#i thought i was a dark haired girly but i can swing both ways

[justjamthings]

maybe blonde fictional men do deserve rights

[inkheartedwanderer]

a tally on the left || s.h.

in which the most embarrassing moment of steve’s life leads him to you.

steve x fem!reader. 

content: tacky leotards, steve in a crop-top, a fitness class. summer of ‘85, instant crush, girly reader (kinda). not very good i’m sorry :( more steve-centric than reader-centric

word count: 4.2k

Steve Harrington never thought the most humiliating moment of his life would come at the hands of two fifteen-year-old girls. Pleading doe eyes, empty promises of never ever bothering him ever again and his own goodwill to blame, he agreed with barely a qualm, just a deep sigh followed by El’s skinny arms around his torso and a less vehement than usual pat on the back from Max.

If he had known what he was really getting into, he wouldn’t have acceded so fast.

It’s times like this, when he’s standing in the middle of the Starcourt Mall parking lot in very short shorts and a fucking crop top -courtesy of a very amused Dustin, and that he’s wearing god knows why-, that he deeply regrets having a soft spot for the kids.

Leaning against his car, hands on his hips and duffle gym bag on the concrete by his feet, Steve waits for El and Max to get out of the vehicle with their backpacks. He’s not exactly sure why Max wants to do this in the first place, it seems precisely like the type of activity she would hate, from the outfits down to the music; but El is very excited, has been since they asked the boy to tag along a few days ago, and has apparently talked Hopper’s ear off about it to a point of near madness.

“Okay,” Steve claps his hands and motions for the girls to get closer, “here’s the plan. We walk in fast, get over with this batshit insane idea of yours, and dip. Clear?”

While El is agreeable and nods, Max rolls her eyes, a smug smile gracing her lips.  Steve raises a questioning eyebrow and she snorts, “I can’t take you seriously while you’re wearing that.” Her eyes travel up and down his body, settling on the dark hair that covers his abdomen. 

It’s remarkably awkward to be ogled by a child. “It was the only clean t-shirt I had left.” Steve tugs at the end of his top, a muted blue monstrosity that he will burn as soon as he gets home, and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, eyes closed, willing himself to breathe deep and be a supportive friend. Babysitter. Whatever. “Let’s just do this, okay?” 

El squeals with joy and laces her arm through Max’s, the girls leading the way towards the mall in their bright, colourful attires and matching leg warmers. They whisper with each other, heads close, their giggles reaching Steve, who’s a few feet behind thanking whoever was in charge of this whole mess for scheduling it so early that the parking lot is virtually empty.

We need an adult, they’d said, no one else is free. He can pinpoint now, as he replays the conversation in his head, all the times he could’ve said no. But he didn’t, because he’s an idiot (a good friend if he says so himself, but an idiot nonetheless); and now he’s crossing the upper level of Starcourt in the dead of summer, peak season in full swing, about to spend his morning doing aerobics.

The name of the small studio glows in pink neon letters, mocking Steve with the promise of cheesy music and cheesier moves. It’s a modest rectangular space that someone painted in bright coloured stripes, painful to the eyes, with wooden panel flooring and a large window wall facing -much to Steve’s dismay- the inside of the mall. 

A small crowd of mostly middle-aged women is gathered on the left side of the room, all sporting leotards with tacky prints and tights. The only other man in the room is sitting down on a small bench, fastening his shoelaces. He’s very fit, all defined muscles and shiny hair, and seems delighted to be there. 

Max pulls El to the far end of the studio, the designated space for everybody’s bags, and both girls giggle as they stare unabashedly at the others. Steve drops his stuff in the corner and stands next to them, grimacing. “Will you tell me why you really wanted to come here?” He’s beginning to question the girls’ motivations for this early-morning adventure.

El looks at Steve with a mischievous smile and whispers “The inst-” Her face drops and she looks at Max, frustration crossing her eyes, then sighs. “Uhm, the teacher is cute.”

“Instructor.” Max offers her friend, then turns to Steve. “He’s like, the hottest guy ever.”

Steve huffs, ignoring the not-so-hidden dig at him in her words, and crosses his arms. “What about your little boyfriends?” 

“Mike is visiting his nana.” El’s hand fiddles with the yellow scrunchie holding her short hair up. She suddenly looks a little bit sad, her brown eyes clouding, eyebrows pinched together in the middle.

“I dumped Lucas last week.” The redhead shrugs nonchalantly at Steve’s bewildered look. “He forgot our seven-month anniversary. He’ll apologise soon. Meanwhile, we will enjoy the view.” She points towards the door, and Steve turns around.

The teacher can’t be much older than he is. He walks across the room with a powerful stride and too bright of a smile for this time of the morning, greeting the older, most likely regular attendees. His eyes land on the girls as he puts his stuff aside and takes his jacket off.

“Hey, you two,” he’s still beaming, a cheery tilt in his voice that makes Steve cringe, “aren’t you too young to be here?”

“We’re with him.” Max points at Steve, who gives the teacher a tight-lipped smile and a wave of acknowledgement, feeling entirely out of place.

That seemed to be enough for the guy, whose smile grew, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. “Well, alright. Some of the moves may be too intense, so just go at your own pace, alright?”

He claps twice, loudly, and motions for everyone to get into place. Like a well-oiled machine, every person knows their spot. Steve follows the girls to the back of the room, feeling all too exposed, and uncharacteristically nervous. 

At the press of a button, loud, synth-heavy music starts playing from a brand-new shiny set of speakers. It’s exactly the kind of songs Steve was expecting, the ones he loves to scream in the car when no one’s watching, but not the kind he wants to jump and dance to, surrounded by complete strangers and two teenagers who will never let him live it down.

Maybe, he thinks, he can make a run for it and hide somewhere until the class is over. The backroom of Scoops Ahoy, he thinks, is perfect. If only his new co-worker and personal nightmare Robin Buckley weren’t working the morning shift today… she would pay good money, Steve’s sure, to see him right now. Possibly take a picture and send it to the local newspaper. They’ve only been working together for a little over two weeks and she’s made it her mission to keep track (literally, on her whiteboard, the words you lose earning tally after tally) of every single embarrassing moment of his life. She would have a field day with this.

Now, Steve’s always been athletic. He was a great swimmer, regularly winning races and regional championships as a preteen. Then, in high school, he moved on to basketball, and he was the star player until he graduated. He’s fought monsters with nothing but a bat and adrenaline and made it out alive. 

This should be easy, right? Just moving around a little bit. That’s what he thought.

Fifteen minutes later, beads of sweat cover his forehead, light brown strands of hair falling over his eyes. Patches of perspiration stain his shirt, the cotton fabric hot against his clammy skin. To his right, El and Max are definitely going at their own pace, making up their own moves and laughing at each other.

Steve deeply regrets every single decision that’s brought him to this moment.

He doesn’t notice you, at first, too busy trying to follow the steps and not make a fool out of himself. It’s only when the instructor tells the class to grab a mat from the pile at the back of the room and sit down for the flexibility exercises that he finally sees you in his peripheral, to his left.

With your hair tied back in a ponytail that sways behind you every time you move, cascading over your shoulder when you crouch to settle on the floor; you’re a doll dressed in pale lavender and sunshine yellow, soft colours hugging your frame in all the right places as you sit down, legs apart, stretching your body towards your right, towards him. 

Steve has to fight the urge to stare, failing miserably when you raise your head and your eyes lock. You smile, pretty pink lips curling upwards, turning your cheeks into round bright apples. He likes the way your nose scrunches, how you unintentionally try to hide behind your shoulder, shy under his gaze.

He can feel his face grow hotter, fire under his skin, a drum inside his ribcage. You’ve got the kind of face that makes him want to melt, the kind of smile that sends his heart into a frenzy; and he almost misses the small hi that leaves your lips. You blink up at him expectantly and stretch over the opposite leg. 

Steve is frozen in place, knees bent awkwardly, a sweaty, heaving mess. But he reacts, and he hopes you keep on looking at him the same way. “Hey there.” He reaches out to touch the tip of his right foot unsuccessfully, his muscles protesting the pull, and winces.

You’re leaning forward now, your chest almost touching the floor, and your smile widens at his words. “You doing well over there?” 

The boy inhales loudly and nods, a bashful smile across his lips. “I’m not very flexible, apparently.”

A chuckle floats between the two of you. “Here, let me help.” You crawl away from your mat and kneel behind him, placing one small hand on his back and another on his thigh. Your skin is warm as you press your whole body weight against him gently, helping him reach. He would complain about the sharp pain on the back of his legs, but he’s at a loss for words -it has been a long time since he felt the touch of a woman, and what once seemed as natural to him as breathing -chatting up pretty ladies, that is- is now nearly as scary as facing a hungry pack of demodogs ready to pounce at him.

"Hey, what's your name?" You whisper, close, very close to his ear, your breath hot on his nape, igniting his cheeks aflame. How he manages to mumble his answer is a mystery, but he does, and he can hear the smile in your words as you tell him your own name. A pretty one that suits you just right, he thinks.

Steve grunts when you lean back, relief washing over him as he sits up straight. It startles him,  how he immediately misses your body on his body, your warmth on his skin. He wonders if you can see the effect you’ve had on him because you immediately place a gentle hand on his shoulder and ask, “Are you alright?” 

“I- I think I just broke something.” A god, he wishes he doesn’t sound as profoundly mortified as he feels.

“Is this your first time?” Smiling, you sit back down on your mat and bring your tummy down to your knee. Although there’s genuine curiosity in your words, they come out low and raspy and they make Steve blush -again. 

For the first time since the class started, he’s happy to be sweating, thankful for the loud music that conceals the loud thumps of his heart against his eardrums, and he prays that the flush that tints his skin is enough to camouflage his reaction. He swallows the lump in his throat, coughs, and nods. “It might be my last.”

Your giggle makes his breath hitch. "You just have to get used to it. It took me a few weeks." 

Steve could tell since he first saw you you're not new to the class. As if it were muscle memory, your motions seem to flow from one to the next. It's methodical and easy; each movement calculated, almost innate. He forces himself to keep his eyes on yours and to answer with what little voice he finds. "I don't think this is my scene."

“And what is your scene, Steve?” You say his name with a lilt and a chuckle, like you’re hiding a secret and daring him to find it out. And maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, a little bit shy and a little bit daring, or the strands of hair that have fallen out of your ponytail and now frame your face all pretty. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s too overwhelmed and not thinking straight and you’re the only girl who hasn’t looked at him like he’s a complete loser in too long, but he wants to find out.

The class is nearing its end, the music now softer, and the instructor moves on to stretching. He’s running out of time. It’s now or never. So Steve smiles that smile that used to get him both into and out of trouble, the one that’s soft and warm and a little cheeky and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners; and he rejoices in the way a deep pink blush graces your face this time. 

“Are you hungry?” 

You raise an eyebrow and a wide smile -certainly a little playful, maybe a little smug- stretches across your lips. “Oh, I’m starving! I haven’t had breakfast yet.” You both stand up, mats forgotten on the floor.

That smile and the obvious enthusiasm in your words take Steve by surprise, his brief surge of courage crumbling down like a house of cards. When you get used to rejection, much to his dismay (and he would never admit it), it’s easy to set your expectations low; but your eyes are shining, and all too pretty, and his smirk falters. 

Two loud claps from the front of the room signal the end of the session and a collective sigh of relief makes the corners of your mouth twitch in amusement. The instructor turns off the music, and Steve is sure he would feel ecstatic about the silence, finally, if he weren’t so flustered.

“I- Well, I…”  The boy can feel his brain freeze and turn into mush. He throws a thumb over his shoulder and clears his throat. “Wanna go? Together? For breakfast?” Well done, Harrington, you dingus.

Cursing Robin mentally for how her jabs have begun to seep into his own vocabulary, Steve braces himself for your rejection because why would you want to hang out with such a babbling idiot? 

To his surprise, however, you simply shrug one shoulder and say, “Now?”

Steve blinks once, then twice and, as if in a trance, he finally nods. “Yeah.”

You smile again, this time a wide, pretty smile that lights up your whole face, innocent and sweet. “Sure! Let me go grab my things.” 

As you turn around and head towards the back of the class, a spring in your step and your ponytail bouncing behind you, Steve lets out a deep sigh and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands. He wants to kick himself silly. His plan was to ask you out on a nice date -breakfast at the diner right outside of town, pancakes and coffee; ideally, after a shower, when he’s not sweaty and, he remembers suddenly, wearing the ugliest outfit known to man. 

A cough startles Steve. He turns around to find two sets of eyes fixed on him. Max’s eyebrows are furrowed, but Steve can see the barest hint of an amused smile tugging at her lips. El is giggling, hiding behind her friend’s shoulder, and the boy would buy the coy act if he didn’t know better.

“What?” He says, curtly, tugging at his shirt with a sour face.

“Pretty.” El states, voice soft, stealing glances at you while you stuff a small pink towel into your equally pink bag. 

“I know.” Says Steve, still wary about the girls’ intentions. “I-”

Max, never one to not speak her mind, cuts him off way too loudly for his taste. “Are you taking her out or what?” 

Steve huffs. He plays with the strands of hair that fall flat on his forehead, too damp to stand up in his usual quiff, then gives the redhead a stern look. “You cannot talk to me like that, alright?” The boy points his index finger at the pair of friends. “Not today.”

“You’re still wearing that,” Max says, waving her hand lazily at his outfit, “and I’m still not taking you seriously.”

“Ungrateful children…” Steve complains, throwing his head back with a whine. 

“So, are you taking her out or what?”

“Yes, I am!”

“Then what about us?”

Steve’s head snaps back down and stares at the girls with raised eyebrows.  Unbelievable. “What about you?”

“You said you’d drive us back home.” El giggles, her arm wrapped tightly around Max’s.

The boy’s mouth drops. “But… I can’t.”

“Is everything okay?” Your voice makes Steve turn around with a jump, and Max and El chuckle under their breaths. You’ve put on a soft-looking jacket and your bag rests at your feet, and you look lovely. 

