him, he's... different" You whispered softly, gripping his silk button-up. Donghyuck laughs cold at this, switching your positions so that you were the one with your back against the door, he cages you against it, making you feel small as he traced your jawline.

"What? are you into virgin college boys now? do they turn you on that much?" he chuckled wickedly, his eyes stared deeply into your own.

"We both know you're never capable of love princess, you like playing with feelings. Because in the end, I know you'll end up breaking this boy's poor heart because that's who you are..." his voice ends up becoming a whisper in the end, his lips inching closer to yours, and without knowing it he presses his lips against yours.

To your shock, you kiss him back for a few seconds but realize what you were doing. You pushed him away to slap him again, he holds your palm in his hand, he harshly holds your wrist against the door. You try to wriggle free from his grip but you stopped when you looked at his face. He had his forehead against yours, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes were closed but you could hear his sniffling as he tried to collect himself. It was now that you finally realize how much you had hurt him. You didn't know that he was this affected by your break up since he had easily agreed to it. You were also blinded by your selfishness, your anger towards the world that you didn't know you were already hurting someone so important to you.

So you soften up, remembering that this broken guy who stood before you was still your best friend. Your best friend who stayed with you when you were at your worse, your best friend who loved you unconditionally even if you drove everyone away.

"That's exactly who you are, you're a heartless monster." he cried, you silently agreed with him but you kept your mouth shut, willing to listen to him finally tell you his feelings. You have been an asshole for most of your life, and you knew it, so you thought this was the least you could do for him. You didn't think much of Donghyuck’s feelings in the past, so it was only hitting you now, he had truly loved you. Even if you were the most flawed person. Even if you were the sad little girl who was too scared of the world, the little girl who believed that everyone was out to get her. He had loved you fully, through and through, even if you had intentionally cheated on him.

"I'm sorry" you whisper, finally realizing how cruel you were these past years. You hated yourself, you truly did. You hate yourself for playing with his feelings, for leading him on when you didn't really have feelings for him back then. You used him for your enjoyment not thinking of his emotions, you used him as an escape from your reality, your troubled past. You truly were a monster and it was finally made clear to you.

"Then take me back," he whispered, he sounded so broken that it took a while for you to register what he said. You didn't reply and he looks up to meet your gaze and your heart breaks.  

"After all this time, I'm still so into you, so please... just give me a chance to be yours again" he begged, you knew he was ready to beg on his knees if it weren't for your current position, you could feel the shiver run down your back because of guilt.

"Donghyuck." you sighed as you took his face into your palms, you look into his eyes and you could see the glimmer of hope behind them, hoping that  you were about to say yes to his offer, but to his disappointed you only caused more heartbreak.

"I really really like Mark... and you were probably right, I'm so fucked in the brain that I didn't even think of your feelings back then. Of how real your emotions were for me, I thought we were just casual, but it seems like you really..." you trail off thinking of the right words to say

"loved me. I'm so sorry for being a fucking asshole, I have no excuses. Being hurt by my parents gives me no reason to hurt you back, so you don't have to accept my apology, I don't deserve it... But I’m doing what I think is best for us right now, I'm kicking you out of the band"

Donghyuck's eyes widened at this, his hands desperately clasping onto yours as he tried to bring his lips back to yours. He didn't know why he was trying to kiss you, probably it was because of the alcohol in his system, or most likely desperation. But all he knew he wasn't ready to let go, to say goodbye to you just yet, so he tried grasping for any piece of you he could as you removed his desperate hands from your body, both of you crying as you tried to push him away for good.

"What do you mean? why do you keep pushing me away like this?" he cries out as he hugs you, you pat his back.

"Because this is wrong, and it's time for you to be happy." you freed yourself from his weak grip, he tried to fight back but you insisted, it finally hit him that this was inevitable, it was finally time for you to say goodbye.

"Thank you for everything" you whispered, and with a final slip of his grasp you were gone. You had opened the door and left him in the bathroom, broken and lost.

“Yeah, after all this time, I'm still into you.”

Part 2

[apiratewhopines]

This one is a gift for @teamhook because she is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

Thanks to @jrob64 for giving me advice on artwork and to ultraluckycatnd for reading over this chapter

Midnight

Chapter 1 — The Prince

Summary: In which our heroine meets cute

Chapter 1 of 7 on AO3

“But don’t forget folks,

That’s what you get folks

For makin’ whoopee”

-Makin’ Whoopee, Eddie Cantor

Emma Swan had been in some tight spots, but she’d never been in a run out of gas on a deserted highway with a dying cell phone battery and a stomach as empty as her bank account kind of situation before. In truth, she blamed this unfortunate situation on the same person she blamed all the misfortunes of her adulthood. Neal Cassidy.

There was a time a few short months ago she would have done anything for the man responsible for her current circumstances. Neal had been too good to be true. A real Prince Charming, down to the supposed trust fund and a smile that made her believe in happy endings.

She’d been a sucker. She heard one was born every minute, she just never thought her time would come. After all, one of the few things she learned in the foster system was how to spot bullshit from a mile away. But he looked at her with his soulful eyes and whispered promises in his smoky voice and she fell for it. More than once, actually, and all she had to show for the wasted years was a voicemail box full of collection calls and a wolf at the door.

Because Neal Cassidy didn’t just leave her. He stole her identity, maxed out her credit cards, and took out half a dozen loans in her name. Then he proceeded to use the money to wine and dine a wide assortment of women, the sheer number of which would make Casanova blush. All the while professing his undying love and spending his days eating all her food and watching television from his favorite seat on the couch.

Seriously, you could still see the faint outline of his backside on the cushion.

As countless victims of his schemes started showing up at her door looking for the man who made them feel alive while killing them one dollar at a time, she listened to tears and rants and misery with ill-disguised impatience. How had she become the counselor to the trail of broken girls he left in his wake? When was it going to be her turn to moan and groan and swear she’d never love again?

Well, she did get around to the swearing to never love again part. Some mistakes don’t bear repeating.

The final straw happened two months ago. Neal had disappeared after their final fight. His righteous indignation at being called on his crap and inability to find a plausible excuse for the stack of overdue bills and statements she found stuffed in the back of his gym bag made it difficult to share the same space. She wanted him gone even as her hands itched to touch him one more time.

Unfortunately, leaving her drowning in debt with the knowledge he cheated on her for the majority of their relationship wasn’t enough for him. He decided to do some collateral damage on his way out of town.

He did the unforgivable. He went after Granny.

His target was meant to wound her. While he lied and schemed the entire time they were together, she had been an open book for the first time in her life so he knew Granny was the sole connection she formed as a foster. Her brief stay with the woman before she aged out of the system was a time of peace and healing. Granny was responsible for helping her get on her feet and the two maintained a friendship years later.

Emma received the frantic call from Ruby explaining her grandmother had been tricked into giving Neal a blank check so he could do her grocery run. Hours later, she received a notification from her bank saying her checking account had been wiped out. At that point, the tenuous control Emma had on her emotions disappeared. She sat on the kitchen floor of the apartment she was about to lose, staring at empty walls that still echoed with his laughter in her weaker moments, and she broke into a million pieces.

So it was no wonder she vowed to have her vengeance. To do anything and everything to make him pay. Luckily, since he skipped out on a court date, catching him would also get her paid.

Tracking him had taken more time than she liked to admit. She was good; even penniless and running out of options, she recognized her worth and knew she possessed hard to find skill sets. But she had a sinking sensation that he might be better.

Now she was stranded on the side of the road with nothing except her most uncomfortable shoes to keep her company. But damn did they make her legs look good and with everything else in her life collapsing around her, somehow that seemed important.

Squaring her shoulders, she climbed out of the car and pondered her next course of action. She was unfamiliar with the state road connecting the two small towns on the Maine coast, so she had no idea what the odds were that a good samaritan would happen along. She had just enough juice in her battery and lettuce in her account to call for an Uber to take her to the seedy nightclub where Neal was last seen. Or she could walk the rest of the way in her mile-high heels knowing she never looked better, even though she would probably not be able to move the next day without a significant amount of pain.

What she would do if she found him or where she would stay if she didn’t weren’t questions she was ready to entertain.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and with a huff of frustration opened her app. Pleading with whatever powers that be to let her last long enough to see herself through to the other side of this, she leaned against her beaten down yellow Bug and waited for the black sedan to show.

Of course, her phone died immediately after she booked her ride, finally giving up the ghost even though she didn’t get a chance to see the name or license plate of her hired car. Getting more anxious by the minute, she paced along the shoulder, careful to keep on the pavement since the ground was soft from recent rain. After what seemed like forever, but had probably not been more than half an hour, the headlights of a lone car crested a nearby hill.

“About time,” she muttered. To make sure the driver knew she was not pleased with the delay or the prodding pace he maintained despite the fact the sky seemed ready to open at any moment, she moved out into the middle of the lane and placed her hand on her hips. Pride kept her from squinting even though the bright high beams made her eyes water as the car approached.

Slowing from a crawl to a stop, the driver put the car in park and jumped out. It was dark and the man was dressed all in black, but as he moved around to the front of the car, she got the impression of blue eyes and a stubble-covered jaw that could probably cut glass. Great, just what she needed. A sexy Uber driver.

“Alright there, love?”

With a British accent. He probably smelled like bacon, too.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night.”

Moving closer, he smiled with a hint of confusion. “Had I known you were waiting for me, I would have been along sooner. Tell me, do you always accost strange men in the dead of night on empty roads?”

“Only when I’m paying them to take me where I need to go,” she grumbled, walking toward the back door on the passenger side. She pulled it open as he protested, and glared at him over the top of the car.

“Love, I think there may be a bit of a mix-up—“

“It’s fine. I won’t give you a bad rating for being late as long as you don’t talk to me. I’ve been driving for hours to get here and I need to think.”

She heard him sigh and saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled at her again. “Very well. Would you like me to get your bags?”

“You’d have to go to a pawn shop in Boston to accomplish that,” she joked, dropping into the leather seat and noticing for the first time the expensive luxury of her rented carriage. She supposed if she was going to spend her last dime on a ride, she could have done far worse.

She resisted the urge to use the low ambient lighting of the dashboard to get a better look at her temporary chauffeur. The glimpse she got outside was more than enough to know she needed to keep her distance. It didn’t stop her from feeling the weight of his stare as he peeked over his shoulder while clicking on his seatbelt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw his tongue flicker slowly over his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to the road.

“Nice dress. Where are we heading this fine night, Miss…?”

“You’re really terrible at this. Is it your first time being a driver for hire?”

“What gave it away, love? It’s quite an unexpected development that came about just this evening. But you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

It was everything she could do not to laugh. She had a feeling it would only encourage him and if she was heading into battle, she needed her wits about her. “The Snakehole Lounge.”

“At the risk of sounding cliche, why would a nice girl like you want to go to a place like that?”

“I’m not a nice girl,” Emma informed him without a hint of irony or bravado. “And your rating is going down with each syllable out of your mouth.”

“Tough lass,” he murmured. “But do yourself a favor. Stay away from the Snake Juice.”

Little did he know that even if she wanted to have a drink, and boy did she ever, she used the last of her meager funds to get to this backwater place and she wasn’t sure where her next meal would come from. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. She spent the time looking out the window at the trees flying by and trying to ignore how every time she looked away, her eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, it was probably a good thing they were the only people for miles around or he would have gotten them both killed.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of a shabby nightclub. Even the multitude of neon lights flashing “Girls! Girls! Girls!” and “Half-Price Beer Buckets” did little to enliven the dingy exterior. They didn’t bother with a bouncer, probably because no one actually wanted to get in.

Before she could say anything, her driver was out of the car and rounding his way to her door. She didn’t have a chance to object as he opened it and looked at her with avid curiosity. She had to admit she was impressed he didn’t give into it and ask any questions.

“Since we’re out of the car, am I allowed to speak again?”

Perhaps she had been too hasty in her internal praise. “Thanks for the ride. I hope your next passengers are more chatty since that’s what you’re into...overall, a solid three stars.”

“Three stars? I’d be surprised, but I had a feeling you were warming up to me between the baleful stares and eye-rolling.”

Gifting him with another of the said eye rolls, she adjusted the hem of her skirt to show a little more leg and walked away. She knew if she stayed a second longer she would give in to the almost magnetic pull of him and say something foolish like, ‘What’s your name?’

—

The inside of the establishment was every bit as horrible as the outside. The low lighting obscured the grime and wear that would be glaringly obvious otherwise. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed like the kind of place Neal would gravitate to since he was a dirty little rat.

Music heavy with bass pumped out a rhythm entirely too fast for the energy of the place. The few patrons who persevered this far into the night looked anemic as tired dancers did their best to act like they wanted to be there. Pulling her ID from the scrap of a bra she wore under her dress, she flashed it at the lone employee who manned the entrance and the bar. He gave it a cursory glance and turned back to his phone.

Snapping her fingers under his nose to get his attention, she pulled out a grainy photo of her quarry from the same location and asked, “Have you seen this man recently?”

“I’ve never seen anyone. Ever.” The man grumbled, not interested in the slightest. She wondered if he would stop her if she walked behind the counter and helped herself to a drink. She was leaning toward no and tempted to try.

“Tell you what buddy, take a good look at this picture. Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t seen him and we’ll end the night without any trouble.”

Something in her tone must have penetrated his disillusionment and he gazed at her with more interest than he’d probably shown anything in years. She waited as he glanced at the photo for a few seconds. “No, sorry. If he’s been here, it wasn’t during any of my shifts. Is he your husband or something?”

“He’s something alright,” she muttered. Defeated, she turned around without another word. She used the last of her resources to fund a wild goose chase, but at least it got her into town. Only thing left to do was find a park or quiet bench somewhere safe to sleep for a few hours and then she would tackle whatever came next. It wouldn’t be the first time she roughed it, although she had never attempted it in formal wear before.

Pushing the door open with unnecessary force, she immediately froze. Her three star driver was waiting at the curb as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she hadn’t given him the brush off.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yes, especially since I’m pretty sure our business is done,” she replied, walking past him and wishing the man could be a tiny bit less handsome. Now that the streetlights of the small town were there to illuminate their interactions, she couldn’t deny he was ridiculously attractive and exactly her type, complete with a black leather jacket and messy hair begging to be pulled. And, heaven help her, he was determined to extend their acquaintance apparently.

“It’s just good sense, love. I figured you’d be in need of transportation again, so why waste the gas to leave when I’d have to turn around after you called for your next ride.” He matched his stride to hers as she did her best to increase her pace.

Sighing, she stopped at the corner and looked at him. “Listen, I could tell you my phone is dead and I need to make a few more stops, that I’d pay you when you drop me off at my place at the end of the night, but it would be a lie. I’m chasing down a bounty. I need the money to pay for a ride and I need a ride to make the money. A smart man like you can see the problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned away again but felt him leap into action behind her. He moved to cut off her escape and said, “Double or nothing.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Double or nothing, sweetheart. I take you to wherever you need to go tonight and when you collect your fee, you pay me double whatever the normal fare is for jaunts like these.”

“What if I don’t find him?”

“That’s where the nothing comes in, lass. A smart woman like you can see the benefit of such an arrangement.”

She studied him, hoping to find some ulterior motive in his seemingly selfless offer, but all she saw in his expression was an earnestness bordering on being painful and a thirst for adventure barely contained. Perhaps this was how he got his kicks in an isolated town. He propositioned strangers and gambled on fate. “No strings? No funny business?”

“This whole business is funny, but I’ll behave myself if you will. We’ll have much less satisfaction that way, but I’ll do my best to rally my spirits and overcome my disappointment.”

With a rueful shake of her head, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “I guess we’re doing this. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones, driver extraordinaire and captain of this fine vessel, at your service. Where’s our next stop?”

“I need to go to every seedy bar and filthy dive in the area so you tell me, Captain.”

—

She wasn’t sure what it said about her newfound companion that he was able to rattle off several places in a matter of seconds, but as the night stretched on and the miles racked up, she found she rather liked her tour guide. Which was probably a good thing since at this rate, she would be splitting the bounty fifty-fifty with him. Who knew the twin cities of Storybrooke and Misthaven had so many sleazy places to hang out?

“I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of the line, Swan. Are you sure he’s in the area, because every traveler worth his salt makes a point to stop by Moe’s Tavern while visiting our fair city.”

���I can see why. The thrift-store ambience is delightful and the watered down drinks are to die for,” she murmured as she rested against the side of his car. She was tired and weak from hunger and as much as she wanted to curl up in the back seat and sleep, she was scared she’d get used to the comfort he was offering and do something she might regret later.

She was trying to figure out how to cut and run without seeming ungrateful when her stomach growled loudly.

In a playful tone belaying the concern in his eyes, he asked, “Was that your stomach? Bloody hell, am I in danger? Are you going to try to eat me to satisfy the beast within?”

Feeling a blush color her face, she avoided his gaze as she said, “Sorry, I...um, I skipped dinner.” And breakfast and lunch for that matter.

Taking up a position next to her, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Tell the truth, when was the last time you ate something, lass?”

“Hmm, what day is it again?”

“As I suspected. Come on, I know just the spot.” Pushing off from the car, he gently moved her and opened the door to the backseat.

She wanted to fight, to tell him she could take care of herself. She would have too, if she had any energy at all. Meeting his eyes for the first time, she joked, “You lost a gamble, Captain. That doesn’t mean you have to feed it.”

“I consider it an act of self-preservation. I figured you for a man-eater the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I’m afraid you might prove me right in unexpected ways if we don’t get some food in you soon.”

“As long as eyes are all you plan on laying on me, I accept your gracious offer,” she replied with a narrowed stare. Before Neal, she trusted her instincts. She would have insisted they were infallible, but he had shaken her confidence. She couldn’t risk being wrong about Killian Jones of the electric eyes and perpetual helpfulness.

“No strings. No funny business, Swan. Those are the rules. Get in, your chariot and dinner awaits.”

He stood a few feet from her, urging her into the car and she wasn’t sure what drove her to say it, but before she could change her mind, the words were out. “I’d rather ride in the front this time if that’s okay with you.”

His smile could have melted metal, tempted angels to fall, and inspired devils to repent. It was probably lack of rest and food causing her stomach to do flip flops. Or at least that was what she was going to tell herself.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have…” He closed the back door with a firm finality that echoed through the night and somehow felt momentous in the thick air of summer. When he opened the passenger door, the light seemed warmer and it bathed him in softness and shadows. He waited patiently as if he knew something had shifted between them and he didn’t want any sudden movements to break the odd spell.

Then her stomach growled again, angry at the promise of food being delayed while she gawked at the man who was determined to rescue her in every imaginable way.

“And dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, taking care not to make contact with his body as she slid into the seat. She was glad the door was already closed when she left out a huff of air. Good thing she had sworn off love or she may be in some danger.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[ravennm84]

Lyre Festival Justice

Here is the sequel to Lyre Festival Fraud where you get to see exactly what happened to Lila during her long weekend after she went back to Italy. I thought, at first, that I may have gone to far with the salt... But it’s Lila and I really don’t like her character. So, Warm-Fuzzies and enjoy this salty goodness!!

It was a beautiful day in Rome and Lila was enjoying her shopping spree around the city. She and her mother had spent the first few days after moving back to Italy unpacking and getting settled. It was Sunday, and her mother had to go to the embassy to make sure that all of her paperwork had transferred from Paris, which gave Lila the opportunity to spend the money she’d gotten from the idiots from her old class. Really, she couldn’t believe how stupid they all were to have just handed her over €2,000 for a luxury vacation in Venice. She should have gotten at least €3,000 from the class, but that Mari-brat and stick-in-the-mud Adrien had convinced some of them that she was lying. Oh well, €2,000 was better than nothing.

Best part, none of it could be traced back to her. They travelled to Venice on their own, nothing had been written down, her old mobile phone was disconnected and in a landfill somewhere, and she would just tell her mother that she had gotten all her new clothes at a thrift shop she remembered from the last time they’d been living in Rome. And if the idiots got in trouble and tried to say that she was involved, she’d turn on the tears and her mother would side with her like she always did. Seeing a little cafe, she stopped in to get a good cappuccino, it had been too long since she’d had a deceit cup of coffee.

It was mid afternoon by the time she got home. She had made a stop at the thrift store to grab a couple of their shopping bags to hide the real ones inside. It felt wrong to put a Versace skirt in a bargain bag, but one does what one must to keep her life going smoothly. Opening the door to the apartment, she barely caught sight of her mother sitting on the couch before Lila started gushing about how great it was to be back in Italy and all the things she’d missed. 

She prattled on for a couple minutes before noticing that her mother hadn’t said anything. Turning to look at her, Lila flinched when she saw her. Something was seriously wrong, the last time she had seen her mother so angry was when she’d told her that her dad was cheating on her. That hadn’t been true but they had ended up getting divorced anyway, which was to Lila’s benefit since the man had always called her out on her lies.

“Is everything okay, Mama?” She asked cautiously, doing her best to sound and appear small and innocent.

“Sit down.”

Her tone left no room for argument. Lila set down her bags and sat in the chair across from her mother.

“Mama, wha-”

“Be quiet!” She snapped, and Lila shut her mouth. This actually seemed worse than the fight her parents had before they divorced. “I received a very strange email on Friday night, from a former classmate of yours in Paris. It seemed that the majority of your class was under the impression that we were throwing a party for a lot of important politicians, celebrities, and musicians on a private island and you had invited them. I told myself, ‘not my daughter, she would never do something like that’. But the email went on, with a list of the students that were supposedly going on this trip and gave you money for the expenses. Again, I thought ‘Lila would never be so cruel as to steal money from her friends right before we left Paris’. So I told the person who sent me that detailed information, that I would handle it. I still thought it was a joke.”

The teenage girl didn’t even have to listen to the end of this story, she knew that goody-two-shoes Marinette had ratted her out. Lila was fighting every instinct she had to run and lock herself in her room, but if she moved even a little her mother would stop her. She could only sit there and hope that she could come up with some kind of lie to convince her mother that she was being set up.

“Then when I went into the embassy today, my boss pulled me into his office and started grilling me as to why I allowed seven unaccompanied minors entry into the country. I tried to explain that I had no idea what he was talking about, and then he started reading off the names. Do you want to guess why those names sounded so familiar?”

By this point, Lila was practically curling into herself to make herself appear smaller. She had to say something, any lie that would make her mother believe her and only her. Turning on the tears, she buried her face in her hands and spoke between sobs. Fake crying always gave her a few extra seconds to think before she had to speak. “I swear, Mama. I didn’t want to do it. Marinette forced me to take those papers from your office to give to our classmates so they could get into the country without their parents. I never took any money from them, I swear! Marinette was bullying me the entire time we were in Paris, I was scared of what she’d do to me if I didn’t do what she said. You’ve got to believe me!”

“So you’re saying that you didn’t tell your class about some non-existent party on a private island, had no knowledge of who was coming into Italy, where they were going, or anything like that?” Her mother’s eyes narrowed as she brought out her mobile phone.

Her hands were shaking as she kept her face buried in her hands, something about her mother’s tone  and the way she spoke made this feel like a trap. But she couldn’t backtrack now, Marinette was her way out and she had to stick with it. So she nodded as she continued to sob into her hands.

“Then please explain this to me.” Her mother turned the phone towards her and Lila looked up, her face falling in horror when she heard her own voice. It was a video of her telling her class about who was going to be at the party that she and her mom were organizing, how she was going to need to know for sure who all was coming before the weekend, and Marinette had somehow gotten video of Alya and Nino each handing her €300!

It took longer than she would like to admit for the shock to wear off, but she was smart enough to stick to her original story. “It’s fake! Marinette must have made it to get me in trouble. Max probably helped her, he’s really good with computers. It’s all too convenient to be true. I mean, she sends you all this information about which people are going, how much money they gave me, and a story about a party on a private island in Venice, that anyone would be able to see is clearly fake. Can’t you see that I’m being set up?”

Her mother’s eyes grew harder as she stood from her chair, causing Lila to shrink even further into her own. 

“You say that this is all a set up and you had no idea where your classmates were going in Italy, but you just told me the exact city where they were found. You left them waiting on a dock for you to come ferry them to that non-existent private island, and don’t even bother saying that you know which city because of the video I just showed you, because it never names the city they were in.”