Steve grimaces. “Everything is fine, I just…” 

You raise one eyebrow, eyes jumping from the boy to the two girls who now snicker unabashedly behind him. "I can just go home if you're busy or something-"

"No!" Steve waves his hands frantically in front of your face. "No! I just-" 

Steve is certain his poor neurons have never ever worked this fast -not when Nancy pointed a gun right at his face, not when Billy Hargrove beat his ass-, yet so slow.

It feels like a movie reel in motion in his head, Steve travels the mall mentally to find a place to keep the kids entertained, just for an hour or two.

And just like a revelation, a miracle, an oasis in the desert, the light bulb turns on and he's never been so grateful for his job before.

He smiles. You smile back. Max and El take a step back. "Do you ladies like ice cream?"

                                                             -

The way from the studio on the top floor, down the mechanical stairs and across the food court to Scoops Ahoy takes your little group a dreadfully long time. For Steve, it’s never-ending. He’s not used to feeling self-conscious, quite the opposite, actually, but he’s struggling to cover his midriff with his duffel bag. 

Steve leads the way, rushing towards the stairs, trying to avoid the families and groups of tweens that arrive early, hiding from the scorching late June sun inside the cool shade of the mall.

He sees Lucas Sinclair’s little sister, Erica, sitting on the steps across the big fountain and tries desperately to cover his face with his hand and stepping up the pace. She can be mean, has been mean before -when Robin refused to give her more free samples of cherry ice cream or whenever Lucas walks by, so Steve doesn’t want to risk being seen.

You’re happily chatting with the girls, who are bombarding you with questions about your outfit (from JCPenney) and your bag (Sears), where you live (on the other side of town, near the library), if you attend this class often (every weekend like clockwork). 

It’s almost cute, Steve thinks, how El’s eyes shine with curiosity when you answer, and the genuine smile that has replaced Max’s smirk. Maybe, if his plan doesn’t work, you won’t mind them coming along.

When you finally reach the ice cream parlour, the mall is buzzing with energy. The calmness from earlier this morning has been disturbed by loud voices and laughter, babies crying and kids running around. 

There’s a line already at the counter, and Steve can see his co-worker, Robin, a sullen look on her face, handing a chocolate cone to a young girl. He doesn’t really want to do this, because he’s certain her mockery will be endless.

But when he turns around, you’re standing there, so beautiful even after that workout, happy and patient, and he really, really wants to take you out. You’re looking at him with a smile so big your eyelashes touch.  There they are again, those red apple cheeks of yours. He could just take a bite.

So Steve Harrington swallows his pride, squares his shoulders and takes one step ahead. "Wait here." He tells you. “You two, follow me. And behave. Please.”

El and Max follow him into the shop, ignoring the line and the objections -and threats- of those waiting. 

“No-fucking-way.” Robin Buckley is already bending over laughing when Steve reaches the counter. Her eyes are settled on his top, a hand over her mouth to perfunctorily conceal her amusement. “Is this a dream, Harrington? Please, don’t pinch me. I love it.” 

“Don’t say another word.” He pleads, brown eyes wide and desperate, one finger up in weak command. “I need a favour.”

Robin bites her lips, torn between her need to cackle as loudly as her lungs will allow her, and the pity she feels at how utterly hopeless the boy in front of her looks. She coughs, barely hiding her delight. “I’m all ears.”

“See that girl over there?” Steve turns around, waving discreetly at your figure while you look up at the Scoops Ahoy sign, amused. When Robin, who’s leaning on the counter,  hums, but remains quiet otherwise, he goes on. “I’m taking her out. Like, right now.”

“Wow. You got a date with her wearing that? Right.” Robin takes a step back and grabs a cone from the glass display case by the cash register. She resumes her duties, scooping ice cream for the unhappy customers behind Steve with an even unhappier expression herself. “Comedy is not your forte, dingus.”

Steve rubs his face, sighs deeply and walks behind the counter. “I’m not joking, we’re having breakfast together.” He waves at you when you make eye contact with him, your smile perennial, your eyes bright. His legs are shaking, willing him to run towards you.

“And what’s this favour you need? Do you want me to go with you? Help you not mess up, Stevie boy?” She snorts, and so does Max from her spot, sitting on a boat-shaped booth. 

“Ha-ha, funny, Buckley, really funny. No, I need you to keep an eye on these two.” 

His younger friends smile, all fake innocence and girlish charm.

“You want me to babysit.” Robin deadpans, matter-of-factly.

“No.” Steve grimaces. “I mean, yes, kinda. But this is an emergency. Please?”

Robin looks at him, up and down, once, then twice. The boy can see the gears in her brain turning and plotting, and he knows nothing good will come from it. She stays silent as she grabs two cones and places them neatly on the metal holders, and as she takes two big scoops of chocolate brownie ice cream (Steve’s favourite, he notices with a sour look) and sticks a little plastic spoon on each one.

“What’s in it for me?” She finally says, placing a maraschino cherry on top of one of the scoops and looking at her work with a pleased smile.

“Anything.”

“Okay.” Robin takes the cones and hands them over to Steve, who looks at her, bewildered. “You’ll do the weekend morning shift the rest of the summer. Wait here.”

She walks into the backroom, leaving a perplexed Steve behind, and comes back shortly after holding her Polaroid camera and grinning maliciously. She’s too quick for Steve, the camera flashes before he even has time to react. The white paper rolls out from the front, and she snatches it and starts shaking it eagerly.

In any other circumstance, he would fight for that picture, he would tear it to pieces and burn them so nobody could ever see the Steve Harrington wearing a sweaty, ugly blue top.

But this is the nicest Robin’s ever been to him, the first time she’s agreed to help him without complaining, and Steve is not going to wait for her to start, so he shakes his head, still puzzled, and slowly walks back towards the door. 

“The rest of the summer, Harrington!” Her voice travels across the store.

Getting up early every day for the next two months to work at an overrated ice cream parlour is almost as bad as getting up early on a Saturday to take two teenagers to an aerobics class. But your face lights up when you see the ice cream, and you thank him earnestly when he gives you the one with the bright red cherry on top that matches your cheeks.

Even though he knows she doesn’t like him, and even though he’s still not sure he likes her that much either, Steve turns around and gives his co-worker a thumbs up in gratitude. He smiles when he sees her take out her blackboard and draw a thin, black tally on the left.

                                                  🌷 🌷 🌷

a/n: i’m baaaaaaaaack. this is probably one of my worst stories (i like my original idea, but i’ll admit i wasn’t sure where to go with it) but i am a bit rusty and need to fall back into it.

i’ve missed writing so much, but i needed to get out of the house really badly. i hope you don’t hate this one. as always, likes, comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. much love!

[smutson]

The Bet

Summary: After making a bet with your best friend Robin to finally tell your crushes you like them, a party at Steve's seemingly a great time to do it, the night ends with more than you were expecting.

Warnings: drinking, smoking, drug dealing, kissing.

Word count: 3.6k

Will probably only make this one part but might do two if anyone wants :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Y/N! Stop bouncing your leg! It’s making me nervous!” Robin says with a laugh as you look down at your leg and abruptly stop shaking it. “Sorry. I’m kinda shitting bricks here.” You respond with a sheepish smile. Robin throws herself onto her bed with a chuckle and slaps her hands to her eyes. “Yeah…I kinda am too. Why did we agree to do this again?” “Because we need to grow up and finally tell them and Harrington’s party is a great excuse to do it.” You reply with a glance to the mirror on top of her dark blue dresser. Your hair is very curly for the occasion and Robin helped make it even bigger, reporting that teasing is her only girly skill since all it takes is a hairbrush and repressed anger issues.

A week ago, you both agreed that it is finally time to admit to your crushes your feelings, and what can you say, teamwork makes the dreamwork and the fear of rejection a little more manageable, especially at a party filled to the brim with alcohol. For Robin, Vickie from band. And for you? Your best friend of 3 years, Eddie Munson. The thought of your confession ruining your friendship kept the truth at bay for years, but the buildup of pain keeping it in has caused has been worse. So after a drunken sleepover with Robin last week, you both agreed it was finally time and doing it together seemed like the best way to get through it, whatever the outcome.

“She just keeps making me feel like I’m going crazy and imagining all these little hints because she keeps getting back together with the spawn of satan himself and I can’t do it anymore.” Robin rambles and glances over to you sitting on her golden chair in front of her dresser. “Y/N. You’re doing it again.” “What? Oh.” You say and cease the rapid fire bouncing of your leg. The party started an hour ago and yet both you and Robin kept finding excuses to stay barricaded in her bedroom. The Duran Duran song you were listening to came to a smooth halt and you both lock eyes and know it’s time to suck it up and get in the car. With a sigh Robin pushes herself off her bed and extends a hand to you, which you grab with a grumble. She swings open her bedroom door and gives a quick hug to her mom standing in the kitchen stirring food in a pot before shuttling us both out the door with a fast goodbye. Outside, your black hearse is sitting crookedly on the curb, awaiting you and Robins equally shared nerves expectantly.

Shit. Let’s get this over with. You glance over to Robin and grab her clammy hand and pull her towards your car. Once inside, ignition roaring to life, and your favorite Motley Crue album blaring, you speed off down the street to Harringtons. The drive is filled with Robin’s rambles about Vickie and how she is trying to mentally prepare being turned down. You turn towards her, lowering the music, and give her a light tug on her shoulder. “If we’re going to do this, we have to be confident and just trust that whatever to happens will happen. Trust me. And no matter the level of nerves, nothing a couple shots can’t do to calm those shits right down.” You say joking sheepishly, trying to follow your own advice as your hands start tapping the steering wheel anxiously. The rest of the drive is filled with both of you attempting to excite yourselves by singing the entirety of Don’t you forget about me, top volume. The singing with your best friend calmed the stress and butterflies rising in your chest, but once Harrington’s mansion pulled into view, both of you abruptly stopped the obnoxious belting.

“Fuck me.” You whisper under your breath. Not only had it been weeks since you’ve been to a big party like this, something that already wasn’t your scene, but with the added mission at hand, your bullshit brave façade had melted down to nothing. You quickly scan down the road looking for Eddie’s van, but the massive amount of cars pulled into every curb alongside the street made it impossible to tell if he was already here. With one last glance at Robin, you both open the car doors and start walking up to the stairs leading to the front porch. Classmates you’ve barely spoken to are already puking over the side of the railing off Steve’s porch, others excitedly making out, and football players drunkenly wrestling on the front yard. Steve always knew how to give his classmates a great time. Guess he wasn’t called the King of Hawkins High for nothing.

Walking up the wooden steps, you spot a guy from your Chemistry class standing by the door, smoking. With another glance around the yard, you turn towards Robin and stutter out, “Do you think he’s even here?” Robin glances over both shoulders and replies with a smirk and gestures to your classmate. “Y/N! You came! Man you weren’t kidding when you said Munson has the best shit in town. I have only taken a few hits and I can feel everything. Tell him I will buy any shit he has man” he slurs and pats you on the back, a little harder than necessary. “I take that as a yes! Seems like Munson’s here already.” Robin chuckles, resulting in the first genuine smile from you all night. You give your stoned classmate a sarcastic salute and push open the door to Steve’s house.

Inside can only be described as a total warzone. Red solo cups line the floor, beer bottles set haphazardly on any available surface, practically begging to be spilled, and people. God damn are there people everywhere. Robin grabs your shoulders from behind you and steers you directly to the kitchen, both ready for a little liquid confidence. Inside the kitchen is a countertop island with every liquor, chaser and beer you could imagine. Even the occasional wine bottle, no doubt nicked from his parents personal collection. “Christ. Harrington probably has more alcohol here than all the local liquor stores combined” you snort as you take in the choices of what drink to start with. You reach for a lukewarm beer, when you glance over into the entryway to the living room and see him.

Giant Dio patch adorning his torn jean jacket and broad shoulders and hair even wavier than normal. Eddie is talking to a group of jocks and handing them two separate baggies from within his trademark lunchbox, snatching a wad of cash in return. He kisses the cash and nods to them, turning his face towards the kitchen. You quickly look down at the beer in your hand and switch to a shot of cheap vodka instead, feeling his eyes finding you in the crowd. Robin snorts and takes the discarded beer you set down from the counter and takes a swig. “Incoming” she says with a burp. With no shot glasses to be seen, you grab a solo cup and pour a splash of the clear, strong liquid into you cup. That looks like enough for a shot right? Maybe a lil too much. Aww fuck it.

Eddie saunters into the kitchen with his arms raised. “How’s my two favorite ladies doing on this fine evening?” He asks excitedly and slumps on the counter besides you. He smells of cheap beer, leather, and the oh so familiar scent of weed, that accompanies him wherever he goes like a ghost. “Well, ya know, tonight seemed like an ideal night to destroy my liver with this shot.” You joke back and show him the liquid sloshing in your cup. “Jesus Y/N. That looks more like a double to me, but hey, if you’re ballsy enough to do it, I shall partake as well.” He says with a wink while grabbing a half empty bottle of whiskey from the counter, pouring himself a large swig. You glance at Robin and give her your best puppy dog eyes you can manage and she sighs in response. “Fine! I’ll take one too but only because our bet was my bad idea, so I guess I kinda deserve this bad idea” “What bet?” Eddie chuckles as Robin drops her cup to the floor the second she grabbed it. Your face heats up with his question and you scramble to find an answer.

“All will be revealed in good time kind sir.” You spurt out and hold the cups up to them both trying desperately to change the topic. “But first, liquid confidence. Or poison. Ya know, same thing I guess” you giggle, trying to ease the butterflies building in your belly from Eddie’s question. They both cheers to your cup in the air, and you all slam it back. Harsh, liquid rushing down your throat, combined with the familiar rubbing alcohol smell makes your stomach lurch. Dribbles of vodka run down your chin. Yeah. That was for sure a double. Suddenly the song booming from the living room changes to Head over Heels by Tears for Fears, one of your known favorites, but before you can drag both of them to the living room to dance, Vickie walks into the kitchen. At the sight of her, your eyes dart to Robin whose face immediately turn a bright shade of pink. Vickie waves to Robin, who in return, knocks her now empty cup off the counter yet again while attempting to raise her hand to wave back. You giggle and shove her a tad, attempting your best to ease your best friend’s very blatant flustered state.

“Hey Vickie! I heard you got moved to first chair! That’s awesome!” You throw out, trying to ease the awkwardness with the first random fact you knew about Vickie from being in marching band with her and Robin. “I did! I’m super excited about it!” She gushes happily, with a bright smile. “Yeah that’s so great Vick, I’m proud of you.” Robin grins back with a nod, cheeks still flushed, resulting in an even bigger grin from Vickie and a thank you. She grabs herself a beer and walks off to the living room with a smile towards Robin. This is when both you and Eddie death glare Robin and gesture with your eyes to follow her. She returns the response with an exaggerated and over dramatic grin and grabs a beer, leaving the kitchen.

“So I never thought I’d see Munson at a huge house party thrown by the Harrington himself.” You say with a giggle, poking Eddie in the chest. “Well, you see my dear, Stevie-boy has a lot of rich friends. And these friends are in desperate need for…my services.” He smirks, tapping his trademark black steel lunch box. “How much have you dealt?” “Well…” he says flipping over the top of box. “This was filled to the brim about an hour ago and now there’s about a half ounce left!” Eddie finishes proudly, taking another swig of beer. “Gotta love sheltered rich kids.” “Hate them, but adore their parents’ money.” He says flashing you his signature grin.

Over the next 20 minutes, you and Eddie have deep dived into a conversation about Aerosmith, his newest campaign, and jokes about the first time you drank together, all of which his hand gestures become more and more animated. A trait about him that has always spawned a warmth in your heart at his level of passion. After another shot together, this one very much a single, a group of out of place and awkward looking freshman walk up next to Eddie, nerves visible on their faces. “Hey Eddie!” One of the spurts out a little too over animatedly, his braces flashing. Eddie glances back at them with a blank expression on his face and raises his brows, expectedly. “Shit…sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation with you girlfriend. I’m Ryan and this is Trevor and Kirk. We uhh…” the freshman flushes, gesturing to his even more anxious looking friends for support. “We were wondering if we could buy some uh weed? Just like a joint or something???”

Eddie stands up, dropping his hands onto his thighs, now towering over the terrified freshman. “So. You interrupted a conversation with my lovely girlfriend here, so you can buy a single joint?” He asks flatly, gesturing to you. “I must say boys, cutting my conversion short will result in an upcharge.” Eddie eggs on, resulting in the freshman to glance nervously at each other, the one in the front nodding and trying to show his bravery. “Yeah sure man, thats cool.” He stutters out pulling out a crumpled wad of cash from his pant pocket. Eddie glances to you with a twinkle in his eye resulting in a giggle from you and stares back at the boys, intimidating presence back once again. “10$” Eddie spits out. The freshman counts the wad of pills and hands him the money in return for the single joint from within the lunchbox. “Pleasure doin business with ya.” Eddie chuckles, setting the boys at ease as they walk out of the kitchen, marveling at the upcharged joint in hand.

“Wow. Using me as a way to get more money. Tsk tsk Munson. I expected better” you chuckle when his big grin greets you. “Thank you m’lady.” He says bowing dramatically towards you and grabbing his open can of beer from the counter top. “Oh!” He says, eyes lighting up in mischievous excitement. “Since we’re here at Harrington’s, do you wanna do a little mission with me?” His question takes you aback a bit but the fun of whatever he has planned reels you in quickly. “Of course I would.” You answer and Eddie takes your hand and leads you to the staircase by the front door. Beer in hand and Eddie’s ring clad fingers in the other, you blissfully walk up the stairs, nerves starting to bubble deep within your stomach at the sensation of his hand in yours. Once upstairs, Eddie lets go and starts opening bedroom doors glancing around for something. “Shit I know you’re hiding here somewhere.” He says and keeps pulling open doors, the last one being very obviously Steve’s bedroom. “A-hah!” Eddie grins excitedly and gestures for you to follow him into Steve’s room. “What are we doing here?” “Well Y/N. Since we’re here, I have always been curious on the amount of hair product The King of Hawkins high plasters to his hair. So our mission is to find out” Eddie tells you, taking another swig of beer, and walking towards what appears to be a bathroom within his room. You laugh and skip over to him and take in the sheer amount of hair products lining Steve’s bathroom counter. Sprays, gels, and a hairbrush you’re sure you own yourself all sit messily on display. Eddie laughs loudly and picks up a can.

“Farrah Fawcett spray?? What the hell Harrington” he says showing you the can and cackling. You burst out into giggles and snatch the spray from him and take in the sight. Jesus. He’s right. Both you and Eddie laugh together until you’re both red in the face walking out of the bathroom. He sits down on the floor, leaning against Steve’s bed still giggling like a child while taking a hearty drink of beer. You plop down beside him. “Now we know the King’s secret, I’m not sure what to do with this information.” You tell Eddie with a smile as he hands you his beer. You take a swig of the lukewarm liquid and relax against the side of the bed. His shoulder brushing against yours. “So quick question.” Eddie blurts out. You raise your eyebrows and take another sip as he continues. “What bet was Robin talking about earlier?”

Oh shit. The question stops you in your tracks with the beer can resting on your lips. Heat rushes up your cheeks as you know the truth is about to flood out of you like a damn breaking. Potentially destroying your blissful friendship with one of your best friends in its wake. Fuck me. Now or never. You think and hope Robin will be able to help pick up the broken pieces once you tell him. “Well…” you start, hands growing increasingly clammy. “We made a bet…that tonight we would tell both of our crushes we like them.” Eddie now seems to be the one stopped in his tracks. His face grows more serious and his dark brown eyes flit across the room, avoiding yours. “So…who’s the lucky guy? Have you told him yet?” He asks, a strange darkening in his voice. Shit. Shit. Shit. Word vomit coming full speed ahead. You swallow and continue. No going back now. “I am currently in the process of doing so at this very moment.” Eddie snaps his head towards you, but you’re unable to look him in the eyes. Not yet. Shame already piling onto your face and eating at your conviction from earlier in the night. He gently grabs the beer from your hand and takes a drink, still stunned speechless. Nice one. I knew this would fucking happen. He can’t even say anything to you. The embarrassment and regret is building too fast now and you feel tears start to build behind your eyelashes, causing you to bolt up. Not wanting him to see you like this over him.

“Shit sorry. I uh…made it weird didn’t I? Look let's pretend I never said that and get back to the party….and the drinks.” You sputter out and make a beeline for the bedroom door. Eddie swiftly stands up and grabs your hand before you can twist the door knob. “No. Shit. Sorry that uh..just kinda took me by surprise is all.” He pauses before continuing. “You…like me?” This time you turn around and actually look at him and are shocked to see a small smile pulling at his lips. Is he making fun of you? Anger starts to build on top of your growing embarrassment and suddenly your confidence is back and furious. “Yes Eddie! I always have! I know it’s ridiculous so please stop smiling at me like that! I never should have said anything. This is stupid!” He grabs your other hand and pulls you towards him. The movement takes you by surprise as you are hit with the closeness of his chest. His smell. His smile. “Y/N…I have been waiting to hear those words leave your mouth since we met.” Eddie says, grin growing and dimples popping out.

Oh. Oh? OH! Fucking what??? That took a turn you were not expecting and didn’t even let the possibility enter your mind. “Wait…” you say, all harshness leaving your voice and cautious nervousness replacing it. “You…feel the same?” You ask shakily, looking up into his eyes, hazy from the weed and pupils blown at the sight of you. “Always have sweetheart.” Eddie replies and brushes a curl from out of your eyes with the tips of his fingers. “Well why didn’t you say anything?” “Same reason I’m guessing why you never did.” He tells you, hands moving from your hands to your forearms, biceps, shoulders then to cup your face. Chills sweep your body and a shiver runs down your spine at his touch. This new kind of touch. Your chest swells and the urge to kiss him is so adamant in your mind, as aggressive as the need to breath. Your faces are only inches away from each other and you can feel his breathe on your cheeks. You can’t take it anymore.

Years of dreaming of this, doodling and writing about it in your journal, pining over him to Robin all collide in one moment as you push your lips to meet his, closing the distance between you two. His soft lips meet yours impatiently and you can tell he’s been thinking about this as well. You draw your hands up to his head and brush your fingers through his hair down to the nape of his neck. Goosebumps arise on his skin at your touch, and a warmth flows between your legs at the sensation. The kiss deepens and all you can think, feel and smell is Eddie. Your torsos clash against each other as you both pull in closer. He walks backwards with you still hooked to him and you land clumsily on the bed together. Eddie climbs on top of you and you grab him down closer, never breaking from his mouth. Have his shoulders always been this broad? Hooking your legs to his waist, you feel him hard against your inner thigh. Fuck. Did you need him right now. He grinds down on top of your center and moans against your mouth. The sound sends more shivers down your body and gather in between your legs. His hands slide down your side and hold hold your chest against his. A soft moan escapes your lips but you’re too heated and excited to leave any room for embarrassment. The sound causes Eddie’s hips to buck towards you as he grinds deeper into you.

Suddenly, and far too soon, the door slams open and Steve is standing in the doorway. You both quickly pull away from the kiss finally and stare back at his dumbfounded expression. “Oh my god…uhm. Please stop trying to make little Munsons in my bed. Upstairs is off limits.” Steve says trying to avert his eyes from the mess of limbs between you and Eddie. Steve has his hands on his hips and points with his thumb behind him to the rest of the party. Eddie, who sits up and helps you stand off the bed, giggles like a child at the sight of you, red faced and drunk off of him before turning towards the door, grabbing your hand. He claps Steve on his shoulder before leaving the bedroom. “Sorry Ms. Fawcett. Won’t happen again.”

[queenxxxsupreme]

A Reunion of Sorts (dad!Arthur Morgan x reader)

A/N: Daisy’s middle name is not May! Daisy May is just something John calls her! I have a great aunt who always called my little sister Maddie May even though May was not her middle name. That great aunt always used May as a sort of middle name for my sister and a couple other cousins and I thought it was cute. Find the rest of dad!Arthur Morgan AU on my masterlist here!

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none really, all game canon related

Additional Note: Lupine Valley Ranch is Arthur and Y/N’s ranch/home/farm. We already know Beecher’s Hope is John and Abigail’s. And Lone Paradise is Charles and Lucy’s home/ranch/farm.

***

You rubbed your eyes, struggling to stay awake. The night air was just a little chilly but you wore one of Arthur’s jackets to keep you warm. 

Cicadas and frogs chirped from the woods that surrounded your home. Occasionally, you’d hear a coyote yip or a raccoon chitter and the underbrush would rustle, stirring you just long enough to make your eyes widen. But then you’d start to drift off to sleep on the porch once more. 

“Go on to bed, Y/N.” Arthur insisted, moving to your chair. He was standing at one end of the porch, eyes set on the drive that led to your home. Every once in a while, he’d glance over to you and see your head bobbing as you tried to fight off sleep. 

“No, no.” You shook your head, swatting his hands away as he tried to grab your hands or wrists to pull you to your feet. “I want to stay awake until they get here.”

“I can wake ya up when they get here.”

“You won’t wake me up.”

“Y/N, there’s no sense in you bein’ awake.”

“I want to make sure everyone is well and comfortable tonight.” 

He continued to try to take your hands but you stubbornly refused to let him grab you, knowing he could easily pull you to your feet and haul you off to bed. 

“Arthur Morgan, I want to stay out here with you!”

“What if I don’t want to carry your ass back to bed?” He raised a brow, his tone teasing as he looked down at you. He braced himself on either arm of your chair and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Just go to bed, woman.”

“No.” You closed your eyes as you leaned against him, only meaning to do so for a few moments. But your eyelids were so heavy that it was a struggle to open them. 

“Pumpkin-,”

“Shut up, Arthur. You’re just tryin’ to get me to go to bed so you can leave and go cause all sorts of trouble you don’t need to be causing.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

“Something’s coming down the road.” Hosea spoke from the other side of the porch. 

You stood to your feet, following Arthur to where Hosea stood. You placed your hand on his forearm, watching the light from a wagon. 

“That’s them.” Arthur picked up his hat from an end table on the porch. 

***

You stood out in the hallway watching as John placed a sleeping Grace down in Daisy’s bed. Daisy was wide awake in your room, pouting and upset that Grace was asleep. She wanted to play, but you told her that with it being so late Grace would probably be asleep. 

“Thank you again for lettin’ us stay here, Y/N.” Abigail placed her hand on your arm. 

“It’s safer for you to be up here.” You gave her a little smile. 

“Uncle Johnny!”

“Shh, Daisy May.” John turned his attention to Daisy, who slipped out of your bedroom. 

“Uncle Johnny, when will Grace be awake?” Daisy tugged on his jacket. 

“It’s past midnight, girly.” John knelt down to be at Daisy’s level. “You should be sleeping.”

Daisy scrunched up her nose at him. 

“I’ve gotta go help your daddy outside.” John ruffled her hair and stood up. 

“Can I come with you? You can see Piper!”

“Now’s not the time for that, Daisy.” You put your hand on her head. “Uncle John and Aunt Abigail want to get to bed, I’m sure. If you want to go out and help Uncle John bring their things inside, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the help.”

“Course not. Come on, Daisy May.”

You and Abigail watched the duo make their way down the hall. 

“How has John been since he saw Micah?” You started towards the kitchen with Abigail behind you. 

“He’s been angry and on edge. He hasn’t been able to sleep none. I haven’t either. It’s hard to sleep when you know Micah Bell is nearby.” 

“Well you all are safe now. I don’t reckon he’s dumb enough to come up here.” Hosea joined you both in the kitchen. 

“Depends on how desperate he is for that Blackwater money.” You went to stand at the kitchen sink. From there, you could look out towards the barn. You could only see that the barn doors were open and there was light coming from inside. 

“I hoped we had left this all behind ten years ago.” Abigail rubbed her eyes and then brushed her messy hair back. “We’ve worked so hard to get away from that. John’s worked so hard to change.”

“We all have.” Hosea reminded her. “That was the only life we ever knew. It wasn’t easy making what we’ve got now. But that’s why we aren’t gonna roll over and give Micah what he wants.”