Well, crap. She was about to try another tactic, but her mother cut her off before the first syllable left her mouth.

“Young lady, do you have any idea how much trouble you are in?” she yelled, her face beginning to turn a purplish-red and began pacing the room. “You forged my signature on multiple federal documents, endangered the lives of multiple minors, committed theft, and god knows how many other laws you’ve broken. I can’t protect you from this! You will be facing federal charges for what you’ve done!”

Lila felt her stomach drop to her ankles. “But-but that was all in Paris, and I had diplomatic immunity while I was there!”

“It became an international incident when you forged an ambassador’s signature on federal documents that endangered minors! My boss gave me a choice,” her voice grew even harder and colder than before. “Either you answer for what you’ve done and plead guilty, or I lose my job and we both go to trial for what you’ve done.” 

“You’d let me go to jail for one little lie? It’s not like anyone got hurt!” Lila screamed, standing from her chair in a panic. This was much worse than she’d imagined. 

“And what if they had been?” Her mother screamed back. “What if they had been kidnapped and sold into human trafficking? What if one of them had fallen off the dock and drowned in the channel or hit by a boat? I would be held responsible for that because you forged my signature! Do you not care about the people around you at all? What is wrong with you?”

“But nothing happened to them! It’s their own fault for being stupid enough to believe such an obvious lie. And you’re taking their side over mine? How dare you call yourself my mother and claim to love me!” 

“Don’t you dare try to blame me for your bad behavior!” Her mother yelled back as she advanced on her, making her fall back onto the chair. Mme. Rossi looked back at the shopping bags she had knocked over when she had turned, revealing the Versace bag. Tilting her head back, she took multiple deep breaths before looking at her daughter.

“This is what’s going to happen. You are going to return everything you bought today, and you are going to explain to the managers of each store exactly why you are returning everything.” Lila was about to protest, but one look from her mother had her mouth snapping shut. “We will also be clearing out your savings to pay back your classmates for the money you took, their travel expenses, their parents travel expenses, and any money they lost while being away from their jobs to retrieve their children. After that, you will be standing trial for forgery and fraud. If you know what’s good for you, you will go before the judge and apologize profusely for what you’ve done and listen to everything the judge tells you. If you’re lucky you may receive a lenient sentence; but either way, you can expect your next school to be a reformatory school. And if you try to fight me on any of this, I will let a court appointed attorney with no experience handle your case instead of the family lawyer. Have I made myself clear?”

No longer having to fake her tears, Lila nodded to her mother, resigning herself to the fact that her life had been ruined because her mother didn’t love her and Marinette didn’t know how to keep her nose out of where it didn’t belong.

~oOo~

The rest of the day, Lila was forced to return everything that she bought back to the stores and tell the managers how she had stolen the money from her classmates and then abandoned them in a country and city that they weren’t familiar with. The people that overheard her were horrified by what she had done and the managers banned her from ever shopping in those stores again. After all, if she was willing to steal money from her friends, there was little doubt that she would steal from the stores.

After everything was returned, she was taken to the embassy where they recorded her confession on how she lied to everyone, forged her mother’s signature on the documents she stole, and how she scammed over €2,000 from her former classmates. After the confession was taped, she was taken outside of the embassy and handed over to the police to be kept in a juvenile detention center. She screamed at her mother, not believing that she would just hand her over like that, but the woman looked down her nose at her and said, “It’s time for you to face the consequences of your actions, young lady.” 

When she arrived at the police station, she was relieved to see their family lawyer was waiting for her, although he was less than thrilled by what she had done. He explained that even as a minor, she could be serving 2-6 years just for the forgery of the documents, that wasn’t even factoring in the scam or reckless endangerment of seven minors. If she were to be tried as an adult, she could be serving 6 years for each document, facing serious fines and more time for each classmate she endangered.

After hearing that, Lila had to rush to the trash can to throw up. She couldn’t believe that one little lie could get her into so much trouble. But this wasn’t her fault, none of it was. If there was anyone to blame, it was that goody-two-shoes Marinette Dupain-Cheng. After all the effort she went through to destroy that girl, she just wouldn’t back down. She would make that girl pay for what she’d done. As soon as the charges were all dropped, she would do everything she could, use every dirty trick in the book to force the nosy girl to end her life and stay out of hers.

But that would have to wait for now. For the time being, she would do what her mother said and play her part. Act like the innocent girl that had gotten caught up in her own fibs while trying to make friends in a new country. She didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt or in trouble, she was just so overwhelmed and she is so sorry for everything that happened. She would need to cry a lot, that was a given, but she could do this. Just fake it until she could get her revenge on the girl that ruined her life.

~oOo~Three Months Later~oOo~

Lila hadn’t meant to lose control in front of the judge. She’d spent months locked away with a bunch of low-class delinquents, talking to different lawyers and quack-doctors before going to court. She had been the picture of innocence and childhood regret the second she walked into the courtroom, she was sure to get off all the charges against her. But she and her lawyer had been blindsided. 

The quack-doctors had called her a narcissist and a sociopath, in need of desperate help. To prove that, all of her lies, everything she had said while in Paris had been brought into evidence against her. They’d exposed her truancy and forgery at her old school, found proof of her purposefully getting Marinette expelled, and faking interviews on the Ladyblog which brought her more lawsuits from a bunch of the celebrities she’d lied about. 

Some of her classmates had come to give testimony on what she had done and said during her time in Paris. The goodie-two-shoes brat had even come to Italy to give testimony against her, though Lila hadn’t been allowed in the courtroom while she was there, as Marinette hadn’t felt safe to be in the same room. Lila’s lawyer had actually agreed, probably so she wouldn’t cause a scene. And she probably would have. She would have stabbed her in the face with a pencil, in front of the entire courtroom, if she had the chance.

But the worst had to do with the school security cameras. After M. Damocles and Mme. Bustier had been fired for neglectful and abusive behavior to their students, which had been brought about by the investigation into Marinette’s expulsion, the Board of Governors went farther back through the recordings to see how long the bullying had been going on. What they found was video evidence of Lila grabbing an akuma out of the air and putting it into her earring, and then willingly working with the known terrorist. 

To make matters even worse, Ladybug and Chat Noir had sent a video as testimony of the times Lila had purposefully interfered with their rescues and had led Chat away from Ladybug to make her more vulnerable to the akuma Oni-chan. Her lawyer tried to get the video stricken from evidence as he couldn’t cross-examine the two heroes, but it was denied.

Her parents had been sitting behind her when they showed those videos. When her mother saw them, it was like she completely shut down. She heard her say that she wanted to leave, and Lila watched as her father helped her mother to her feet and lead her out of the courtroom without looking back. 

The judge had been absolutely disgusted with her, going as far as to call her a monster for willingly aiding a terrorist. Since she had already confessed to multiple counts of forgery, fraud, and reckless endangerment of minors, and would now be adding slander and other charges from her time in Paris, the most notable being terrorism; he declared that she would be tried as an adult and was likely to spend the rest of her life in prison.

She’d completely lost it at that point, screaming at the top of her lungs as she jumped over the table to attack the judge. She didn’t remember smashing the water pitcher against one guard's head, scratching another guard across the face, or getting tasered in the back. When she woke up, she was strapped to a bed by her wrists and ankles, her head felt really foggy, and there were a bunch of nurses and orderlies that were keeping keen eyes on her.

Lila Rossi spent the rest of her life heavily medicated in a maximum security mental health hospital. Most every night, the nurses would hear her plotting some kind of scheme to show everyone what a loser Marinette was, but then she would trail off about how she wanted to hear the song Jagged Stone wrote for her or the album she’d help Clara Nightingale write. When she saw people, she would ramble and lie about being a princess or a secret agent, and that she was only here to keep her safe until they came to get her. Over the years, it was all written off as the insane ramblings of a very disturbed girl that would be remaining at the hospital for the rest of her life.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Chasing Tornadoes {6/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: 18+ Generally, like my blog. light smut. open ending.Smut literally starts under the cut.

A/N:  Sorry this series took longer to conclude than originally intended. I honestly wish I could finish it how I intended, but writing has been a chore of late. I’m no longer as excited or imaginative as I used to be. There was a sequel in the works, it is postponed for now. I’ll make sure to tag if the sequel makes it to light of day.

THANKS SO MUCH FOR FOLLOWING STEPHEN AND I THROUGH THIS JOURNEY. MUCH LOVE GUYS.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Taglist is open -comment or send an ask!  

<< Previously ○ Next >>

Long. Elegant. And inside you. Stephen’s fingers moved with purpose, vivacity. Your body moved of its own accord. Hips rutting, hands clawing at ruffled sheets, toes curling. Your body felt warm as white spots blotted out the ceiling. You were moaning, speaking, but unsure of what you said. Stephen went rigid, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he kissed you through your earth wracking orgasm.

When you came down from the high, body glistened with sweat. Stephen’s cocked brow roused something in you.

“What?” you huffed, not even attempting to make yourself modest as you watched his fingers slip out of you, slick and delicate.

“So… you really think I’m a god?”

Your eyes went large, “Wha—When? I never—stop teasing, Stephen.”

His laughter filled the room, a strange sensation settling over your chest as you fought back your own laughter.

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes. “I’ll stroke your ego, just this once. You did prove skilful with those fingers of yours.”

He stretched out his palm, holding it horizontal over your stomach. ”Steadiest hands in the business.”

You sat up on your knees, brining your lips to taste yourself on his fingers. He let out a huff, all arousal.

You made sure to draw out each syllable of your sentence, sounding raspy with desire. “We’re supposed to be having sex right now, not comparing resumes.”

He snaked his other hand around your waist and pulled you flush against him. His body was more than ready, if the heat and pulsing of his bulge were any indication. Feeling catty, you gyrated your hips against his erection, beyond satisfied at his reaction. His lips parted and his head lolled back, eyes shut, grip ironclad as he enjoyed the friction between you two.

“How rude of me,” he pulled you tighter. “Let’s rectify the situation.”

“Mmmm, let’s.”

The tension between the two of you was palpable. Hot and thick. Stephen glanced down at your lips, parted and beckoning him closer. You snaked your hips, making sure to illicit all the heady sounds you could from him.

At last, when he grunted, you let out a laugh of triumph and said, “What are you waiting for? Kiss me already.”

“Gladly!” He ravished you. Your tongue, your body and your mind were consumed by him, by his cologne clinging to your skin and his tongue worshiping yours. It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. But two could play at that game.

 You spun round, making sure to use your strength to get Stephen under you, pinned beneath your thighs and the mattress.

“My turn,” you said, placing rough kisses along his neck and collarbone, sure to leave marks. His scent was stronger there, and you could almost smell the faintest touch of antiseptic, the smell that haunted the hospital break room and corridors. You remembered one of your earlier sex fantasies from your first days as an intern. The thought of having passion overcome logic, of having sex in a supply closet, hands pressed to mouths so you wouldn’t make a peep while the rush of daily routine and potential discovery waited behind the door. That thought got you riled up, before you knew it, you were panting—closer to moaning—and your hips moved with purpose. With need.

You leaned close to Stephen’s ear and whispered, “Tell me Stephen�� tell me how you imagined this moment. How many dreams I’ve occupied. How many times you’ve touched yourself thinking about me. How—”

Stephen leaned forward, tangling his fingers by the nape of your neck, locking them into a tight pull before capturing your lips. Deftly, his free hand found your breasts and kneaded, slowly. His hips worked in tandem with yours, building that friction to a glorious sensation. You traced your fingers over his lean chest, feeling the curves and dips and softness of is physic. When he broke the kiss, you were both flushed and breathless.

“Did that answer your question?” he cocked up an eyebrow.

“Not even close,” you whined, and suddenly his hand slipped between your legs, applying pressure to your throbbing bundle of nerves. Stoking the fire.

“Enough with the delayed gratification, I need to be inside you.”

You reached for your bedside table and retrieved a condom wrapper. Biting the foil, you nudged your head at the pillows. “Lay down. It’s my turn to take control.”