You watched as Arthur emerged from the barn with Daisy on his shoulders. John, Jack, and Uncle were right behind them. 

“I just don’t want anyone hurt.” You murmured. “We’ve got too much on the line this time.”

***

The Next Morning

Arms wrapped around you from behind. A smile slipped across your lips. You leaned back against your husband. He kissed the back of your head, rubbing your side with one hand. 

“You’re up early.”

“Someone’s gotta feed everybody.” You hummed, looking over your shoulder to him. 

“You didn’t sleep any last night either.” 

“Neither did you.” You pointed out.

He tightened his grip on you, arms holding you firmly against his body as he buried his nose in your hair. 

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Obviously it’s something.” 

You tried to move out of his arms but he refused to let you go.  

“Arthur, I’ve got to–,”

“Can you just hold on a second?” He moved to stand next to you, looking down at you with furrowed brows. 

“I’ve got to get breakfast made before the kids wake up, Arthur.”

“Stop messing with the breakfast, pumpkin.” He took your hands and pulled you away from the stove. “You were tossing and turning all night.”

“You know why.” Your voice was low as you held his gaze. “All this talk about Micah coming for Hosea, for us…. I can’t help but get upset and anxious. I’m bound to lose sleep over it. And the only thing that can help me keep my cool is making sure the kids are taken care of and that everyone here has something to eat.”

“We don’t even know yet if he is comin’ for us.” Arthur shook his head. “It’s all just speculation.”

“It would be naive of us to assume he wouldn’t.”

“But it’d be too soon to assume he was. There hasn’t been any signs to point that he was. All John saw was Micah in Blackwater and John movin’ him and Abigail and the kids up here to Lupine Valley is just a precautionary measure.” Arthur brushed his hands up and down your arms. “We gotta take this one step at a time. If we start getting ahead of ourselves and losing it too soon, we’ll just…. Well, bad things will happen.”

You nodded, sniffling and wiping the tears from your cheeks. 

“Why don’t we go out to the porch for a minute? Just for some fresh air?”

“But the breakfast, Arthur.”

“The breakfast can sit here and simmer for a minute.” He put his hand on the small of your back and began to guide you towards the front door. 

The two of you went out to the front porch and sat on the porch swing. Arthur kept his arm around you while you rested your head on his shoulder. He moved the swing back and forth just a bit.

“You know, I almost forgot how much you used to do this.” His voice was low and quiet. 

“Do what?”

“Worry. You worry now, but this…. This is a different kind of worry. The kind that I always thought would give ya a heart attack or something.” He smiled a little at the memories that came flooding back from his time with the Van Der Linde gang. “Every time I went out, I knew you’d be nothin’ but a case of worry and fret.”

“‘Cause I wasn’t sure if you’d come back to me whole or…. Or missing something or even if you’d come back at all.” You murmured. “I used to drive everyone mad at camp. Always had to keep busy when you were gone. Chores with the girls or with Mr. Pearson. I couldn’t sit still. Not until you came back.”

“And then when I’d come back, you’d sleep for hours and hours.” Arthur looked down at you. “You never slept when I was gone.”

“No, I didn’t.” You shook your head, smiling a little. “But that was the good thing about camp. There was always something to do.”

Arthur nodded his head. Silence fell between you both. The sound of morning birds filled the air. But in the distance, Arthur could hear hooves against the dirt road. 

“Stay here a minute.” He muttered under his breath as he stood from the swing.

Your brows furrowed together and you leaned forward, wanting to follow him.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s coming down the road.” He went to the edge of the porch and paused for a moment. 

You moved to stand just behind him, your hand coming up to his back. A horse came into sight a few moments later. It was a familiar one, dark in color with a familiar rider.

Arthur smiled as Sadie stopped the horse just in front of the porch. 

“I didn’t reckon you folks would be up so early.”

“Well, we’ve got a full house right now.” Arthur nodded. “We can talk about it inside.”

“Have you had a long trip, Sadie?” You asked her. “I’m afraid your room is occupied right now but Daisy is in mine and Arthur’s bed if you’d like to rest.”

“I can rest later. Who are your guests?” She tilted her head to the side a bit.

“John and his family.” Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “There might be trouble in Blackwater.”

***

“I haven’t heard anything about Micah being this close. Is John sure he saw Micah?”

“He’s positive.” Arthur nodded his head. 

“I’ve been keeping a watchful eye on the papers. Wherever he and his new band go, they always turn up in the papers. I haven’t seen anything close to West Elizabeth in a few years.” Sadie shook her head, lifting her cup of coffee to her lips. 

“Somehow the standard snuck through.” Arthur muttered, moving towards the window behind the kitchen sink. 

“Maybe he’s traveling with a lighter gang now so he won’t make so much commotion.” You thought out loud.

“That would be unfortunate for us.” Sadie sighed. “Well, I hope you don’t mind one more guest.”

“Of course not.” Arthur shook his head, turning to lean against the sink. 

“But we are running out of room here.” You frowned. “John and Abigail are staying in your room and Daisy’s sleeping in our room while Jack and Grace get Daisy’s room.”

“And Uncle insists on sleeping out in the hayloft.” Arthur added with a shake of his head. “Old bastard can still make it up the ladder somehow. But I know Charles and Lucy have room over at Lone Paradise.”

“Do they know about Micah?”

“Yeah.” Arthur messed with the brim of his hat. 

“How’s Charles taking it?” Sadie shifted around in her seat so she could see Arthur a bit better. 

“He’s on edge, like all of us are. Lucy’s gonna have her baby soon. Last thing we need is Micah Bell”

“Nothin’s gonna happen to Lucy or that baby.” Sadie assured him, shaking her head as she stood to her feet. “I’m gonna walk around y’all’s property a bit then make my way over to Lone Paradise. I’ll bounce back and forth between here and there. You’re separated by a few acres, right?”

“From the house here headin’ west for thirty acres there’s a big oak with an old wagon sittin’ there. That’s where my property ends and his begins. Keep goin’ west for another ten acres and you’ll come up on his barn first. His house is just beyond that.” Arthur explained. 

“It’s quicker that way than it is going the road.” You added. “There’s a trial to follow too so you shouldn’t get lost. We use it often.”

Sadie nodded and began to head for the door. 

“Be safe out there, Sadie.” 

She turned back to look at Arthur before leaving. 

As the front door closed, he let out a soft breath. 

“Feels better havin’ her here.”

You nodded in agreement, standing to your feet. 

“I don’t think we’ve had everyone here since…. Well, since Daisy was sick three years ago.”

“Sure feels like a long time ago.” Arthur mumbled quietly. “It’s funny how time passes but things still…. Things are the same.”

“How so?” You cocked your head to the side a bit as you came to stand in front of your husband. You placed your hand on his stomach, looking up at him. 

“Micah was the problem back then, and he’s the problem still.”

You pressed your lips together as your eyes lowered to the buttons of his shirt. 

“There were a lot of problems back then, Arthur. Micah was just….” You trailed off, unable to think of the right words. 

“He was the root of it all.”

Something moved out of the corner of your eyes. You turned your head to see Daisy standing in the edge of the kitchen. She held in one hand a stuffed bear Hosea had bought her when she was a baby. Carson was right beside her. Her free hand held on to the back of his neck. There were tears in her eyes and her cheeks were damp. 

“Sweetpea.” Arthur moved away from you so that he could kneel down in front of your daughter. “What happened? What’s got you in tears so early in the mornin’?”

“Had a bad dream.” She sniffled. He used his thumbs to gingerly wipe the tears away. His hands appeared so big as he tenderly cupped her cheeks. “I think I accidentally kicked Carson when I was sleeping.”

Arthur looked down at Carson, who wagged his tail and nosed at Arthur’s arm. 

“Was he layin’ at your feet? I know he likes to do that to watch over you while you sleep.”

“Yeah. I-I woke up and he yipped real loud.” Daisy’s voice hitched in her throat. “Did I hurt him daddy?”

“Where do you think you kicked him, sweetpea?” Arthur kept one hand on Daisy’s side while his other rubbed along Carson’s back and then down each of his legs. 

“I think his chest. Do you think he’s gonna be scared of me, daddy?”

“Don’t be silly, sweetpea.”

“Carson knows you didn’t do it on purpose, Daisy.” You moved to be next to them. 

“I don’t think he’s hurt.” Arthur shook his head. “Think you might’ve just surprised him, sweetpea.”

Daisy stepped closer to Arthur, burying her nose in his neck. He rubbed her back and kissed the side of her head. 

“It’s still early, sweetpea. You wanna go back to bed? I’ll lay down with you.”

“No. I don’t wanna sleep.”

“Are you hungry? I’ve got breakfast almost done.” You brushed your hand along Arthur’s shoulder before turning back to the stove. 

“Yeah, I am.”

“After bit here, you can go wake up Uncle John and Aunt Abigail.” Arthur stood up and in the same motion picked Daisy up. He took her over to the table and placed her down in a chair. “Guess who will be here later on today, sweetpea?”

“Who?”

“Aunt Sadie.”

Daisy’s eyes lit up.

“Really? She’s here!”

“No, well not yet.” Arthur rubbed Daisy’s shoulder. “She’s over at Uncle Charles’s and Aunt Lucy’s. After while, she’ll be coming over here.”

“It’s been forever since I seen her last!”

“I know. It’s gonna be an exciting day.”

Taglist: @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql @brooke-supernatural16 @lassiee @hocdolliday  @micahs-bird

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 4

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, coercion, manipulation, hand job, loss of virginity

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Sorry it took so long to get this out. Hopefully I can work on part 5 now that I have this posted.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 4:  With its gallery gods and its garbage-bag trees

💀💀💀

Sam left you in the same daze that fogged the entire day. The night was restless as you tossed and turned, replaying the scene over and over. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the lens staring back at you, imagined yourself on a screen, your hand moving between your legs, your pathetic mewls as you came for this man and who knew how many others. 

Well, he did say it was up to you how big the audience was.

You woke early and only checked in with your nan to fill a mug with coffee and start your day ahead of time. You needed to keep yourself busy after a night bombarded by your own thoughts and yet, you couldn’t focus enough to do more than stare at the blinking cursor.

You put on a Twitch stream to keep your mind from wandering too far but it did little to help your focus. You fidgeted, still without your phone, and again thought of the previous day and what you’d done. You’d never done that in front of anyone. You only ever joked about it online, that persona was everything you weren’t irl.

All your stupid online jokes and exaggerations got you into this. You fucked up because the line between virtual and reality was too blurred in your head. You got carried away and now you just had to deal. Well, you guessed it was a lesson no one learned the easy way.

You didn’t realise how much time passed until your stomach growled loudly and squeezed. You felt like throwing up but only had the slice of toast you scarfed down that morning to coat your stomach. You rubbed your eyes and headed downstairs to sneak some of your nan’s sugarless jelly cookies. She hated your snacking but she rarely finished a box on her own.

As you entered through the kitchen, you came to a sudden halt. You tilted your head and frowned as you heard your nan’s voice and the one that answered had you knocking your hip against a chair as you rushed into the living room.

“Just over there,” she directed as the leg of the couch scraped on the floor, “slide it against the wall.”

Sam stood straight dusted off his hands on his jeans. He stepped back and looked over the old floral sofa. 

“Definitely looks better over here,” he remarked.

“What the hell?” you blurted out.

“There you are!” your grandmother tutted, “I called up to you but you do what you always do and tune me out.”

“I didn’t-- I was working, I--” you cleared your throat and looked at Sam, “what are you doing here?”

“He’s being very helpful,” your nan praised, “how many times did I ask you to help me with this thing?”

“Sorry, I…” you swallowed and glanced between them.

“And smell that,” your nan inhaled deeply, “he’s making us dinner.”

“And I brought sugar-free dessert,” he added, “anything else I can do?”

“You’re so sweet,” she squeezed his thick arm.

“So are you… once you get past the frying pan,” he chuckled.

“I see a man in leather, I’m swinging,” she scowled, “you’re lucky you came bearing gifts.”

“Hey, look, we’re not all bad,” he smiled as she sat and he handed her the book from the small table that held the lamp and her ashtray, “I’m not like those guys who threatened your granddaughter.”

“And more honest than her,” she shook her head, “you didn’t tell me you were down at that bar. I warned you-- you really are lucky he was there.”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” you squinted at them, “didn’t you just tell me the other day I should grab any biker by--”

“I’m old, I say things,” she laughed but her eyes had a glimmer of ‘be quiet’.

“Would you like some more tea, Millie?” he asked as he took her empty mug and neared you, stopping in the broad archway that opened up into the living room.

“One more, if you don’t mind,” she smiled sweetly. She never smiled.

You hid a scowl and turned to follow Sam into the kitchen. He moved the kettle onto a burner and turned the knob. He stopped and opened the door of the stove and peeked inside as a blaze of savoury hot air blasted out at him. You felt it just before he let it snap shut and turned to lean on the counter, crossing one foot over the other.

“What are you doing?” you uttered.

“I told you I’d be back,” he shrugged.

“I didn’t think you’d--” you lowered your voice and glanced at the doorway, “what have you been telling her?”

“Everything she wants to hear,” he ran his fingertips along the precise line of hair of his goatee, “and nothing she shouldn’t… but that can change.”

“I did what you wanted. End of punishment,” you put your hands on your hips.

“End? Hmmm, I don’t think I said that,” his forehead wrinkled, “we’re far from finished… and come on, we both know you had as much fun as me.”

Your nostrils flared and you sucked in your cheeks. He was entirely too hard to figure out. He was that sort of man you hated and feared all at once. You just couldn’t predict him.

“I don’t… I don’t care what happens to me, just don’t hurt her,” you said quietly.

“Hurt her? Now why would I do that?” he taunted, “I mean, right now I have no reason to do anything like that.”

You squirmed and let out a breath, “please, alright?”

“Settle down, honey, you’ve been good… so far,” he said, “you just gotta keep it up.”

“Yeah,” you grumbled as the kettle began to shake and he turned his back to you, “any chance I can have my phone back?”

He chuckled as he searched the cupboard for the tea and plucked out a bag, “you’re funny… I like that but you gotta stop acting like everything’s a joke. It doesn’t hold up.”

💀

You found it hard not to wear a look of unamused confusion as Sam served dinner at the table and your grandmother sang his praises as he poured her wine she could actually drink. Just one glass but it was enough to loosen her up. You hadn’t eaten in the dining room since you were a kid, more used to eating at the counter, sitting on the wobbly stools or in front of the television.

Sam offered for you to clean up and do the dishes. Your nan was overjoyed at that, almost mocking. When you finished, you found them in the living room, some old Robert DeNiro movie on the television. You sat on the couch, as far from Sam as you as your grandmother yawned into her hand.

“Well,” she stubbed out her cigarette, “I should really be getting to bed. That wine is kicking in.”

“It’s early…” you argued weakly.

“You kids don’t get into too much trouble,” she warned as she stood with a groan and gripped her hip, “these ears still work.”

“Trouble? Me?” Sam kidded, “you don’t have to worry about me. I haven’t been a kid in a very long time.”

She smiled and nodded but for a moment she hesitated. She looked at you and pushed her tongue to her denture.

“Good night, girlie,” she said.

“Night, nan,” you forced out as normally as you could. 

You knew if she sensed your fear, she’d act out. She was always too brave for her own good and while you admired that, you didn’t need to get hurt because you were dumb as a brick.

She left slowly and you heard her television begin to crackle and the voices of the Law and Order actors were muffled behind her door. You hunched your shoulders and rubbed your hands together as you stared at Deniro’s wrinkled forehead and that characteristic squint. 

The lamp went out as Sam pulled the cord and the screen glowed in the dark. You felt the cushion dip as he shifted closer without subtlety. He slung his arm over your shoulder and you smelled his earthy cologne as he turned the TV up a few ticks. He pulled you to him as his hand came up to cradle your cheek.

“Shouldn’t we go… somewhere else?”

“She won’t hear us honey,” he cooed, “you just gotta be good. Be quiet.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Please,” you grabbed his hand as you pleaded.

“You keep arguing and I’ll make sure to wake her up,” he warned, “now,” he twisted so that he had your wrist in his grasp and forced it down to his lap, “put your hand down my pants.”

You gulped loudly and your hand trembled. You read enough fanfic to know what to do but your lack of actual experience had you nervous. Much like many things in your life. All talk, no skill.

You turned awkwardly on the cushion, your body uncomfortably contorted as his legs stayed pressed to yours. You struggled to unhook the button of his fly and the zipper was slow to descend. You felt the bulge as your hands moved against the denim and you hesitated as your fingers pressed to the elastic of his briefs.

“Mmm,” he purred as he hugged you closer, “that’s it, honey.”

Your eyes widened and you were happy the room was dark enough to hide your face. You pulled the elastic back with two fingers and shoved your other hand blindly beneath the fabric. You brushed against his hard dick and angled your hand so that you could grip him, his smooth length felt peculiar against your palm. Was he big? He felt big but didn’t have anyone to compare him to.

“Tighter,” he groaned at the friction as you moved your hand.

You squeezed and his hot breath grazed over your hair and he pushed his head back over the couch. He twitched as you kept a steady motion, trapped in the limbo of mortification and cluelessness. Were you doing it right? What were you even doing?

“Ah, honey, you’re so good,” he said as he rubbed the back of your neck, “goddamn.”

You said nothing as you focused on your hand. He snaked his arm under yours suddenly and pulled you over as he lifted his ass. Your hand was caught in his under as he laid you down beneath him. He reached down and fixed your grip on him as he held hovered atop you, his knees pressed into the cushion between your legs.

His arm crossed under yours as he poked along your jeans and shoved his hand beneath the denim and cotton. His palm was flush to your pelvis as he slid two fingers along your folds, held snug to you by the fabric. He swirled his fingertips over your bud and you gasped as your other hand gripped his arm in surprise.

“Honey, you’re wet already,” he whispered, “you sure you haven’t been waiting for this?”

You moaned as he pushed back along your entrance and dragged his fingers back, spreading your wetness over your clit. You quivered as you struggled to keep your own hand moving. He inhaled and groaned as played with you and pressed his lips to your cheek. He trailed up to your lips and kissed you, forcing his tongue inside as he shuddered.

He drew away with a sloppy noise and withdrew his hand from your pants. He sat up on his knees and pulled your legs to rest against his torso. He gripped the back of your jeans and yanked them down along with your panties. You smothered your cry as you were shocked by the force of it and the air of the room on your bare ass and legs.

He let your jeans dangle from one ankle as he bent over you again. Your leg fell over the edge of the couch as he held himself over you with a hand just above your head, fingers tight on the cushioned arm. He wiggled as he shimmied his jeans and briefs down with his other hand and you pressed on his chest.

“Wait, wait,” you hissed, “you… please, just… slow down… I never--”

“Shh, honey, you’re making too much noise,” he muttered, “it’s okay.”

“No, no, please, can’t we--” your voice caught as he lined his tips up along your cunt and rubbed it along your clit, “I’ll… I’ll use my mouth.”

“Later,” he whispered as his tip slipped down along your entrance, “honey, I need to feel you.”

“Pl--” your voice evaporated as the head of his dick stretched you.

You whimpered as he brought his arm down and nestled it under your head. He pushed further in and you gritted your teeth as you whined at the pressure of his intrusion. With each inch, the strain grew worse as a deep pain flooded your body. He shushed you as he forced past your resistance.

He covered your mouth as you cried out and barely kept your voice under control. He kept your head on his arm as his other hand cupped your lips and smothered out your agony. He forced himself in as deep as he could and your body tensed as your walls squeezed him. Your eyes rolled back as tears welled and spilled over the corners.

“Honey, it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” he coaxed, “just like that.”

He rocked his hips carefully but it still felt terrible. He pulled back and slid back in, each time it felt like he got even deeper than the last. His breath hitched and your own grew laboured as you huffed through your nostrils. 

He growled and sped up, just a little at a time, your cunt slickening his intrusion as his pelvis brushed against your clit and sent tendrils down your thighs. Even so, the pleasure was not enough to mute the pain.

“That’s it,” he uttered, “that’s it.”

He fucked you faster and the couch shook beneath you. His flesh slapped and the noise seemed to be monstrous, so much sure that you were sure your grandmother would come out and catch you. 

You grasped his wrist as you felt your climax rising. You squeezed and arched your foot as you were overcome and crashed down harshly as the pain tore through the ecstasy once more. He turned his hand and framed your chin as he kissed you again, swallowing your murmurs as he thrust into you over and over.

He lifted his head and dipped his thumb into your mouth as he held in his voice. He quaked and his motion stuttered but kept on. You felt his release, hot and wet, inside of you, a strange sensation that made you both sickened and aroused you.

He eased up and stilled at last. He brushed his nose against yours and chuckled under his breath as he wiggled his hips and you swore at the way it made your walls squeeze him. You blinked as your vision cleared of tears and the darkness. His features were blue with the light of the television, sinister and shadowy.

You went limp under him and breathed out slowly. You shook as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip and left a line of spit down your jaw.

“We’ll have to get that on tape next time,” he said, “but I doubt you’ll forget that, honey.”

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift Part 6 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: It's Saturday, your dickhead boyfriend is out of town, an old friend is in town, and it's time to get drunk!

Warnings: Drinking, mention of drug use, crippling self doubt

W/C: 4.3k

Spotify

Part 1 Part 7

Somehow, the week went exceptionally well. You bugged Frankie each day for the photo he promised you, and each time he grinned and told you that good things came to those who waited. On Wednesday you received a call from the vet telling you the kitten was going to be fine, and she would be put up for adoption when she was old enough. You were initially crushed that the kitten wasn’t going to be yours, but told yourself it was good she was bound to go to a good to a family. You couldn’t give the kind of life a cat deserved.

But most of all, you were almost unreasonably excited for the weekend. You bounced with excitement every time you thought about it - hell, even things with Kurt seemed to be going better. He had planned a hunting trip up north with a few of his friends, and would be gone from Thursday til Monday. He had brought you a bunch of flowers when he ‘broke the news’, not your favourite kind but it was the thought that counted. An entire four days to yourself was more than enough incentive for you to almost force him out the door on Thursday afternoon. With a kiss and a packed lunch and a promise to call, he was gone and the apartment was blessedly empty.

Even better, your best friend Sara was in town.

Fifteen minutes after you watched Kurt’s car pull out of the apartments parking lot, watching the window carefully to make sure he didn’t come back, you called her.

“Can we do something on Saturday? Get drunk, do bad things, anything?” You said by way of greeting.

“Oh hell fucking yes, I’ve been waiting for you to be fun again!” Sara said. You knew that was a not so subtle jab at how much you had changed since Kurt entered your life. You ignored it, like you usually did.

“Saturday sound good to you? I work Friday night and I can’t take it off.” More like you didn’t want to take it off.

“Saturday sounds fantastic. There’s a big fight night happening, and I wanna watch some hot sweaty guys pummel each other.” Sara said. “We can get drunk at the same time. Also I can get some molly if you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, not entirely opposed to the idea of spending the night high as shit. Especially if Kurt wasn’t going to be there to yell at you for it.

“Let me know, sooner rather than later so I can sort it out with my guy,” Sara said. “Anyway babe, I’ve gotta jet, I’ve only got five minutes left on my break and I haven’t eaten yet, love ya!”

“Love you too,” you said, meaning it with your whole heart. Out of all the friends you once had, Sara was the only one who had stuck around after you started dating Kurt. At first, you had choked it up to jealousy, convincing yourself all your other friends were envious of your perfect relationship with a perfect guy. Now looking back, you could see what really happened: you had ditched them. Completely and utterly. Kurt had taken up all of your time, convincing you to stay in when you had plans to go out, telling you that the girls you would have trusted your life with only barely put up with you and it was just so obvious to anyone with an outsider's perspective that they didn’t really like you. You were grateful for Sara, more than words could say.

~*~

Saturday came quickly, and before you knew it, Sara was slamming her fist on your door, a bag stuffed with alcohol slung over her shoulder.

“Bitch!” she screamed in greeting when you finally opened the door, still wrapped in your towel from your shower. She was already dressed, in a tight gold 70s style jumpsuit that made her dark brown skin look like it was glowing from the inside out.

“How do you manage to look so good all the time?” You said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Witchcraft,” Sara said, pulling a bottle of prosecco out of her bag and popping it open. “And like, this whole thing took me all day. Why aren’t you ready yet?”

“I’ve been sleeping all day,” you said, plucking the bottle out of Sara’s hand and taking a swig. It was cold and crisp and filled your partly empty stomach. You continued to take small sips as you got ready, occasionally asking Sara for her girly wisdom on what to wear. She picked out your outfit as you applied makeup. It felt almost foreign, using something other than a mascara and brow pencil. The use of colour and shimmers almost felt like breaking some unwritten rule you had created for yourself since dating Kurt.

“What happened to all your fun clothes?” Sara whined, going through your wardrobe. You shrugged, carefully applying bronzer. Honestly, you weren’t sure. Sometimes things just went missing - you didn’t really question it anymore.

“I’m a miracle worker.” Sara declared after almost fifteen minutes of searching. You looked up at her, then at the small bundle of clothing in her arms. She grinned and flung the pile at you. You held up a black pleather skirt that you hadn’t worn in almost a year, and a black body suit that dipped low in the chest.

“Christ,” you muttered.

“What’s wrong with it,” Sara sounded exasperated, like she had been expecting this from you.

“It’s just-” you hesitated. “I’m not going out to get dick, you know? What’s wrong with a pair of jeans?”

Sara rolled her eyes. “What’s wrong with a pair of jeans? I’ll tell you what: everything. You don’t have to have dick as the aim of the night to look cute. You can look cute for yourself. You know just as well as I do that skirt makes your legs and ass look amazing, especially when paired with the shoes I’ve brought for you. Plus, if someone out tonight decides you look cute enough to buy you drinks, then even better! Because free drinks! You don’t have to fuck them as a thank you, you can just turn around and walk away. So, get dressed and stop complaining.”

You considered Sara’s words for a moment. She was right. After you changed, you admired yourself in the mirror. Your ass really did look amazing, and the strappy black heels that Sara had loaned you accentuated your calves magnificently. Sara stood next to you, arm linked through yours, almost a foot taller in her platforms and with her afro teased to the high heavens.

“God, we’re sexy,” she murmured, taking another swig out of the bottle. “You’re absolutely wasted on Kurt.”

You didn’t bother with your usual retorts to that kind of comment. She’s wrong, you’re lucky to have someone to love you like that at all, no one else would want to if they got to know you, you told yourself. It’s what he had told you over and over again, the words searing themselves inside your brain to repeat each time you began to truly doubt with him.

You finished off the prosecco while you waited for the Uber to arrive, enjoying the warm buzz it left you with. Sara whipped out her phone and began to take photos of the two of you. At first, you shied away from the camera, the words Kurt had said once in a throwaway comment, surely not designed to hurt but did anyway, rang in your ears. You don’t look very good in photos, why do you take so many? After that, you would spend hours staring at old photos of yourself, the flaws that were invisible now glaringly obvious.

Tonight though . . . Tonight you felt pretty. You posed for the camera, following Sara’s instructions as best you could. You took photos of each other throughout the entire ride to the venue where the fight night was taking place.

It looked a little shabby on the outside, overgrown hedges snaked up the walls, covering the windows. A smoking area was off to the side, crowded with people. The inside was even more crowded, with bodies pushing up against the horseshoe shaped bar and surrounding the ring. Two women were in the ring, both bloodied and swinging.

“God there is just something so arousing about hot people consensually beating each other up,” Sara said, unable to tear her eyes away from the ring.

“Babe, you’re drooling,” you joked, stepping in line for the bar.

“I can’t help it, I have an overactive salivary gland,” Sara sighed, tearing her eyes away. “At least my dentist says so.” You grinned at her and ordered three vodka sodas each. It was a tradition with the two of you that you would always order three drinks at a time. Less back and forth, you had reasoned. Although, usually as the night progressed, three drinks were downed in the same amount of time it took to drink one, so it really cancelled itself out in the end.