A darkness flashed in Stephen’s eyes, and you swallowed. He did as you commanded, making it a show of languishing against your pillows, moving his hips so his pelvis and flat stomach rocked before your eyes. Inviting. Teasing.

Your gaze raked over his body, landing on his sizeable endowment. You smirked, ripping the foil open. “You know, I see where that cockiness comes from.”

“And I must say, I’m finding this new side of you…” his fingers trailed light patterns against your belly. “Very enticing.”

You slipped the condom on, enjoying the feel of his girth and length and curve. Savouring it by squeezing slightly, until he had to close his eyes and take in a sharp breath that trembled on its way out again.

“Good,” you said, guiding him inside you, moaning with pleasure as each inch slipped inside.

 Sex with Stephen was different. Especially in daylight, with no shadows to blanket over you. Your bodies behaved intimately, as if you’d been bygone lovers rekindling an old flame. Everything was new, his size, your motions, your responses to one another, but one thing was clear, you both fought for dominance, and you both relished in the high of it all.

 You rolled out of bed at the smell of early dinner; salt and butter. The crackling of the pan was oddly homely. It seems Stephen wasted no time getting comfortable in your apartment.

You reached for your bathrobe and realised it wasn’t on the hook. So, Stephen had no qualms borrowing your clothes either. You bit back a smile, imagining how ridiculously short your bathrobe would look on his long frame.

You left your room in an oversized t-shirt and smelled something new and bitter as you sat down on the kitchen table. Dark roast coffee.

“Making yourself at home, I see,” you laced your fingers together to rest your chin atop.

Stephen didn’t turn around, he merely hummed. It was a breezy tone. Different from the sound he made when he was thinking, or agitated. It was new. You liked that.

“You label everything, it wasn’t rocket science,” he teased.

“My, my, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just tried to make a joke.”

Stephen grumbled something under his breath, reaching for the coffee pot to pour a healthy serving into a cup and place it in front of you. “Here, preoccupy yourself with that.”

“But you didn’t ask if I like it with cream and sugar.”

“I’m pretty sure I know exactly how you like it.” His tone was suggestive.

You blushed. Deeply. At a loss for words, you took the coffee and let the dark flavour consume you. A satisfied moan trickled up your throat. Stephen smirked, showing a little teeth. Somehow, he looked his age, for the first time since you met him. He looked comfortable.

“That is how I like it,” you nodded your head.

Stephen turned back to the stove when a framed photograph caught his eye. He pointed the flat end of the wooden spatula at it. “Is that your family?”

You glanced up, looking at the photograph of you and Irene—your sister. You were both seated on bleachers, smiling too widely at the person who was holding the camera. A partial thumbprint blurred the top left corner. Beside Irene was her husband, Rafael and their son Max—who was a carbon copy of your sister, dark curls, vibrant hazel eyes and a round jaw.

“Yeah,” you said sheepishly. “That’s my sister Irene, and her husband and son.”

“Hmmm,” Stephen hummed. He was thinking this time..

“‘Hmmm’ what?”      

“Nothing, it’s just…” his eyes narrowed. “Your bone structures are different.”

“Questioning our genealogy now?”

“Force of habit.”

“You must be great at parties,” you remarked sarcastically.

Stephen rolled his eyes, plating the food decoratively. He offered you the one with the larger helping. You played around with the food, watching him chew absentmindedly as he pretended not to find the photograph intriguing.  

“Your assumption is correct,” you took a fork full of eggs benedict. “Our facial structures aren’t similar because we’re both adopted.”

“I see,” he adjusted himself in his chair, trying to make himself appear less rigid. His eyes flicked back to Irene, and then Max. “Must be quite the age gap.”

You huffed, “Not as wide as you’d think. The city does that to some people. Ages them, I guess. Not that her job is a cake walk either.”

“Is that why you’re afraid of leaving this place, even though we both know you want more?” he cocked an eyebrow. “Afraid the big, bad city will gobble you up and spit you back out again?”

You thought of something uncouth to say, something that would sting and get him to drop this issue, but you chose to swallow that knee-jerk reaction. “And here I thought we could go five minutes without arguing,” you sighed. “Let’s not rehash this.”

He raised his hands, palms towards you. “Not arguing. Just an observation.”

There was a long pause, and most of it was filled with the ambient noises of cutlery scraping plates and the slurp of hot coffee. When you visibly relaxed, Stephen asked more questions. Simpler ones. About your college years and why you had so many festival t-shirts, and why Jan always knew everything that happened in the hospital.

Soon enough, you welcomed his inquisition. Took to telling him things easily, as if retracing the past with an old friend. It was the sort of easy interactions you shared with Mike, except you couldn’t hold Stephen’s gaze for longer than two seconds at a time. You always found an escape—the one potted plant by the window sill, Spike lounging on his floor cushion, the wind-chimes shaped like dragonflies, the spot of hollandaise sauce on the plate. Anything.

The early dinner somehow managed to stretch past actual dinner time, and the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder. You washed the dishes while Stephen dried, the conversation still going strong.

“So why neurosurgery?” you dipped your mug into the soapy water a few times before handing it to Stephen.

Ignoring your question, he glowered at your washing technique. “For the love of… I hope that’s not how you wash your hands after dealing with patients,” 

“The mug only had coffee in it.”

“Just…” he pressed his fingers to his nose. “Trade places with me.” He took the mug and swapped places with you, placing the dishcloth on your shoulder. The simple action made you shudder. He watched your movements from the corner of his eye, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “Intrigue. That’s what drew me to neurosurgery. There’s nothing quite like the human brain.”

You laughed. He frowned.

“What? Not the answer you were expecting?” he handed you a plate.

“To be honest, no. I thought you’d’ve said something more arrogant.” You emoted how you imagined Stephen would, making your voice deep and comical as you plastered on a frown: “‘Anyone can open and close the chest cavity. But the brain? That’s all about talent.’ Something like that.”

“Please,” he rolled his eyes. “A monkey could perform heart surgery.”

You snapped your fingers, “Like that, see. Nail on the head there.”

“Christine says that all the time,” he noted, before going stiff for a brief moment.

As Stephen dried the last mug, you turned to lean your back against the sink, a gnawing sensation in your stomach making you uneasy. “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

He sighed, placing the mug gently on the rack. “Christine and I haven’t been… close in that way, not in a long time. If that’s what you mean. As for the friend part, I think only you can answer that. But I have no regrets. About today. Or all the countless nights I’ve had thinking about you.”

Your heart quickened again and you hid your blush behind your hair. Stephen lifted your chin, a sincerity to his features.

“Do you?” he asked.

“I—” you bit your lower lip. “I should. But I don’t.”

Stephen’s breath hitched. Instinctively, he closed the space between the two of you, lowering his face so his lips were inches from yours. “Good,” he whispered before stealing the air from your lungs with a fevered kiss.

“Wait…” you barely managed to get a word out as Stephen hoisted you onto the counter. “Stephen…”

He let out a satisfied grunt, “Say it again. Just like that. Say my name again.”

You didn’t mean to oblige, but when his name graced your lips again, you found it sounded even headier than before. “What are we doing?”

 “I don’t know, but it feels right,” he tightened his grip around your hips as he kissed your neck.

“We shouldn’t,” you panted. “Once was a mistake, we can get away with saying that. But if we do this… again… that complicates things. We both know you don’t do complicated.”

He smirked, biting at the tender flesh he’d just finished sucking on. “Neither do you.”

“But—”

He sealed your lips with a greedier kiss. His stubble leaving red marks across your jaw. “Tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.” He hunkered lower to kiss down your sternum, his free hand rolling a taut nipple between thumb and finger. “Today, let me just have this. Have you.”

You let out a moan and somewhere behind the heat of your ears, you heard Spike drop the last flower pot. You didn’t care, you just wanted Stephen. Near you. Above you. Inside you. Again.

“Okay,” you mewled, lacing your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed as he lifted your shirt and got on his knees, pleasantly thrilled to find you weren’t wearing underwear. He licked his lips, looking up at you as if you were the sun, and said: “You’re so frustratingly beautiful, you know that?”

“You’re not so bad yourself, doctor.”

Stephen’s smile turned wolfish. “Call me that again.”

“I’d be happy to, doctor.”  

Sparks flew, a continuous stream of electricity making your toes curl and your fingers feel static. You and Stephen had ignited something in each other. Something beyond the sex. And both of you were afraid of how raw it was. Every time Stephen called your name, your heart found new ways to react. For the first time in a long time, you felt warm. Wanted. Beautiful.

Today you were his. And he was yours. Tomorrow be damned.

tags: @raindancer2004​ @captaincutebutt​ @demonstracija​ @melisssaa​

permatags: @500daysofbecky​ @electroma89​ @gruffle1​ @thechickvic​ @notawarriorjustyet​ @savethehoneeybees @bookish-shristi​

[bunnyywritings]

Hii! May I ask hcs with shinsou todoroki bakugou and kaminari with a korean s/o and she is able to speak lots of languages, please? I know korean, english, japanese and portuguese, for example! Thank you so much

reaction to fem!s/o who is multilingual

[a/n: I-oh my goodness that’s so impressive!! Thank you for the request anon! sorry for the wait 😣here you go! -yours truly, bunnyy  ps. bro the only other language I speak is spanish...being multilingual seems awesome}

hitoshi shinso 

☆ He would definitely ask you to “teach” him a few phrases but has absolutely no intention of actually learning

☆ like he just wants to hear you speak as much of any language you can

☆ because of his quirk, I think he has like a thing for someone with a nice voice so he just loves to hear you talk

☆ he’d bother you to help him with his english homework A LOT, especially if you’re fluent because you have such a high grade in that class

☆ I think I take that first statement back, he’d definitely want to learn any phrases you want to teach him to help strengthen his quirk

☆ he’d learn a few cheesy phrases just to surprise you with them and catch you off guard

☆ he’d be a sucker for your native tongue though

☆ he loves hearing you talk to a relative on the phone because he gets to hear how your voice naturally gets a little deeper, the way the syllables drip off of your tongue like honey and the little sound effects that come with it

☆ there was a time when the two of you were on a date and a foreigner came up to you with hopeful eyes and asked if you had spoken any english, his eyes filled with pride as he watched you effortlessly give them directions or help them translate something

☆ as you waved at them and wished them luck, you felt his gaze on you

“Toshi? What is it? Do I have something on my face?” you had slipped back into japanese so easily. You were confused when a small smile grew on his lips.

☆ “Nah, I just have the most talented girlfriend. That’s all.” His words made you blush profusely. “I really am proud of you, you know that?”

☆ “Of course I know Toshi.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, his instinctively wrapping around your waist and pulled you closer. “What’s gotten into you?”

☆ “Nothing, but I think there may be a problem.” You frowned at his words. “You’ve put me under your spell. I’m so in love with you.” Your eyes widened as he confessed his love in your native tongue. Dialect and pronunciation were perfect.

☆ “Well, you’re not the only one because I love you too.”

☆ the two of you shared a kiss then and there, even if he wasn’t a big fan of PDA

☆ he just had to kiss you or he might die

shoto todoroki

❆ transferring to UA and being a foreigner was weird

❆ everyone was drowning you in questions, asking about your quirk, why you moved, where you came from, it was just too much but you instantly noticed Todoroki

❆ not because he was quiet but while everyone (minus bakugou) was bombarding you with questions, he was unapologetically staring at you, his sharp bi-colored eyes sent shivers down your spine

❆ but instead of looking away, you stared back with the same intensity because he was strikingly handsome

❆ he thought the same about you, from the moment you walked into class and introduced yourself, he was entranced by your beauty

❆ he could tell that japanese was most definitely not your native language, he was impressed with how well you passed as a japanese native

❆ as time went on, he came to appreciate you as a person

❆ the way you held yourself to a certain standard without coming off as stuck up or your selfless nature when it came to your fellow classmates

❆ he remembers one time that he woke up at 2am to go get a glass of water when he saw you by the couch and he noticed the two slumped figures on both couches. Mina on one and Denki on the other

❆ you hadn’t noticed hid so he watched as you carefully lifted Mina’s head and slipped a pillow under it before making sure she was covered properly with a blanket, doing the same with Kaminari before muttering something to yourself in another language and going back to your room

❆ he frowned, what did you say and what language was it in? shrugging, he got his water and went back to sleep

❆ surprise surprise, it was you that confessed to him halfway through the year

❆ he was surprised but confessed his feelings as well before insisting on taking you on a proper date with full intention to max out his dad’s credit card

❆ one saturday, the two of you were in your room studying when you got a phone call. You apologized before going to answer and his eyes widened when he heard you speak, it wasn’t japanese

❆ he was enthralled by how it sounded spilling from your lips, the words were foreign to him but he couldn’t help but listen in

❆ “What was that?” he asked once you hung up, you explained that it was your mom and that was your native tongue, you then explained to him the different languages you could speak in

❆ I think he’d only ask you to help him learn english and maybe your native tongue

❆ “Why would you wanna learn that, Sho?” You asked as you were sat in his lap and brushed his bangs from his forehead

❆ “Well when I meet your parents, I would want to make a good first impression.”

❆ his words shocked you, he wasn’t really one to joke about things like that

❆ “You want to learn for when you meet my parents?”

❆ “Well of course I do but if you don’t want me to meet them, then that’s alright.”

❆ “You’re so sweet Sho, of course I’ll teach you.” You peppered his face with kisses, enjoying the way his cheeks slowly turned pink

❆ “I think you missed a spot, princess?”

❆ “Oh really, where?” He took you by surprise when he grabbed you chin softly between his fingers and tilted your head down.

❆ “Right here.” he planted a sweet kiss on your lips, smiling into the kiss as he felt the warmth of your hands on his cheeks

❆ your parents meet him and they love him

katsuki bakugou

☀ baby would be very confused when he hears you speak something other than japanese

☀  he heard you speak to All Might once in fluent english and he just stood there, eyes moving quickly between the two of you as he tried to keep up with what was going on

☀ he’d 100% get competitive and try to learn another language to 1-up you but it doesn’t work and he’d get all pouty

☀ “Why didn’t you ask me to teach you something? You know I wouldn’t mind.”

☀ he came up to you once and insulted you in portuguese, it was an accident though...he definitely learned that duolingo and google translate were definitely NOT good tools to learning a new language

☀ “Suki, why would you say that to me?” he frowned at the tears in your eyes

☀ ”Wait...what did I say?”

☀ “You basically told me that my face was uglier than a rats ass.” he panicked even more when the tears rolled down your cheeks. He cupped your face and kissed the tears away

☀ “I’m sorry, I was trying to say that you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve met.” You’re not really sure how he got that phrase but the guilt in his voice definitely told you that it wasn’t on purpose so you forgave him...on a condition

☀ “I’ll forgive you if you cuddle me for the rest of the day.” you had never seen this boy move so fast. He tackled you to the bed and wrapped you up on his arms

☀ during this cuddle time, he’d press kisses on whatever skin he could reach, murmuring an apology each time

☀ while you were in his arms, you taught him a phrase that he could easily say

☀ “You got it? Or do you need me to say it again?” You asked as you looked up at him, he had a scowl of concentration creasing his forehead

☀ “I think I’ve got it...” He muttered. There was a small silence before he took a deep breath

☀ “Y-You are sw-sweeter than h-honey...”

☀ “There you go!” You smiled proudly, it was such a corny phrase and not one he’d ever say in japanese too

☀ “So what did I just say?”

☀ “You said I was sweeter than honey? Is that true Suki? Am I sweeter than honey?”

☀ “Well babe, why don’t we find out?” He slyly brought you down for a kiss, lips dancing slowly and sensually against each other’s

☀ “Mmm you are sweeter than honey, so sweet it’s intoxicating.” His voice rumbled deeply against you as he brought you in for ‘another taste.’

☀ definitely would ask you to teach him all the curse words so he could curse people out without them being able to understand

☀ 1000/10 a good idea because hearing him curse in something other than japanese was hot

denki kaminari

ϟ you would definitely end up doing his english homework for his sometimes

ϟ when he heard you and Momo speak in korean denki.exe stopped working

ϟ he was completely obsessed with hearing you speak a foreign language

ϟ he’s a very proud boyfriend, he would brag about you to ANYONE who would listen and even if they didn’t want to...they did

ϟ he loves it when you call him pet names in your native language

ϟ he’d learn how to say silly things or lame jokes in your language when you’re having a bad day, the pronunciation was terrible but you still understood what he was trying to say and it would never fail to make you laugh

ϟ he admired you so much, the way you selflessly went out of your way to help someone or to translate something for a classmate during english class, it made his heart thump in his chest

ϟ he’d secretly enlist Momo to help him learn your native language

ϟ bless that girl for having the patience because it took MONTHS for him to be semi fluent

ϟ you noticed whrn you were talking to a family memeber on the phone, you had let him stay in the room because you thought he couldn’t understand you but when you said something about how you wish you could punch Mineta in the throat he couldn’t help but stifle a laugh

ϟ you heard him but because he was looking at his phone, you thought he was just laughing at something on there

ϟ you finally figured it out when he sent you a meme that was in your native language

ϟ when you saw it, you snorted but the amusement quickly turned into confusion when you saw the profile name

ϟ you made your way to Denki’s room and you could hear him chuckling away on the other side of the door, you knocked before he said to come in and you frowned in confusion

ϟ “Did you really just send that to me?”

ϟ “Yeah...why?” His smile dropped. “Was it not funny?”

ϟ “It was but how did you know it was?”

ϟ “Because I watched it? Geez baby, what kind of question is that?” he shrugged nonchalantly but that definitely made you more suspicious.

ϟ “You know, don’t you?” You narrowed you eyes as you asked him in your mother tongue

ϟ “I don’t know, maybe I do...or maybe I don’t?” He responded almost perfectly.

ϟ you were completely shocked

ϟ “What? Wh-when did you even-?” You couldn’t even form a sentence. “Why?”

ϟ “I wanted to impress you, sunshine.” He responded flawlessly once again.

ϟ “You’re the best, Kami. You know that?”

ϟ “Yeah, I know but it definitely doesn’t hurt to be reminded.” his goofy grin made your heart do somersaults

ϟ “I love you Kami, you’re so silly.” You nuzzled your nose against his in an eskimo kiss

ϟ “I love you too pretty girl, you’re just amazing.”

ϟ i have a soft spot for this idiot :(

[passivenovember]

Live Through This.

Harringrove April, Day Twenty One : Fire.

--

He makes the kid promise. Swear--on his mother’s distant grave and his favorite pleated skirt and the sickest, most expensive pair of Doc Martens imaginable--not to use the things Billy teaches him unless it’s an emergency. 

Unless the well has run dry.

“You never throw the first punch,” Billy reiterates, tapping Joey’s knuckles against his own as if to show him. Prove it. 

The sun beats down, painting the world in shades of orange and red. The hard, chiseled lines of the cement remind Billy of a boxing ring. Power and violence, good men burning up from the inside out. 

Incendiary.

“What if the kid says something about me?” Joey wonders.

Billy wipes at the sweat across his brow, artfully stamping out the flame before it grows. “Doesn’t matter what they say about you. Point is--”

“What if they say something about Dawn? Or my dad? What if they say something about you or uncle Steve, or. You and uncle Steve--”

“Joe--”

“You talk about my family, I can’t just let it slide--”

“Did I stutter.” Billy snarls. He pulls at the tape wrapped about his knuckles with his teeth, blinking sweaty curls out of his eyes. “Did I miss a single fucking syllable--”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Billy spits on the ground, planting his feet. “Another combination, let’s go.”

They’ve been at it for hours. Bare knuckle boxing in the backyard, like a couple of sailors in the late August heat. Joey lied and said he was coming over to help Dawn with her algebra, as if she would ever need help with school, just so Max wouldn’t drive him herself, and.

Use Billy’s own weight against him, just like he taught her.

“But what if they say something really bad.” Joey isn’t focused. Isn’t prepared when Billy blocks his next hit, isn’t ready for the jab that gets him just below the ribs. 

They aren’t actually hitting, just. 

Practicing. 

Billy frowns, gesturing the floor. “Fix your stance.”

Joey does. “What if they--” 

“Kid, listen. It doesn’t matter what they say about you now, or tomorrow, or twenty years down the line when you’re far away from here living on a pull out couch in So-Ho. They’ll always have something to say.”

Billy tosses a water bottle, yellow with heat, into the air. Joey catches it and immediately lets it fumble to the floor. 

Unfocused, his brain supplies. 

Week.

Billy douses that fire in ivory love. 

If he was home in California, at the docks with Grandpa Milton, something so clumsy would’ve earned him fifteen extra pushups and a run to the pier and back. 

But. 

There’s nothing to prove, here. No wars to keep in mind, nothing to prepare for, just a boy trying to make sense of his world. Take care of the tree line so it doesn’t go up in smoke when summer hits.

They drink in silence. Scada’s humming their tune somewhere high above the edge of the Earth, making the moment feel heavy. Saturated. 

Incendiary. 

Billy knows a forest fire when he sees one. Smells the burning, smoking embers of something weaving a hole in Joey’s chest, right above a yellowing bruise that made him grow up.

Billy nudges him. “School treating you alright?”

“I dunno what you--”

“Somebody say something? Call you something?”

Joey smiles, but. It doesn’t land, or. Lands crooked.

Billy nods. “There’s a lot of shit in my life that I’m not. Stuff, things, that don’t need to be dug up from where I buried them.” He lights a cigarette, just to keep his hands from shaking. “But that’s something I can stand on, at the end of the day.” 

“What?”

“I never called people names.” Billy says simply. “And don’t get me wrong, I did. A lot of fucked up, brutal, animalistic shit, but I never.” Billy takes a sudden, harsh pull from his cigarette. “Got called shit all my life. Never wanted to cross that line myself.”

It doesn’t mean anything. 

Shouldn’t mean anything, not in comparison to the other things Billy did. He other bridges left unburned, but. 

Joey. Turns to him. Looks him in the eye. “Were you a bully?” He asks.

Man to man.

Billy stares back. Thinks back, to. That night. And all the nights before that one, where he kept seeing smoke signals rising above the trees. Little fires everywhere, burning down beaten paths and growing, culminating, into.

“You look just like your dad, anyone ever tell you that?” 

Joey doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then. 

He’s standing. 

“Joey--”

“He told me about that, you know.” 

Billy’s heart stops beating, the mask finally falling away when his Nephew turns and all those memories. Tender moments wrapped in Captain BJ Honeycutt and Uncle Bills, two nick-names that fit together like cracked pieces of cement.

Shatter again. Crumbling to dust before Billy’s eyes. 

He never wanted to talk about this. 

After stumbling up to Lucas, the first Christmas after Starcourt. Drunk and a little bit high and feeling. So. So fucking grateful that Max was smiling at him, for once, he. 

Never wanted Joey to see him like this.

Hard. Stony, smoking a cigarette with tape around his knuckles, morphing into every person who ever looked at Max’s family and thought. They were better. 

Worth something. 

Joey shakes his head. “You aren’t like those people, Unc.”

Billy opens his mouth. To argue. 

I’m exactly like that. I am that. I never changed, the wound isn’t healed. This isn’t about me. I’m a bad man, kid, I burn buildings bridges people down for fun and you gotta stay away from me. Take the village and run--

Joey readjusts the tape around his knuckles. “Another combination.” He says, holding out a hand. 

Billy resists the urge to slap it away. Fall to pieces. “Kid--”

“Let’s go.” 

And Joey sounds so old. 

Mature.

That Billy has no choice but to follow, leaving the past to burn against crumbling pavement. 

[maxxfields]

Party Crasher

Another freaking party, another freaking year had gone by and he was still here. Having to muse himself with a bunch of idiots. Sometimes when he was at these events, he would think about things Gabby had said to him. About how he should be easier on the others he worked around, or how maybe they weren’t idiots. There would be slight moments where those thoughts would get to him and he would try to get in a mood that made him more approachable. But it always ended with someone coming up to him and saying the most off the wall things. Unfriend swine, all of them. None of them here appreciated good journalism, news, stories, or human decency. Maybe it was him and not them, as Gabby would say. Maybe he was the issue, having moved to a smaller city and hoping it would be as wild and cultured as places like New York or London. But it wasn’t. Not that he would ever think about moving anywhere, especially not after Gabby had come back. But sometimes he wanted more. Or different. He wasn’t sure yet. He just knew he hated this moment. This party. This job. These people.