As tradition warranted, you and Sara cheersed and swallowed your first drink in one breath.

Several more fights occurred, the divisions eventually changing from women’s to men’s. Neither you nor Sara paid much attention to the first few fights: “amateur hour” Sara had said to you “I’m waiting for the good stuff.”

The good stuff, it turned out, started almost an hour and 5 drinks after you arrived.

“Next fight, King V Miller!” The announcer shouted into the microphone to the cheer of the crowd. Sara’s head shot up as if she could sense the sudden change, and she grabbed your hand, tugging you closer to the ring.

“Oh, my god look at him,” Sara said, gesturing to the ring. You knew instantly which one she was talking about. He was tall, with shaggy blonde hair and lean muscle corded over his body.

“He’s pretty spry,” you said, and instantly cringed. Spry? Really?

“I wanna fuck him tonight,” Sara said. Then her voice took on a determined edge. “I am going to fuck him tonight.” Manifestation, Sara called it. If you told the universe what you wanted, the universe would deliver.

Apparently.

“I am going to get more drinks,” you told her. She nodded, not tearing her eyes away from the fighter. You went to the considerably less crowded bar- it seemed like everyone was now watching the fights- and leant against its sticky surface.

You shouted your order over the noise of the crowd, and scanned the bar as you waited. Most faces were familiar in the way that you knew when you had seen someone before, but you didn’t know when or where. That was, until you landed on one dazzlingly familiar face, standing almost right next to you.

“Frankie?”

~*~

Frankie startled at the sound of his name. He looked around, expecting to see one of the boys or maybe an old work friend from the mechanics. The last person he expected was you. But there you stood, looking so good that he was momentarily lost for words.

“Frankie!” You said again, with a huge grin on your face this time.

“Hey!” He grinned back, “what’s a girl like you doing in a dump like this?” His tone held a flirty edge, one he wouldn’t dare have used if he hadn’t already had several bourbon and colas.

“Oh you know, I plan on accosting the winner tonight of all their prize money and taking off into the night, never to be heard from again,” you accepted three drinks from the bartender as you spoke. “What about you?”

“My friend Benny is fighting tonight. He’s actually up right now, the blonde one.”

Your jaw dropped. “No way! My friend wants to fuck your friend.” You pointed your chin towards a tall black woman, dressed like she had wandered out of Studio 54. “Is he single? Can we play wingpeople?”

“He is, we can.” Frankie nodded confidently. Maybe it was the alcohol controlling his brain, but any excuse to spend time with you seemed like a good excuse. “How should we do this?”

“Does your friend Billy-”

“Benny.”

“Benny stick around after the fights?”

“Yeah, he gets free drinks,” Frankie said. You nodded approvingly, taking a sip of one of your own drinks. Frankie watched amazed as you somehow held the two others in one hand, your fingers curling around the hard plastic cups.

“How do you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Hold your stuff like that,” he gestured to your fingers. You looked down, confused.

“Whatta’ya mean?”

“With your fingers.”

“Oh! Um, I dunno, I just do.” You shrugged and placed the now empty up on a random table, and started on the next drink. It occurred to Frankie that you were well on your way to being very, very drunk.

The crowd cheered loudly as Benny knocked out the other guy with a bloody grin. Frankie whistled his support and Benny caught his eye, saluting tiredly. Santi also caught his attention, and even across the room Frankie could see the wicked grin form on his face. Frankie looked away quickly, not willing to give the bastard any ideas.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Frankie asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Some stupid place doing some stupid hunting,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “Fuck him anyway he never lets me do anything fun.”

“What do you mean ‘lets you’?” Frankie said, his brow furrowing.

“I mean, he’s a controlling dickhead!” You said, then slapped a hand over your mouth. “Don’t tell him I just said that! Please!”

“I won’t, I promise,” Frankie said.

“Just forget I said anything,” your voice had taken on an almost desperate edge.

“It’s forgotten,” Frankie lied. He didn’t know how, but he was going to bring it up later. The idea of your boyfriend ‘not letting’ you do something had taken root in his brain, and somehow it made him furious. He took a deep breath, counting slowly to calm himself down.

“Who’s that guy who keeps making faces at you?” You asked, gesturing across the bar. Frankie sighed.

“Santi.” Frankie rolled his eyes at his old friend and waved him over. His curly hair friend bounded over, flashing you with a brilliant white smile.

“Well, hello there,” he said, winking at you. “Santiago Garcia, but you can call me whatever you like.”

You smiled sheepishly and gave him your name, “I work with Frankie.” Santiago’s grin widened at this piece of information, and Frankie groaned internally.

“You’re the girl Frankie told me about.”

“Chatting shit, I’m sure,” you laughed, but Frankie didn’t miss the questioning glance you sent his way when you spoke.

“Santiago was the one who took that photo I told you about,” Frankie said quickly, not wanting you to get the wrong idea. You nodded and leant over towards Santi.

“He keeps promising to show me but he’s yet to deliver,” you said, winking at Frankie. His stomach jumped, breath caught in his throat. He knew you were joking but he couldn’t help but feel like he had disappointed you somehow.

“That’s my fault,” Santi said, “I keep meaning to get him a copy but since he’s sleeping all day I haven’t been able to.” You nodded and turned to Frankie.

“I should go find my Sara before I lose her for the night,” you said, looking at Frankie. “Come find me - I mean, us later? With your Benny?”

“Yeah, of course,” Frankie said, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. The urge to grab you and kiss you grew with every second, but he restrained himself. He wasn’t that kind of guy, and no amount of drinks would make him think it would be a good idea to do that to someone. Let alone you.

~*~

Frankie’s head was cloudy with alcohol, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good your ass looked in that tiny skirt, how he wanted to plant his face directly in your chest.

“Fucking hell, get a grip,” Santiago said, shaking his friend by the shoulder. They were back in the locker rooms, Benny was buzzing with his win. He and Will were going their post match ritual of smacking each other on the back and releasing loud “woo”’s.

“I’m fine,” Frankie insisted, and Santi scoffed.

“You’re full of shit,” he said. “Ironhead, tell this idiot he’s full of shit!”

“You’re full of shit, Fish!” Will said automatically. “But what’s he full of shit for?”

“He’s in denial about pining for the chick he works with,” Santi said. “Look at the poor bastard, it’s written on his face.”

“Fish, you’ve never been good at keeping a straight face when it comes to emotional crap,” Benny said. “All other stuff, you’re great. Just not when it comes to matters of the heart. Or the dick.”

“You should’ve seen the way he was looking at her,” Santi laughed. “And the way she was looking at him, making bedroom eyes at each other.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, ignoring how the last comment made his heart leap. “You’re all stupid, she’s just a work friend saying hi. Nothing more.”

“Full of shit!” Benny cackles. “Look at his blush!” Frankie groaned. They were right about him at least. He had it bad for you.

But that didn’t matter. You had a boyfriend, and even if everything Frankie found out about the guy made him resent him a little more, he couldn’t change that one important fact. And he wasn’t stupid enough to ruin the beginings of his friendship with you over a stupid fucking crush. He just wasn’t.

Benny showered, singing You Belong With Me and switching out the pronouns as he did. The man was an unashamed Swiftie, claiming that she had a song for every situation. Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep swig of his beer. Will sat beside him and nudged him gently.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked.

Frankie frowned. “What? I’m not gonna ‘do’ anything. She has a boyfriend, end of story.”

“Sorry to hear that man,” Will said, sounding sincere. He knew Frankie wasn’t the type of guy to wreck someone else's relationship for purely selfish reasons. “You’re a good man.”

Frankie wished he wasn’t.

Benny changed into his regular clothes quickly, and said something about needing a drink. The four of them left the locker room and made their way to the bar, and Frankie couldn’t help but look around for you. When he couldn’t see you, he bit back the slight disappointment that sank in his stomach. Benny brought a round for the group and they found an empty table to sit at. The employees of the bar were dismantling the ring to make room for a dance floor. Loud, thumping music started playing and within moments the floor was packed with bodies.

“Frankie! And Frankie’s friends!” Frankie looked around at the sound of your voice, which was high with excitement. You bounded over, clutching the hand of the friend you had pointed out earlier. You introduced yourself and your friend Sara to the group and pulled up a chair for you and Sara each. Frankie didn’t miss how you placed Sara’s chair next to Benny, or how Benny was staring at Sara with his mouth slightly open. He also noticed with a slight pang how you sat yourself between Will and Santi, directly across from him.

What he didn’t was how much you kept looking at him. Lucky for him, Santi and Will noticed plenty.

You and Sara spent a few hours with the group, until a not so inconspicuous Benny and Sara both disappeared, Sara throwing a wink towards you as she left. Will left not long after, saying that his bed was calling his name. Santi stayed a little longer, flirting with you much to Frankie’s annoyance. To his credit, he didn’t show you the catfish photo. Frankie wanted to show you that one himself, when you were both sober.

“I better head out,” Santi said as it rolled past three in the morning. “I’ve gotta babysit Lee tomorrow, and you know how hyper he is.” He turned to you and kissed your hand. “It was the deepest pleasure meeting you, don’t be a stranger. Frankie.” Santi raised an eyebrow and shot him a meaningful look.

“Good night,” he said a little forcefully, shoving Santi towards the door, mainly to get him to stop flirting with you. He knew the flirting was just incentive to spur him into some kind of action with you, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Your friends are nice,” you said, struggling to connect the straw of your drink with your mouth.

“They’re assholes most of the time. They’re just nice to beautiful women.” Frankie regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Shit! Now she thinks I think she’s beautiful. She is! But she doesn’t need to know I think that! Frankie finished off his drink to avoid looking at you.

“I’m attractive til they get to know me,” you said with a snort.

“What makes you think that?” Frankie asked, confused as to how that could work.

“I don’t think,” you said, “I know. It’s a fact. One that cannot be argued.”

Frankie was about to argue with you about this when you turned away, stumbling as you did. She’s super fucking drunk, Frankie thought, grabbing your arms to steady you. Your skin was so much softer than he anticipated, sending a jolt through him. He let go quickly, mouth going dry as you beamed up at him.

“You saved me!” You declared, then finished your drink quickly, emitting a small burp. “To thank you, I must give you a token of my gratitude. I know! A drink! Three drinks for the kind sir! And three for me!”

“Jesus, how much have you had?” Frankie asked, laughing.

“Only a little bit,” you shrugged and thought for a moment. “Maybe like, a dozen vodka sodas and some shots and also half a bottle of prosecco. And also a teeny tiny bit of molly, but that was hours ago, so it’s basically gone.”

“Maybe I should walk you home,” Frankie suggested gently, amazed that you were still upright let alone getting served. You shrugged.

“I can just get an Uber or something, it’s fine.”

“No, no, don’t waste your money, let me walk you.”

You looked up at him with slightly unfocused eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

The cold air outside hit the both of you like a wall. Stars scattered across a moonless sky, leaving Frankie wonderstruck for a moment, until he noticed the goosebumps on your arms. Without a second thought, Frankie took off his jacket and placed it gently around your shoulders. You looked up at him, a surprised look on your face.

“Frankie, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so, I have this friend, right? And she’s been dating this guy for years now. They live together, no kids or anything. But she told me a little while ago that she’s been feeling . . . trapped.”

“Trapped?”

“Yeah. Like, she doesn’t think she loves her boyfriend anymore. At least, not in a way that she should. And he’s so mean to her, too. He doesn’t hit her or anything, but he’s also not super nice to her, and-and she doesn’t always know what she did to deserve it. She doesn’t know what to do.”

“Can she leave?” Frankie suspected you weren't talking about a friend, but he didn’t press beyond what you were willing to tell him.

“Not easily, I don’t think. She doesn’t have enough money for her own place and- and she’s afraid.” Your face flushed.

“What’s she afraid of?”

“Being alone. Unloved. She doesn’t have any family or anything and her boyfriend is the closest she has to that. So um, if she was your friend, what would you say to her?”

Frankie was thoughtful for several moments. He didn’t want to fuck this up. If his suspicions were correct, you were talking about yourself. “Well, first of all I would tell her that her boyfriend is a massive dick, even if he doesn’t hit her, boyfriends shouldn’t make their girlfriends feel like shit. I would tell her to talk to her friends, ask for their help. I would also tell her that being alone doesn’t have to mean lonely, and it certainly doesn’t mean that she’s going to be unloved.”

You nodded thoughtfully at this. Frankie took this as a good sign. “She can’t know for sure what her life will be like, but my guess is that it will be better if she chooses to leave this asshole.”

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. Frankie knew you were thinking about what he said. He too, was lost in thought. Trying to figure out a plan to help you in any way he could. All too soon, you arrived at your apartment building.

“Thanks for this,” you said, taking off the jacket and handing it to him. Frankie nodded.

“You needed it more than me,” he said simply. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow?”

You nodded, and then as if you weren’t entirely sure if what you were about to do was a good idea, you wrapped your arms around him. Frankie stiffened for a moment before hugging you back, holding you to him tightly, breathing in your scent of perfume, sweat, and alcohol. You were warm and soft and everything in him was screaming don’t let go.

“Thank you,” you whispered in his ear, and he knew you weren’t talking about the jacket.

Taglist: Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209

[starksvixen]

Part 4 - Beskar and Broken Hearts

Masterlist

Summary: You and Din had admitted everything, all cards on the table. But it was all for nothing. After you had escaped Navaro, the Mandalorian started treating you the same, like the kiss never happened. Tensions had risen and hit it’s peak by the time you found her...Ashoka Tano. 

Warnings: Lots of angst ahead, semi-unhappy ending,

A/N - I’m doing a major time skip cause *tension*. Also, I didn’t really have any ideas except for lots of squabbling between the reader and Mando so here’s the result. 

“Wanna explain why you’ve been ignoring me?” the modulated voice speaks up from beside you. 

“Not particularly,” 

You move a bit faster, moving your hair to the side, free from your hood you had burned back on Navaro. The patch with the Mythosaur skull rubs against your bicep, something that you thought signified you joining Din’s clan. It was obvious his feelings had changed. 

The Mandalorian grew cold, acting as if nothing happened. Like the kiss and three words meant nothing. Maybe he was just trying to spare you from embarrassment. But even that pisses you off, the thought of being babied making a dull static fill you. 