Normally this event was filled with guests and vip list people all trying to smoosh their way onto the front page of the paper, or find a big ad space they could occupy. Even though he was editor of the newspaper, all of the people knew to stay clear of him. The ad spaces were always given away by a completely different group of people and Max had made it pretty well known he could care less what was advertised in his paper. ‘If the writing is going to suck, i don’t care if you sell drugs or prostitutes among the pages,’ he believed were the exact words he told them in a meeting towards the beginning of his editorship. No wonder he gave an aura of stay-the-fuck-away from me and therefore no one wanted to be near him.

The man checked his watch to see how much longer this event was going to last and started to wonder how much longer until Gabby got here. They hadn’t driven together, because she had some crime scene to go to or something another, but had promised him she wasn’t ditching him. At this point in normal years he would start to find a way to escape, it had been almost 45 minutes since he arrived. Not knowing when Gabby was going to come, and not wanting to bother her by calling because that would just make her take more time wherever she was, he went and found the booze. In years he never would drink at these parties, because he never intended to stay long. But he always admired the amount of liquor they did have and the quality. Maybe he gave the party committee too much money every year for this, oh well it benefitted him now.

The party had been going for about an hour now, and he was definitely on his way to drunk. Gabby should have been here a while ago, but he guessed work really did need her because he still hadn’t heard from her. All week she had kind of teased him about coming and what she was going to wear, and he had a feeling it was going to be something drop dead gorgeous and he wasn’t going to be able to resist it. But he had to. He still wasn’t letting himself admit to her or him, that he had feelings for her as well. It was still unclear to him why he was trying to not let them be together, maybe in the back of his mind he was still afraid she’d run away again. Last time they were so turbulate towards each other because of their feelings and then having Justin in the picture things did get hard between them. Trying to maintain a friendship with so much negativity around it was hard for the both of them and she ran away. Knowing that maybe she'd do that again when things got rough between him made him afraid. It was something that he had kind of started to talk about with his therapist. But there was still a lot of work he felt he needed to do before he was able to commit to her. Knowing she was going to therapy also helped him want to cozy up to the idea of them.

3 drinks in and he was starting to get kind of lonely standing here. He was about to call Gabby or start heading out because it had been way too long that he was standing next to the bottle of boozes. Filling his drink one last time, before making a decision of what he was going to do next, a woman walked up to him. Max drunkenly got a little too excited about it, because all he saw was a satin red dress and killer legs. His first thought was Gabby, so he quickly looked around at the woman standing there, who was not in fact Gabby. Though he did recognize her instantly. He tried to mask his excitement with just being friendly and spoke to her, something of a rarity for him to do in the office ever.

“Vivienne Wolfe,” his sly smile came out, partially because of the booze, and partially because he hadn’t spoken to a woman that looked as smoking as she did in over a year. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m-”

“Max Fields. I know,” she spoke with such confidence as she took his hand and shook it. “I make it a habit to know all the editors of newspapers in the area. I’ve followed your career for a while now.”

“Ah, well thank you. I’ve watched your show from time to time,” he wanted to add something about how informative she was or how well she told the news. But he knew that when he use to watch her program it was rarely for the topic and more for what she was wearing. “What brings you to this shit hole of a party?” It did kind of seem odd to him that someone who was on regional television for the city, came to this dump just for a Christmas party.

“Oh some of my producers are friends with some of your corporate execs so our whole office gets invited every year. I normally don’t show up, but I thought this year I’d see what it was about.” She looked around and back at him, “I think you definitely found the best part of the party though.” Her eyes glazing over the drinks.

“Well, please, let me pour you one. What can I get you?”

“Whiskey, neat. Just like yourself,” her tone turning a lot more flirtatious with each syllable.

He simply nodded, restraining himself from speaking about how impressed he was at her choice. But it also didn’t surprise him that a girl who looked the way she did could handle something like this.

It only takes her about 10 minutes to sip on her drink before the both of them are pouring another one together. In each passing moment, Max begins to relax and find himself back in his old ways. It had been a while since she had a drink with a woman like this, or spoke to one like this. Sure he flirted with Gabby every now and then but that was a different kind of flirting. The flirting he did with her meant something, and wasn’t just for the intention of getting someone in his bed that night. This kind of flirting was exactly that. Not that he knew what he was getting at, or trying to earn by the end of the night. He didn’t even know how long they had been standing there. Between the alcohol, the uncomfort of having been in this office party for far too long, the anticipation of seeing Gabby dressed to the 9’s, and talking to someone; Max had started to not remember why he was there or what he was doing. Old behaviors, old phrases, old flirtatious gestures started to appear in his act as he stood there. The two of them in a corner away from everyone. The two of them in a bubble of whiskey and tension. The two of them pushing themselves closer and closer to a wall...

The next few moments to Max really felt like a dream. It was full of fog at steam to him. But there was definitely physical sensations happening as well. Her lips were plump and luscious on his. Her hips were curvy under his hands. Her breasts were warm against his chest. Everything was happening at one moment and he didn’t know how to stop it, if it was actually happening, or if he wanted it to stop.

[dessam]

A little pre-Weapon XI AU thing centered around the retelling of how Devin died and the half-truths Max likes to spin.

Warnings for violence, blood mention, and backstabbing

Or: if two Plumbers were on a mission escaping a heliokinetic psychopath and one shot the other in the back would that be fucked up or what?

The universe always seemed to get the last laugh in, no matter what Devin was doing.

“Max, he’s getting closer!” 

Whether it was trying to make breakfast only to realize he didn’t have any eggs, or attempting to stop a galactic warlord from consuming stars on the weekend, he was always somehow the butt of a sick joke. 

This joke’s name was Ragnarok, and Devin wanted nothing more than to wash his hands of the monster. He’d also like to wash his hands of the stupid, stupid man in the co-pilot’s seat next to him.

“Ship won’t go any faster, Devin!” Max hollers back.

Rolling his eyes, Devin mutters under his breath: “Have you tried flapping your arms?”

His current partner - a certain Magister Maxwell Tennyson - seems to find the whole bit some sort of joke, and was laughing through their last narrow escape from Ragnarok. Tennyson isn’t at all perturbed by the villain rapidly gaining on them, and a little voice in the back of Devin’s mind pipes up to remind him: you can’t trust a single one of them, not even your partner.

Which, obviously, was a lesson he had known long before he became a Red Spot, but was now a mantra he spoke every single time an incident like this happened. 

Of all the bloody people to be partnered with, Maxwell Tennyson was a name at the bottom of a long, long list of Plumbers that--

“You with me?”

A voice cuts through Devin’s thoughts, and his partner is looking at him from the corner of his eye, grinning.

“What?” He says shortly, on edge.

“I said: Ragnarok really wants what we took, huh?”

Devin bites his tongue, resists the urge to snarl back that it’s his fault they’re in this bloody mess, that they had the element of stealth right until Max had to blunder their escape and alert every being with working cochlear nerves they were onboard Ragnarok’s ship. 

“We couldn’t let him slaughter six billion people just to get his hands on the Sun’s energy,” he says instead, shooting Max a mocking grin. “Not my fault he didn’t like you stealing the key that activated his energy vortex. You’re welcome, by the way, for me bailing you out of there.”

Max’s expression falls immediately, eyes snapping forward and hands tensing on the ship’s controls, all comradery gone. Devin’s partner was never very good at saying thank you.

CRACK

Lurching in his seat with a grunt, the bulkhead rattles around Devin as the nav system sputters and whines before fading, and he watches with dread as glowing instruments suddenly wink out one by one, the ship going dark. 

Next to him, frantically flicking switches and checking the backup system as it flashes a warning red, Max looks at Devin with wide eyes.

“Blast took out our engine couplings, our shields...we’re dead in space.”

Oh so slowly, a shadow overtakes them, plunging their vessel into darkness. 

Swallowing hard, Devin tests the controls, tries to think of their fastest way out of here, all while Max just stares dumbfounded up at the massive ship overtaking them. 

There’s a hissing vhmm from the rear door, and Devin glances back as the massive form of Ragnarok materializes in a blue haze onto their ship. 

Red eyes boring into his own, the warlord sneers at the two Plumbers, back straightened and fists clenched at his sides. 

“Where did you hide my key?” He speaks in a low snarl, lip curling back to reveal ugly yellowed teeth.

Devin shares a short look with Max, sees the gears turning in his partner’s brain.

Fuck this, he decides. 

Standing and drawing both of his blasters, Devin unloads shot after shot at the ship’s newest arrival, and the human next to him takes just a moment longer before standing and unloading the clip of his weapon at Ragnarok just the same. 

Ragnarok seems unperturbed, smoke clearing as the plasmabolts fizzle out, not a scratch on him. Devin growls, lunging behind cover with Max just as a vibrant yellow blast from Ragnarok takes out their ship’s main console with a resounding BOOM!

The blue halogen lights of the backup systems flicker before maintaining, secondary life support still online and running smoothly. 

It does little to calm Devin’s nerves as he presses his back to the offhand weapon’s console, and glances to Max at his side. 

His partner looks pale, staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched and right hand clutching his blaster. Devin watches him reload the clip in one movement without looking, recognizing the confirmed remaining charge of the weapon: seventy-three percent, glowing in luminous green. 

“I’m going to go for the Null Void projector,” he grips Max’s arm for a moment, forcing the human to look at him. “Cover me, understand?”

“Devin, wait--”

But he’s already up, sprinting towards the main weapon rack on the far wall, ducking under another blast from Ragnarok that singes the hair on the back of his neck. Behind him, he can hear Max swear something in terran before more plasmabolts are fired off, and Ragnarok roars in frustration. 

Devin slams his hand on the access panel, snatches the mobile Null Void projector from its rack just as another blast nearly takes him out, the explosion throwing him back against the port window and sending the Null Void projector clattering into the corner. 

“Devin!” Max hollars, lunging out from behind cover and sending another round of bolts at Ragnarok. 

The heliokinetic monster is grinning now, yellow energy glowing in his palms as he slowly stalks towards Max, and Devin has a split second to think before he focuses on an exposed electrical panel inches away.

Bingo. 

Yanking a glove off with his teeth, he grabs one of the loose wires as he stands and lets the raw energy pulse through his body, instantly feeling woozy. 

He only needs a short charge - thirty-five hundred watts should be enough - and the electricity extends from the fingertips of his left hand to the fingertips to his right hand, gathering at his wrist. Devin narrows his eyes, focuses, and fires.

A sharp blast of energy sparks off, lancing out to strike Ragnarok square in the back. 

He screams, sinks to one knee, and Devin grins in triumph, dropping the wire. 

The heavy smell of ozone hangs in the cockpit, and he tries to shake off the last jitters of electricity sparking off his hands before snatching the Null Void projector off the floor, levelling it at Ragnarok’s torso.

“Any last words?” He asks, unable to help the smug smile that crosses his face.

“You will know true suffering, Osmosian,” Ragnarok spits, pupils dots in a sea of dark red and yellow as he stares unblinking back at Devin. “This isn’t over, none of it. As long as you’re alive--”

Devin scoffs, flicks the trigger, and Ragnarok’s words turn to an enraged scream as he’s sucked backwards through the warped portal of the Null Void.

“Blah blah blah, you'll rue the day, et cetera. I’ve heard it all before.” Devin grins, sheathing the Null Void projector and inspecting the dark smear where Ragnarok once stood. 

He can hear his partner stand, and turns to double-check their nav system.

“Computers will need a reboot, but we should still be able to get a signal out for pickup. Could be worse, I suppose.” He sighs, drags a hand down his face, feels the start of a migraine coming on. “Not a bad shot, eh Max--?”

POW!

Blindingly white-hot pain overtakes him as he hears the sound of a blaster go off. Staggering, falling to one knee, hysteria instantly grips Devin’s mind. 

I’ve been shot. Max shot me.

His thoughts are confirmed as he collapses onto his side, glancing up blearily at the shape of his partner, silhouetted by the ship’s overhead lights. 