You stop walking ahead at the soft cooing of the Child, the only reason you had stayed with Mando up till then. Gently, you take him from Din, not sparing him a glance as you walk with the tiny bundle in one arm. 

Entering the small town, you look at its desolate state in suspicion. Din had been sent here in search of a Jedi known as Ashoka Tano. The name’s familiarity resounded within you, memories of the name being passed around during your time on Mandalore. 

“You stay out here with the Child,” Mando says gruffly. “I’ll see if I can find the Jedi’s whereabouts,” 

“You’re seriously benching me?” you hiss. 

“No, you’re protecting the kid,” 

And without another word, he walks into the city, leaving you in the dust. With a huff, you hold the kid close to your chest and walk towards the forest line near the outer gates of the city. Once you place him down, you find a rock to sit on, watching as the kid curiously held up anything that looked like food. 

“Sorry, buddy, no frogs here.” you sigh, leaning your forearms against your knees. 

It didn’t take long for Mando to return, only to be met with silence once again on his behalf. You could feel your heart race beneath your skin, your shoulders practically kissing your eyes with the fire radiating off of them. How the hell was he still silent about this situation?

Before any words could be spoken that you could regret, you shove the kid in his hands, mumble a poor excuse to get ahead, and let your feet take wind into the forest. You’re smart, staying close to the duo so you don’t get lost or encounter a threat alone. But being near that man, it made you crawl in your skin at his actions. Like saying those three words were nothing. Like that kiss didn’t mean something. It haunted you.

A rustle in the bushes catches your attention. On instinct, you twist your arm behind you and pull out the staff that rested on your back. 

“Din?” you yell into the air. 

“I only see a few beasts to the North,”

“No, that can’t be i-”

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t it. Because before you knew it, a sea of a cloak floats in front of you, white lightsabers at the ready. Barely, just barely, you block her attack with the staff, only to have the metal melt in your hands. As the Jedi pulls back for another hit, you kick her square in the gut before ducking to miss the next hit. The hiss of singed skin fills the air, it’s smell nearly making you gag as you brace yourself with the Earth. 

Before you even had to think, the sound of light and beskar rang in your eyes. Looking above you, Din has his arms crossed to block the Jedi’s next hit, one that certainly would have killed you. As girly as it was, your heart fluttered at the protective move. 

Swinging out of the way, you protect the Child with the small knife as the Mandalorian and the Jedi come to a truce. 

“Bo-Katan sent me!” you hear Din yell, his blaster ready.

Slowly, she disengages, her hood falling gracefully towards her shoulders, looking at you and the Child. 

“I hope it’s about him,”

Din paces back and forth at an alarming rate before you, the small light up ahead bouncing off the clean metal and refracting with each movement. Ashoka sits with Grogu, a secret communication taking place between the two of them, something you couldn’t help but admire. 

As you lean against a rock, the searing pain at the top of your shoulder alarms you to your latest injury. Slowly, you peel back the singed jacket you had. It was a superficial burn, barely there. It wouldn’t even leave a scar. But the fear in Din’s voice would leave a scar upon your memory. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he mumbles quietly. 

In the time you were looking at your wound, you failed to notice the beskar covered warrior crouching in front of you, med pack at the ready. 

“Didn’t think you would care,” 

“Cya-”

“You don’t get to fucking call me that. Not after ignoring me this entire time.” 

“Let me explain...”

“You should have weeks ago...” you mumble. 

With the snatch of your wrist, you place a bacta patch on your shoulder, shrugging your beat up leather jacket off and onto your lap. Ashoka coaxes you both towards them. Din offers his hand to help you up, but in turn you glare and stand on your own, tightly tying your jacket to your waist and following the Jedi. 

She takes you to a more comfortable plateau, the trees offering safety, something you didn’t expect this deep in the wilderness. You sit beside the kid, gently scratching the space between his ears, earning a coo in return. 

“Were you two speaking back there?” Din questions. 

“In a way,” Ashoka responds. “Grogu and I can hear each others thoughts.”

“Grogu?” you and Din ask in unison. The poor thing didn’t know who to look at first, making you chuckle softly. 

“It must be nice to hear your real name again, huh?” you whisper softly while peering down at him. 

You listen quietly to Grogu’s dark...dark story. For the first time since you thought you were going to lose Din, you cry. Silently, of course, not giving way to hysterics. But the thought of your poor boy having to endure things that you yourself had faced, it broke your heart. 

As the Child starts to fall asleep, he curls up into your jacket that lay on your waist, making you smile softly at the motion. With one hand, you gently pick him up to lay on your chest. In one swift motion, you stand and walk towards a tree with him close to you. Laying against the rough bark, you let your eyes begin to drift close. Not without seeing the glint of beskar staring right back at you. 

It was early when Ashoka had risen you, the Child void of your chest, instead in Din’s arms. Your gaze quickly averts away from him, opting instead to follow Ashoka. 

As you all walk deeper into the forest, you engage in quiet conversation with the Jedi. She obviously could sense the tension between you and Mando, subtly using probing questions to solve her mystery. But you were used to these types of people, you knew how to deflect. 

Once you make it to your destination, and Grogu was placed somewhere comfortable, you watched intently as Ashoka tested his abilities. While your boy could take the rock floated towards him with ease, sending it back, or taking it, was the problem. 

“He doesn’t understand.” Din interjects. 

“Oh jeez...” you mumble, already sensing the long day ahead of. 

“He does,” Ashoka reassures, stepping closer to the youngling. “He’s hidden his abilities to survive over the years. Let’s try something else. Come over here.”

You both take a step forward. The tense glance that Din sends your way forces you to take a step back, arms crossed in defense as you turn away. As the intense feeling begins to build, Grogu’s upset builds also. He softly whimpers at the sight of you two, refusing to make any eye contact. 

“For this to work, you both need to be in harmony. Not fighting whatver lovers quarrel has settled upon you.” Ashoka says frankly. 

“We’re fine...” you say, your voice void of any emotion. 

Ashoka turns to the Child, a soft nod the only signal of their communication before she picks him up and walks away, leaving the two of you alone. 

“We need to figure this out, for the kid,” Din says. 

“Yeah, and only for the kid,” you scoff. 

“What is with you lately?! What have I done that is so wrong!” 

“Where do I kriffing start Din?!”

“How have I mistreated you?”

“It’s not mistreatment! It’s the lack of said treatment...”

“Dank Farrik!” he exclaims, his hands flying in the air. “Will you just spit it out already!” 

“Fine! You’ve treated me like every other bounty you’ve dragged into the ship ever since our escape from Nevarro.”

The world falls silent, but your heart refuses to let up its song. You can feel it in your ears, your throat. The vulnerability that settles upon your shoulders is crushing you as you wait for a response. 

“What I said back there...I never should’ve said it. I never should’ve kissed you like that,”

Your jaw clenches, your arms grip your own body tighter then before. 

“Are you saying...”

“Its not true, what I said. We’re just partners.” 

With a scoff and a quiet sniffle, you can’t bring yourself to glare at Din at the moment. All you can feel is a pain, wedging itself in your heart, deeper then any blade could. 

“Just partners in crime, right?” you spit at him, turning away from the man that you knew you still loved. 

A harsh sigh pushes through his encoder, his hands falling at his hips in frustration. 

“I’ll pretend to be normal around the kid. But once he’s back with a Jedi, you’re dropping me off at the nearest planet.” 

You wipe a stray tear away before walking off in silence. 

Tag List: (leave a comment on the Masterlist to be added)

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[nemycchi]

Delusion

A Childe X Lumine Fanfiction

Rating : Not Rated

Tags : Psychological, Mild Angst, Character Death

----

During moments of utter silence, Childe recalls that which Lumine once told him about a book she had read from a far away land. 

"It is of utmost importance that those who seek to fight monsters must not become one in the process." 

He likes to think that perhaps, by mentioning it, she had once hoped that he would be reminded of his main aspiration—to conquer the world that is, and not to simply bathe in the blood of his enemies. 

It has its merits, he admits—for he finds himself fighting alongside her during the turning point of the war, the darkness in him dampened by the white light she emits—cleansing the corruption that has resided in him for the longest time. 

This too though, reminds him of another of her words. 

"The deep dark abyss—stare for too long and it would stare back to those who dare." 

It is true, for he knows that ever since he dropped down that hole in the world, he emerged as a monster that is only tamed by bloodshed. 

And from the moment he knew Lumine, perhaps by her as well. 

He has always carried a portion of that so-called abyss, feeling its vines wrapping inside his very being. He is a monster, that much is true, but tamed as one can be, he became a tool under her commands. 

He does not care, for it is times with her when the whispers of the dark become muted—turned into nothing but echoes of the past. 

"Childe? Breakfast?" 

The man spies her slender form by the doorframe of his bedroom, sees her domestically ushering his sleepy person into the kitchen and he feels as though he had achieved that which he desires, with her by his side. 

To conquer the world. 

They did. They won. And it was all that he could ask for. 

Celestia is no more. The abyss is no more. It is just him, Lumine and the rest of the world. 

He smiles as he sits down at the table, reaching for her hand as she places the bowl of steaming Calla Lily Seafood Soup before him. 

"Oh, my favorite. What's the occasion, girlie?"

"Mhm, nothing in particular. Just wanted to cook something special for you." she smiles back and he thinks he saw the glimmer of stars beyond her eyes. 

Or perhaps it was nothing but an illusion, masking the deeper end of the void he is familiar with—if such end even existed. 

Childe shakes his head for he believes that that is not the case. Lumine is here with him. And the abyss is no more. It is no more. 

And if the calling of that dark bud inside him grows too strong anyhow, he knows she is here to defeat it for him. 

For she is also perhaps a monster in her own rights. 

 

--☆☆☆--

 

The bags under his eyes, and the haunted looks in his face tell everyone that he is far from recovered but everytime someone comes to ask him how he is faring, he will do nothing but face them with a smile before answering. 

"I'm very much fine! Lumine takes good care of me." 

If there were curious glances sent his way, he does not care. They must be seething inside—jealous that it was him who conquered her heart by the end of it all. 

The savior and the reformed harbinger.

What a perfect love story—great as a tale to pass down from generations to generations. He sighs at the thought. 

"Childe, pardon my query but I must ask—how have you truly been?" 

He already lost count of how many times the same question had been asked of him. 

He stops walking—to face the former Geo Archon a few steps behind. 

"I do not understand why everyone keeps on asking the same question. I already told you i'm fine, didn't I?" 

Oh how he hates it when they ask—as if they were doubting his princess' ability to care for him, for it was her who has been on his bed, in his kitchen, in his very house ever since the world achieved true peace. 

They do not understand just how capable Lumine is. 

And they will never know, if he has anything to say. 

"Though we are but friends, I must express my deep concern. The dips on your cheeks beg to differ from that which you uttered." 

The blue in his eyes shift into something malicious, to that belonging to the beast he keeps inside. 

"With all due respect, Mr. Zhongli. I do not appreciate the implications of what you just said. You asked and I answered." He pauses. 

The abyss is no more for Lumine is with him. 

"I shall be going now. My wife is waiting for me at home." 

As he walks away, he ignores the burning gaze on his back. It's fine. That former god does not matter. 

What matters is him and Lumine while the rest of the world could go crash and burn, he thinks. 

 

--☆☆☆--

 

"Tough day at work?" 

Childe sidles up to her side, wrapping an arm around the apron-covered waist of his beloved. He kisses her temple with reverence—for it is what she deserves. 

"Not really. It was just Mr. Zhongli. And others. Being annoyingly repetitive as always." He grumbles, tucking her head under his chin. 

The small hand resting atop his chest tightens against his clothes. 

"Do they... not approve of me?" She asks almost inaudibly. 

He was quick to deny the preposterous thought. 

"Don't listen to them. They do not matter, girlie." 

Childe feels her shift and he looks down at her. 

Golden pools decorated by the glittering of stars—of tears, he realizes, meet his abyssal depths. 

"Are you... are you going to leave me?" 

He brushes the hair out of her forehead and tucks the strays behind her ears before promptly brushing away the tears that cascaded from her eyes. 

"Never. You are mine, Lumine. As much as I am yours." 

Even the sweetest wine cannot compare to the smile that adorns her face after his declaration. She buries her head on his chest once more, arms crossing behind him, bestowing him with nothing else but warmth. 

Childe thinks for a second, that this moment is perhaps the best there is in the world. And he knows he is ruined for anything else.

It is impossible to feel anything akin to this feeling and he strongly believes that the desire to even experience it from others aside his princess does not exist anymore. 

 

--☆☆☆--

 

The sound of deliberate knocking at the door rouses the harbinger from his sleep. Childe growls in annoyance at whoever is behind that piece of wood as he untangles his limbs from the goddess laying beside him. 

He kisses the top of her head before deciding to rise and check who their visitor is. 

He stills when the one in front of his humble abode makes himself known. 

Zhongli, of course. 

"Mr. Zhongli, why the early visit?" 

The man only hums before crossing his arms, pinning him with a serious gaze. 

"May I come in, Childe?"

"Ah, of course." 

He lets him in and ushers the former archon to the couch. Upon sitting, the latter immediately scans his surroundings with vague concern in his eyes. 

"I must say, your house is surprisingly empty and devoid of life, Childe."

"What do you mean? I think it's pretty homey. Lumine designed it by herself when she first got here." 

A frown makes its way to the other man's lips. 

"Childe, can we talk?" 

He stiffens, tone changing into a defensive one. 

"We are talking, are we not?" He spats.

"Why don't you ask Lumine to come down here with us?" 

He summons one of his water blades. 

"Why exactly are you here, Zhongli?"

"Call Lumine, Childe." 

In a flash, the water blade comes in contact with the polearm that materialized in front of the visitor. 

"Why. Are. You. Here?" He asks, hostile in every way as he accents each word with a swing of his blade—all thankfully parried. 

"I need you to understand, Childe." Zhongli calls forth a jade shield that rattled even the sturdy walls of the other man's home. 

A water spear slams against the shield. 

"That Lumine..." 