“I’m sorry, Devin, I’m so sorry. I had my orders.” Max rasps out, crouching beside him, taking one of his hands in his own.

Devin almost wants to laugh, or scream. To tell Max he’s a brainwashed idiot, that things didn’t have to be like this, that he could’ve found another way. Really, he doesn’t even know why he’s surprised at this point.

“Orders, eh?” He chokes out, tasting copper. “So Ragnarok was a distraction, to get me to slip up?”

Max shakes his head, squeezes Devin’s hand.

“No. Ragnarok was...he was supposed to finish you off back on his ship, quick and clean. But if you want something done right…Devin, I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know,” Devin gasps, agony shooting through his body with each syllable. “Max just, please, promise me one thing.”

His partner squeezes his hand a little tighter, nodding.

“Tell my wife and son I love them.”

Any compassion drains from Max’s face, taken over by horror and dawning realization. 

“Your what.”

Devin grins, finally knowing he got the last laugh in. Fuck you, universe.

[ziezie13]

I got tagged in two of these recently so I am just going to make a Frankenstein post because that is what today deserves. Thank you @beedragony​ and @blue-rose-smalls​

Name/Nickname: Zie

Gender: Bad ass bitch

Star Sign: Capricorn (or Sagittarius if you believe NASA)

Height: 5′ 8″ / 173 cm

Time Currently: 8:05 PM

Birthday: January 13

Favourite Band/Groups: OK GO, Cage the Elephant, ABBA, The Beatles, Vampire Weekend, Queen, Weezer

Favourite Solo Artists: MIKA, Enya, Gotye, Max Raabe, David Bowie

Song Stuck in Your Head: I have had so many today (right now I am listening to Fresh Feeling by Eels)

Last Movie I Watched: Three Men and a Baby

Last Show I Binged: Good Girls

When You Created Your Blog: March 2020

What Do I Post: I just reblog whatever I like and also scream into the internet void (sometimes it screams back)

Last Thing I Googled: Alamo Drafthouse Closing

Other Blogs: Just a bunch of dumpsterfires (burning at various degrees) where I collect things, not for human consumption

Do I get Asks: I got one once and it was amazing (I also hoard messages of love from B)

Why I Chose My URL: ZieZie is what my brother called me growing up because it is the last syllable of my name and sounds like sissy - the nickname stuck though most my family calls me Zie. Thirteen because I like the number thirteen and it’s my birthday.

How Many People Are You Following: 270

How Many Followers Do You Have: 46! (How? Why are y’all here?)

Average Hours of Sleep: 7-8 hrs

Lucky Number: 13 and 7

Instruments: I am proficient at piano at the five-year-old level

What I’m Currently Wearing: Blue vans, unhemmed bell-bottom jeans that are super comfortable and I love them, black leather belt, my favorite sleeveless knit blouse with black and white horizontal stripes, and my staple black columbia jacket that I stole from my brother

Dream Job: Something where I get paid preferably (shit I really need to quit huh?) I guess structural engineer cause that’s what I do

Dream Trip: My bed

Favorite Food: Mashed Potatoes

Nationality: God damn right I’m American

Favourite Song: Why you make me pick? First thing that pops into my head is “ One Cannot Kiss Alone” by Maax Rabe - it speaks to me

Last Book I Read: Vicious by V. E. Schwab

Top Three Fictional Universes You’d Like To Live In: Inkheart, Harry Potter, Doctor Who

Bonus:

Hogwarts House: Slytherin Favourite Instrument: Piano (also cello is hot - I love the aesthetic of a women carrying a cello on her back) Aesthetic: Blue vans, red bag, t-shit and jeans or if we are waxing poetic - silent choking laughter (like you are probably want to check if I am still breathing), covered in inexplicable mud, Orion's Belt, zombie tv face (if a tv is on somewhere in the building I am watching it), stacks and stacks of books Favourite Author: Douglas Adams (he is the peak of comedy)

[maxskulline]

Although the door closes with but a silent click, and it is her own hand that turns the lock, the sound cuts through her loudly enough to startle - and to worry, no matter how improbable the possibility, that someone might have heard. Doors in this house hardly ever stay shut, and - to the great amusement of those who don’t understand what it is like to live under constant scrutiny, who only see a large mansion with many, many rooms -  privacy is a cherished luxury. It is all thanks to the obsessive need for control and a sprinkle of paranoia her parents nurture so carefully, perhaps more carefully than they had ever nurtured her. It is not out of love that her mother and father keep such a close watch, or out of need to protect their only daughter. It is simply because Maxine Sullivan doesn’t like to play by the rules and they’re terrified that she’ll be the one to burn their status to the ground. 

Because she’s careless. Because they had wasted time and money to try and break her in like a wild horse, only for her to buck and break the reins and run off wherever she wanted to. At the age of nineteen, people share talk as to why she isn’t wed yet, a pretty thing like her, and it always falls back to the failure of her parents. Most suitors don’t like that she isn’t docile, that she can’t hold that sharp and sometimes arrogant tongue, while others tend to see it as a challenge. Taming this wild horse would surely feed their own fragile ego. After all, they believe it is a man’s duty to teach a woman her place.

But it is of no matter. She had learned to dodge these watchful ears and eyes a long time ago, learned to win the servants to her side so that they will not speak of her nightly escapes. Having allies is a good thing - even if it shocked her to find out that all it took was a bit of genuine kindness, gratitude and an extra coin of silver each to win their loyalty. 

Without these nightly escapes, she would be lost. It is the only time she can leave behind her prison and taste a life she might lead if the world was a little kinder to women. It is how she came to meet him  - and the very reason why she stands with her back against her bedroom door, one hand still on the handle, with a thundering heart so violent it might as well stop. Only eventually does Max let go, pry herself from the door and prowl through her room until her reflection catches her eye momentarily - and she stops the restless commotion.

Admittedly, when Max goes out, she hardly pays attention to the garments she chooses, or what her hair looks like, or if she is wearing a smile at all. It is the only time she gets to make that decision. No one else. But the woman staring back at her now, she reminds Max of someone else. Someone she has seen today - someone she maybe shouldn’t have seen, but couldn’t pry her eyes away from either way. 

Max can feel her breath hitch a little when the memories bury her like an avalanche, although it fills her with pure heat. Her own eyes are wide and curious, and a little daring - but that woman’s eyes were shut while her head had rolled back against her lover’s shoulder. She wonders if her reflection is what she looked like as she had watched them, just a moment before Guzma caught her in the act, before-

Her hands fist the fabric of her skirts, because she doesn’t know what to do with them right now. Because there’s the nightly escapades - and then there is this. Threading into a territory that most consider forbidden outside the laws of marriage. Why ever someone would call it sinful is beyond her, not when those lovers from earlier had looked so beautiful and so serene with each other. Max rakes her eyes up and down her own reflection and suddenly decides that she cannot bear the feeling of material on her skin. That she wants - she wants to see herself. 

With steady fingers, button by button the emerald silk peels off and reveals comfortable undergarments instead of the usual constricting cage. These join the pool of fabric by her feet too. Max turns this side and then the other, taking in herself in a way she had not dared to before. She knows her mother hates her freckles. It is for this sole reason Max loves her speckled skin all the more, and in the candlelight, they almost look like dust of pure copper. Unbinding her hair until the fiery locks fall loosely over her shoulders, she notices that her breasts are certainly not as full as she had seen on the woman from earlier. Yet, somehow, they suit her - small and plump and maybe just the right shape to fill one’s hand. Max walks a little closer to the mirror. One hand traces from collarbone to the soft curve below, mimicking the way this woman’s lover had touched her. Although her mind is already painting a new scene, until it is no longer the woman she’s watching. The hands touching her are larger, rough and calloused from reckless nights spent inside the ring, their skin contrasting as if he were the sun and she is the moon. 

Her eyes flutter shut and her breathing turns a little harsher. If he were here behind her, her head would roll back against his shoulder. His hands - just like her own are doing now - would tease her, roll her nipples until he has Max squirming. Then they’d trace lower, over the soft panes of her stomach. Maybe he’d stop and wonder why her ribs feel so sharp, but he wouldn’t say a word because it is Max’s choice to make. His fingers would circle her bellybutton while his lips press kiss after heated kiss into the junction between shoulder and neck, maybe scrape his teeth against her ear just to see her writhe again.

When she returns to her reflection and she only sees herself in the mirror, she buckles under the sudden weight of longing. Of wanting. It is the one feeling she had kept at bay so hard tonight, ever since she had seen Guzma in the arms of a young man while sharing kisses with another woman. She was only stopped from storming out of his mansion by the captivating sight of two strangers entangled in their passion, their beauty so captivating that Max had gladly forgotten the sting of jealousy in her heart. That they didn’t mind her audience filled her both with excitement and heated shame for wanting to see.... more. Frozen in her spot, Max’s wide eyes had followed the way the man’s hand dipped between the blonde woman’s legs, teasing and testing, suddenly ignorant to any watchful eyes, as if they were the only people in the world. If she had thought her heart was racing then, if she thought she felt hot and troubled then, it was no match to the moment Guzma stepped up behind her - silent at first, but Max knew he was there. Putting up a good act of ignoring him, it wasn’t long until the king of mirth and revel began to hate her silence. 

If only he knew how he shattered her, how she wished to give in then. To break free from rules and from constrictions and not care if anyone saw them - but they couldn’t. Max wasn’t ready for the risk it imposed just yet. And what would she do, anyway? She knows nothing of this world - his - world. In the end, she may only disappoint him with her inexperience. 

Now, Max leaves behind the mirror and, naked as she was, allowed the bed to swallow her whole. Her skin felt too hot to be comfortable, haunted by the words he had whispered to her that very same night. She couldn’t crawl under the sheets lest she burn to death, so she lay sprawled on her huge bed instead, a copper halo of hair fanned out to all sides. With knees bent only a little, curious fingers resumed their exploration from earlier, hoping to ease some of the heat by allowing herself to follow his sinful command.

                      ‘Tonight, I want you to touch yourself.’

Oh, and what a command it had been. At first she couldn’t believe her ears, until Guzma ensnared her body by trapping her chin in place, fixing her eyes on the lovers ahead. The writhing woman, now panting softly when his hand picked up pace, bucked into it and left Max beyond flustered. ‘You never touch yourself, do you? You’ve never seen anything like this.’ Guzma’s remarks stung a little, reminded Max all too painfully of her own innocence. Of what she might have missed out on. Of what women were to miss out on if they followed the rules of this wretched society.

So she had jutted her chin forward, shielding a very wounded pride as much as she could. 

                       ‘And what if I do? What do you hope to accomplish from this, my lord?’ 

Despite his touch and the way he held her chin, Guzma did not intend to go any further. He didn’t need to - his voice was effective enough. 

                  ‘When you touch yourself,’ he murmured, his voice so very close to her ear that she could feel every syllable grazing it. ‘Look closely. I want you to put your hand between your legs just like he does with her.’ It was obscene at first, though now, Max can’t help but spread her legs wider. Exhilarated by the knowledge of doing a forbidden thing, she draws in a sharp hiss when her fingers first find the hot and slick flesh between her thighs. Thinking once again that she is the ravished woman in the parlor, and it is Guzma’s skillful hand who all but spreads her to the hungry eyes of a girl who is so ready to break free.

Teeth dig into the flesh of her lip, muffling a moan when she runs two fingers between the soft folds, arching into her own touch. She finds a particularly pleasurable spot she fixates on, her mind suddenly running wild with the idea of Guzma’s mouth on her, or how incredible it would feel if it were his tongue instead of his fingers - although she hates and curses every part of him right now, for making her want so much. 

             ‘When you come back to me, I want you to tell me everything you thought of.’ He can go to hell. She will do no such thing, nor give him the satisfaction of knowing he was with her all through the night. Applying pressure to this sensitive spot has her gasping sharply, suddenly careless about the noises that might be heard down the dark hallway. With her other hand, she circles her nipples again, and her hips find their own rhythm, too - rutting into the palm of her hand now, struggling against the desire to explore further, to find out what it feels like to be filled. The woman had loved it when her lover entered her with two fingers, rode herself on him until she begged for another, a plea he was all too happy to obligue. They had dragged it out for as long as Max could bear it, until she thought she might burn up on the spot. Max was nearly dizzy with need when the woman cried out and he held her against his chest, kissing her face, kissing her neck, stroking her trembling body - if it weren’t for the giddy smile on her lips, she would’ve believed her in pain. 

Now she knows that she must have been consumed by a fire, the very same fire that begins to fill her body and endlessly builds up. Her skin gleams, her muscles are tense and trembling while her hand moves harder, faster, desperate to find relief from it all. She thinks of the sounds this woman made, thinks of Guzma’s breath against her neck, thinks of the times she had seen his body move while he fought, wonders if his muscles would move the same way while he claimed her. Yet it is this one shattering thought that ultimately pushes her over the edge when she comes and cries into the crook of her arm, shaking with the force of a fever, curling up and clenching her fists into the pillow beneath: he was watching her the entire time... while she tried so hard to ignore his presence in her back, while the two people before them looked so beautiful, Guzma’s eyes were on her. 

She can hardly stop gasping. 

‘I want you to tell me how you felt when you broke free from these strings that still hold you. Because, my darling Maxine,’ he had said, reaching for her gloved hand, loosing finger by finger until he slipped it off and kissed the top of her bare hand. She’ll never forget the lilac of his eyes when he looked at her, leaving a mark not only on her skin but her soul - her very being, as this night easily proved. 

               ‘Because if you can’t even allow yourself the right to your own body, how can you say that you truly live a free life?

Eventually, the tremors ease. Although her body feels pliant and soft, and she doesn’t trust her legs to keep her standing. Sprawled on the sheets like a flat pudding, she still finds herself unable to care if anyone heard her - it makes her smile to care so little. In fact, a part of her almost hopes that someone heard and that it brings them terror. The terror to know that their daughter can’t be tamed, nor that she’ll keep herself from finding the pleasure that she finally had her first taste of. If she’ll end up touching herself for every night to come, they can’t stop her - it is her body, and she is the only person on earth who has a right to it. And, if she were to give it to anybody, it’d be her choice.

Though for all the... liberating wisdom he had shared with her tonight, it remains to be seen if she’ll ever grant Guzma this privilegue. He is an ass.

 It would be a most deserving punishment to leave him wanting for the truth, just as he had left her wanting for his touch. 

[biillyhargroves]

I have a request! Steve and Billy go out on a date. The kids find them, don’t know it’s a date. Shenanigans ensue. Billy becomes upset, Steve announces that he loves Billy.

this is all now(fic requests open)

“Is anybody seeing what I’m seeing?” Dustin asks. He is all but gawking down the rows of theater seats. His friends all seem to engrossed in their own conversations (Lucas and Max have carried an argument in with them, Mike was explaining the premise of the movie to Eleven while she helped Will pass bags of candy he’d stuffed into his backpack). Dustin, seated at the center of the cases, looks one way and then the other and lets out a long and exasperated sigh. “Are you shitting me?” he asks, and he jabs his elbow hard into Max’s ribs.

“Ow!” she yells. “What the shit, Dustin?”

“Isn’t that your brother down there?” He points and Max looks down the rows to where Billy is reaching for popcorn from the oversized tub in Steve Harrington’s lap. He says something that makes Steve nudge him away, and then they both laugh. 

“What the hell is Billy doing here?” Lucas asks. 

“With Steve?” asks Mike.

“Don’t they hate each other?” asks Will. 

Their questions ring in Max’s ears. She feels something sink down into her gut. She can feel everyone watching her. From Dustin’s other side, El catches her eye. She glances down to where Dustin had pointed and then back to Max. Max leans as far back into her seat as she can and tries not to look at Billy and Steve.

“Are they friends now?” Lucas asks. 

“Did you know about this?” Dustin asks.

“You didn’t know either,” Max grumbles. 

“I don’t live with Steve!” Dustin says.

“Billy,” El says, “doesn’t tell Max anything. ...Right?”

“Right,” Max says. 

“What does it matter, anyway?” Will asks. “So they’re seeing a movie.”

“Steve’s fraternizing with the enemy!” Dustin exclaims.

“Enemy?” El asks. 

“He’s not that bad,” Max mumbles. 

“Steve’s got a screw loose,” Lucas says.

“He’s got to,” says Mike.

“Let it go,” Max says. Luckily for her, the lights begin to dim and sound swells in from the speakers. She sinks down in her chair and breathes a sigh of relief as the screen is filled with a two hour distraction that quiets her friends - for now. She can’t help herself from glancing over all the shadows of all the heads in front of her, watching as Steve and Billy take advantage of the dark and praying that no one else sees the way Steve’s grabs for Billy’s hand, or that Billy lets him, and praying the whole time that Billy won’t kill her when the movie lets out. 

---

Billy drops Steve’s hand when the lights come on. 

Steve tries not to take offense. They are, after all, on an actual date that he’d all but begged Billy for. He missed dates, he’d told Billy. He wanted one night where they weren’t sneaking around someone’s parents or getting wasted at some party. He wanted a real date, and it had taken him days to get Billy to finally cave. And he knew that public displays wouldn't happen. They most public they’ve gotten was making out in the dark, empty parking lot behind the gas station, and even then- drunk as he was -Billy had triple checked that the station was closed and that no cars were frequenting the roads around them. But still, it’s hard not to feel a pang in his chest when something as simple as a light has Billy shoving him away. 

“You good?” Steve asks him. The people around them have already started to rise. Billy joins them, still licking butter and salt from his fingers. 

“I gotta piss,” he says.

“Thanks for the update,” Steve says flatly. “I’ll meet you outside?”

“Sure.” They exit the theater together, and Steve joins the crowd as it funnels the doors while Billy breaks off toward the bathrooms. Steve barely sets foot on the pavement before he hears his name called out from behind. 

“Shit,” he groans, inwardly cringing and wishing on every damn star in the sky that Dustin will be gone by the time Billy comes out. He turns around and finds that Dustin is not alone. The whole group is a few steps behind him. At the very back, lingering with purpose, is Max. She catches Steve’s eye over the heads of the others and she mouths a silent apology. “What’s up?” Steve asks. 

“What’s up?” Dustin repeats. “What’s up?”

“You’re riled,” Steve says.

“You have some explaining to do,” Lucas declares.

“Guys, it’s not that big a deal,” Will insists. 

“They were just...watching the movie,” El says. “Like us.” 

“He was watching a movie with the guy that beat the shit out of him,” Mike says.

“Okay, alright,” Steve says, holding up his hands to stop the onslaught. “Listen, Dustin, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, man, okay? I’m busy right now.”

“Busy with Billy Hargrove?” Lucas asks.

“Yeah, what the hell are you guys doing?” Dustin asks. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve insists. 

“Not a big deal?” Dustin asks.

“He nearly killed you!” says Lucas. 

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Half a dozen heads turn to face Billy. He looks both confused and a little bit angry, though most might consider anger his default. His brow is furrowed as he looks at each of the kids in turn, and then he meets Steve’s eyes over all of their heads. He is met with silence, which only aggravates that already-angry parts of him. 

“Well?” he presses.

“Billy-” Steve starts, but the dropping of those two syllables sets a chain reaction throughout the group. Max shrinks back, El and Will flanking her sides as Mike, Dustin, and Lucas launch on Billy. 

“What are you doing here?” Mike demands.

“What are you doing with Steve?” asks Lucas. 

“We saw you in there,” Dustin says. 

Billy answers none of their questions. His eyes grow harder with each word slung his way. He’s fuming when he looks at Steve. “Billy, I didn’t-” Steve starts, but Billy cuts him off with a shake of his head. He pushes past the kids and makes a point of knocking his shoulder against Steve’s as he moves past him, too. “Billy,” Steve says.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dustin asks. Steve ignores him. He follows after Billy for one, two, three steps before he’s able to grab hold of Billy’s wrist and stop him.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low so that the kids won’t hear him. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No?” Billy asks gruffly. 

“No,” Steve says.

“Then what the fuck’s with the inquisition?”

“The inqui-wha?” Billy rolls his eyes. He tries to pull away, but Steve tightens his grip.

“He didn’t say anything,” Max says. Billy rounds on her, but she stands her ground. She sets her jaw, juts up her chin, and she repeats, “Steve didn’t say anything. Don’t be mad at him.”

“Max didn’t say anything either,” Will says.

“Don’t be mad,” El says.

“Does anybody want to say anything?” Dustin asks.  

“No,” Billy snaps.

“Billy,” Max says.

“You stay the fuck out of this,” Billy tells her.

“Billy,” Steve says, and he tightens his grip around Billy’s wrist. Billy stares at him. 

“I’m leaving,” he says.

“Billy,” Steve says again, and once again Billy tries to pull away and Steve holds on to him as tightly as he can. Billy makes it a few steps, dragging Steve behind him, before he stops again. 

“Let me go,” Billy demands.

“I’m your ride,” Steve says.

“I’ll walk,” Billy says.

“You guys drove here together?” Dustin asks. 

"Let it go,” Max says.

“Is this, like, a date?” Mike asks. 

Steve looks at Billy. Billy looks angrier than ever. He sets his jaw. He shakes his head. Steve sighs and he says, “Yes.” 

There is a stunned beat of silence following that single syllable. Then, Billy rips his hand away, and this time Steve doesn’t fight. He steps backwards. He looks hurt, and Steve feels his heart sink. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his words lost beneath the din of the kids’ rebounding questions. Billy shakes his head. 

“It’s a date?” Dustin says.

“You’re dating,” Lucas says flatly. 

“Did you know?” Will whispers to Max, who shrugs her shoulders in a maybe that can’t mean anything other than yes. El takes Max’s hand and squeezes. Around them, the others are still assaulting Steve with questions. Billy steps slowly backwards. He looks like he’s been struck.

“Okay, you know what?” Steve says suddenly. “Enough. Enough, okay? I don’t need this from you.” Here, he points directly at Dustin, who stops talking mid-sentence and takes on stumbling step backwards. “I don’t ned this from any of you,” Steve says, pointing at each of them. “Okay? This has nothing to do with any of you. This has to do with me-” He points to his own chest, “-and him,” he says, pointing to Billy. 

“Steve,” Billy says. 

“You guys can ask me all the questions you want later,” he says. “But I spend days getting this asshole to actually go on a real date, and convincing him wasn’t easy, and I don’t need to stand here and be harassed by all of you. I just wanted one night out, okay? One night out, because I love him and I want to be with him and I missed, like, normal dating shit that he hates but he’s doing because I begged him to and I just don’t need this.” 

Again, Steve is met with stunned silence. Then, the first domino tips.

“You what?” Dustin says.

“Did you just-” Max starts.

“Steve,” Billy says again. 

“What?” Steve asks.

“You just-” starts will.

“You said you love him,” says El. Steve glances at her, and then he looks at all the shocked faces staring at him until he once again lands on Billy. 

“I-” he says, but he doesn’t know what words are supposed to come next. This isn’t exactly how he’d planned to tell Billy that he loves him. In fact, he hadn’t finished planning quite how that would go. “Uh,” he stammers. The silence that follows stretches tense around him and Steve wants nothing more than to break that taught thread. “Well, I do,” he says. “I love you.” 

He hopes that this will diffuse that tension, but it doesn’t. It does get Billy to move though. Not right away. He stands there, looking less hurt and more confused. Then a determination comes over him. It creeps up in his eyes and puffs out his chest. He steps forward, one hand reaching for Steve, He takes the back of Steve’s head and he draws him in for a kiss. 

When they break apart, the tension is gone, but the silence remains. The kids are staring a them with wide eyes and gaping mouths (except for Max, who is fighting to hide her smile). Billy looks at them all in turn. He takes Steve’s hand and laces their fingers together. 

“Max,” he says, and she covers her mouth with her hand so that he won’t see her stifled smile. “Find another way home.”

“Forget it,” she says. “I’ll stay at El’s.” 

Billy accepts this with a nod. He gives each of them one last glance before turning and pulling Steve with him. Steve can feel the kids’ eyes burning holes in his back, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the interrogation he’s sure to get from them tomorrow. He doesn’t care about how many times he’ll have to defend Billy to them. He doesn’t care about any of it. None of it matters. Because Billy is holding his hand.