Yet another side step, perfectly timed to avoid the beast cloaked in water suddenly crackling with electricity. 

"Stop it!" It yells. 

But Zhongli is not known for being gentle. The wrath of the rock and the harsh truth—both must be laid out for him to save the monster disguised as a man. 

"Is no longer with us." 

A beat passes.

"She's gone, Childe. And you must accept that fact."

"No!" 

And like that, the man surges forward with the fury enough to fuel wars. 

The walls crumble and the terrified shrieks of townsfolk in the immediate vicinity sound off but Childe could no longer care. 

Him and Lumine. The rest of the world does not matter. 

His mind goes blank with nothing but white hot anger, and he brandishes his weapon with renewed vigor. 

"Take it back." He quietly demands, voice distorted. 

Instead of complying, multiple stone steles rise up from the pavement, obscuring the two men from prying eyes. 

"Everyone grieves for her departure, I assure you. We are hurt as much as you are." A water blade makes contact with the archon's cheek and he winces as response, "but she chose to sacrifice herself for this world's peace and she will not be happy if she sees you rotting away to your demise, Childe."

"You—you don't know anything! Do not lie! Lumine..." A crack in his composition and Zhongli is quick to take advantage of it. 

All at once, like a puppet with strings cut off, Childe falls forward when Zhongli's polearm strikes down his chest. The accumulated hunger and fatigue from weeks of barely holding on to her memory suddenly come crashing down upon his person. 

Empty plates and sweet nothings. 

Cold bed and pristine kitchen. 

Unused scarf with the color of the skies and the clouds—like the view he's witnessing right now. 

Stare into the abyss, and it stares back at you—its remnants staying within, slowly consuming that which it latches on to. 

The abyss is no more—or so he believes. 

"Lumine... she promised me." he whispers into the wind. 

The rustling of cloth distracts him from his thoughts. 

"Do not lean too close to that edge, Childe. I beg you, not as your friend, but as Lumine's—please, do stay with us." 

Before his eyes closed, he heard the call from the deep dark abyss of the waters. 

The sea is calm. And he couldn't care less about the rest of the world. 

Him and Lumine, he thinks. Him and Lumine.

[elsewhereuniversity]

About Face

“Do you have any questions about your prescriptions today, uh…m-miss?” The pharmacist’s question is laced with assumptions about who you are. It’s not great, of course, but it’s also not worth your time to fight about today.

“No, I’m good,” your smile and voice are sugary-sweet, but your eyes are daggers as you take the bag and turn back towards the door. The heat and humidity are already staggering at 8 am and you are immediately made sticky by the brief walk to your car. As you start it up, there’s a brief chime of email-receiving from your phone, but you ignore it. Then there’s another ding, this time your lab-mate, Valerie, texting you.

Hey, u almost in?                                                                                     In like 30min. had to stop by pharmacy

K. Jill was looking for u. Also ugh that paper for tomorrow, I’m not even a  birdsong person lol

Lol get over it, I had to read one of your fancy neuro papers last time. Did jill say what she needed me for?

Whatever lol. She didn’t say.

                                                                        Ughhhhhhh

Jill, Dr. Dominguez, is your advisor, and you know you need to get her some figures and sections of your thesis soon, but these damn stats…well. There’s a reason you prefer spending your time traipsing off-trail through the wilderness over sitting in front of a computer all day. Not that this part isn’t interesting and important too, but come on.

Traffic is moving at a sluggish pace, of course, so you’re lost in contemplation and dread of the analyses you need to attempt running today, and the inevitable conversation with Dr. Dominguez that will have to happen at some point. As the traffic finally begins to move, you grit your teeth. Maybe it’s time to consider actually asking for help. I have no fucking clue how to do multivariate shit…You stare ahead as you inch forward, before a frustrating, jolting stop at a red light. Your eye is drawn to a kid crossing the road, wearing a grey hoodie. They look forlorn, for some reason you can’t entirely enumerate, and you glance back at them as the light finally turns.

The sun isn’t very high yet, so there are still some odd shadows stretching across the sidewalk, but you could’ve sworn that the kid had no face.

****

You manage to put the pharmacist and your grandma and the obviously-just-a-trick-of-the-light-I-mean-how-else-could-that-be faceless kid out of your mind for the rest of the morning and actually get some results you can work with from the analyses you’d been worried about. And when Dr. Dominguez pops into lab to talk to you, she is actually impressed at both the pace and quality of work you’ve delivered thus far. In fact, you’re feeling pretty damn good about everything, despite the earlier unpleasantness, so you decide to grab some lunch and hang out with some of the other grad students and lab techs.

Lunch-special sushi in hand, you plop yourself down at one of the rundown old tables in the work room. Valerie is there, along with Raul, one of the grad students from a micro lab down the hall, and Jackson, one of the general lab techs. Everyone says hi, but you’re only vaguely following the conversation as you dig into your spicy tuna roll. Something something TA stipends being cut. Which is such bullshit, of course, but nothing new. You’re just about to jump into the discussion when you get a Facebook notification. It’s your cousin, who tagged you in a post. You stare for a good five seconds at your phone.

Just remembering the good times with my cousin before he decided to be a transsexual.

And then a picture from when you were 14, a picture you’d thought you’d deleted from every conceivable online location. A picture that highlights pretty much every single aspect of your body that made staying in the closet completely untenable. Everything just always happens at once, huh.

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter, and are surprised to feel the hot prick of tears in your eyes.

“Becca, you alright?” Valerie asks, and you belatedly realize that everyone at the table heard you and is now staring. They think you were talking about one of them, or responding to something they said.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Just something my cousin posted. She’s—she can be such a jerk. Don’t worry about it,” you say as you hastily wipe away the tears.

“What’d she do?” Jackson asks. Valerie glares at him so fiercely that he rolls his eyes and holds up his hands, “Just, like, if you wanna talk about it.”

You sigh. You’re not precisely going stealth, but you also don’t just talk to everyone about being trans. Have you actually come out to Jackson? Valerie knows, and Raul, but you don’t think you’ve ever directly talked to Jackson about it.

“It’s—it’s fine. Just, she posted a picture of me from before I came out, and I really hate thinking about any of it.” You speak with a bit more force than you intend.

“Why is that a big deal?” Jackson asks, taking a bite of his pasta. Valerie glares at him again and Raul just shakes his head.

“It’s just…it took me a long time to figure it out, and I don’t particularly like being reminded of that. And it’s not great for dysphoria, either.” You say this distractedly as you go to the post and untag yourself.

“That’s really rough,” Raul says, frowning.

“Sorry, what’s that word?” Jackson asks with a raised eyebrow, “I guess I just don’t get it? It’s just a kid picture of you, what’s it matter?”

And that does it. You stand abruptly, “I need to get back to the lab.” You hear Valerie and Raul berating Jackson as you walk away, but you’re just so very done. You toss the empty sushi container in the trash at the corner of the hallway, near one of the windows overlooking the main walkway through campus. And you nearly trip over your own feet as you swivel to double check something down below. A gray hoodie. A child with no face looking over their shoulder as they turn a corner.

****

You don’t mean to take the wrong street. It’s already been far too long a day between all of the inanity with your extended family and Jackson. And everything you tried to run after lunch was a bust, making you feel like Dr. Dominguez’s praise earlier was completely undeserved. Given all of that, you decided to get takeout again, even though you really should be cooking, so you’re walking to pick up your order. It is early evening, the shadows having elongated to embrace nearly everything, and while debating whether it’s even worth confronting your cousin about the jab, your feet simply take you the wrong way. You don’t even notice, until you’re standing in front of an empty park that’s three blocks over from where you should be. Or, wait.

Not empty. One lone figure, sitting quietly on one of the swings, wreathed in shadow.

You’ve been walking quite quickly, but over the course of a few steps have come almost to a stop. With a shiver, you glance around the area, but no parents or adults are in sight, and the figure looks young, even from a distance. 12, maybe? Maybe the kid lives in one of the nearby houses? Probably. Should you call someone? Who? Not the cops. They’d just as soon arrest or hurt the kid as help them. It isn’t that late, leaving the kid be is probably the most prudent course of action.

But. The kid feels…familiar. Even from a hundred meters, you can see that their shoulders are hunched, their hands are tight on the chains of the swing. The gentle creaking as those chains move with the slight shifts of the kid’s body is despondent in a way that is known to you, somehow. So, against your better judgement, you leave the sidewalk and walk across the damp grass to the edge of the playground. When you step onto the sand, the kid’s head jerks up and their shoulders tense further, raising almost to their ears. You stop walking and from the new angle a streetlight throws the kid’s grey hoodie into stark relief.

“Are-are you okay?” you have to clear your throat to get the words out and your voice sounds weak and tinny in the still, silent park.

The shoulders shrug. The kid is also wearing jean cutoffs, their scuffed sneakers unlaced.

“Do you need me to call someone?”

A sharp shake of the head, and then their hands release the chains and fall into their lap.

“Don’t need anything,” the kid’s voice is low, you can barely hear what they’re saying. Gingerly, you take the last few steps to the swing set and awkwardly settle into one of the worn rubber seats. Only after you have already done this do you think to question why you are so compelled to talk to this child who—maybe? how?—has been dogging you all day.

“I said I don’t need anything,” the kid says in an emotionless voice. Their face is still completely shadowed by their hood and shaggy hair.

 “I just—look, kid, I think I’ve been where you are, and—”

The kid cuts across you, “I tried to tell them today. But I…couldn’t, I didn’t know how to, so I just ended up saying I like girly shoes and wanted some or whatever.”

Oh. So you were right. You know exactly what’s going on. In fact, you’re pretty sure you had that precise conversation, once.

“That’s tough,” you acknowledge, slowly pushing back in the swing, which creaks beneath you, “It took me a long time too.”

There’s silence. Then:

“That’s what I was worried about.”

You start and quickly glance over at the kid, who has finally turned to face you.

She doesn’t have a face, which, you suppose, really shouldn’t be a surprise. You weren’t seeing things, earlier. There’s just a smooth expanse of dark olive skin. The featureless head tilts to one side and she speaks again.

“I thought you might recognize me.” The voice is plaintive. With every word, you feel a sense of vertigo, like there is a mouth, somewhere, that is making those sounds, that it’s right in front of you, but you cannot perceive it.

You are breathing very rapidly, “I thought—how do you know me? What’s, I mean—”

“This?” the kid gestures at her face, “I don’t know, I can see but I can’t see myself, I dunno what’s going on. All I know is I was walking to the park and then I was here, or I mean, on the road this morning and saw you and I followed you and I just want to go home or just sleep or just melt away but I can’t, okay? There’s just nothing.”

Without noticing, you have sprung to your feet and are backing away from the faceless girl, the faceless girl who can’t tell her parents who she is. Who you are.

“I didn’t want to think about it,” you whisper. Why are you even responding to this? This is a hallucination, or a dream. You’re just reacting to the whole bullshit situation with your cousin and Jackson and that fucking pharmacy tech. Did you fall asleep back in the lab, is that it? You pinch yourself, but no luck, “I came out and that was what I needed. Okay? Why dwell on, on, on all of that shi—stuff that happened before?”

The girl is still sitting placidly in the swing, though her hands are once again clenched around the chains.

“I knew you were me, I guess. So I followed. I don’t think anyone else notices me either, not that that’s anything new,” The note of bitterness in her voice cuts you to the bone, “I thought maybe you—me, future me, whatever—would be able to…fix me? But nothing’s changed, has it?”

You’re backed up to the slide now, “Why are you doing this? What even are you?”

You slump against the side of slide, your knees suddenly weak, “This cannot—this is bullshit, I don’t know how you’re doing this, but—”

The faceless girl is in front of you now, hands jammed into the front pocket of her hoodie. She stands there, contemplating her future self, “I just want to understand,”

The kid, proto-Becca, or whatever or whoever she is, sure sounds like a kid desperately trying to make sense of something, and not some ghoulish nightmare creature.

“Just stop,” you say in a hoarse voice, “I just don’t want to think about it, I shouldn’t have to think about it, I just want to move forward.”

“Yeah,” proto-Becca abruptly falls to her knees, and draws them up to her chest. It takes a few seconds for you to understand the sounds that the kid is making are sobs.

You hug your own knees and contemplate getting up and running away and just forgetting about all of it: this faceless phantom of your childhood self, your relatives’ inability to accept your reality, the absurd, useless, pointless stats and analyses. You’re crying too, desperately trying to refocus on the here and now, instead of being drawn down into the rabbit hole of loneliness and regret and fear that always consumes you when you think too hard about those years in which it felt like your whole body was turning against you and you couldn’t find any satisfactory explanations for what you were feeling.

But the sounds of proto-Becca, of proto-you, sobbing into her knobbly knees bring you back to the present. Ironic, that. No matter what else, however she got here, whatever happened to her face, she’s a kid. She’s a kid. She’s. A. Kid. You were a kid.

You furiously wipe your eyes and nose and sit up, scooting a bit closer to proto-Becca.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you say in as steady a voice as you can manage, “I was scared, and, and, and I lashed out. It’s not your fault, kid.”

She doesn’t lift her head, but the sobs are quieter.

“I mean, kid, no offense, but you don’t have a face. And somehow you’re me, right?” Okay, that came out meaner than you meant it to, “The truth is that I’ve done my best to forget pretty much everything that happened back when I was…you, I guess. But I can’t.”

She sniffles, “I’m trying to tell them, I am. But the boys at school, every time I try to talk to Mom or Dad I see those boys laughing and yelling and coming at me and I can’t, I don’t—know how I ended up here, or what to do about this or anything. I just want things to be normal.”

And, finally, you get it. Not why she’s here, or how, or what any of this means, but, at least, what to do. You’ve tried to help kids who were like you before. You’d never have told them that they needed to keep their feelings concealed, that they needed to not do anything so as to avoid reminding you of your own past. So why, then, are you doing it to yourself?

“Is it okay if I come sit next to you, maybe give you a hug?” you ask, as gently as you can.

You get a glimpse of the faceless face from behind the curtain of hair, “I—I think so?”

You get to your feet, a task far more laborious than you feel it should be, and cross to her. When you plop down by her side, she twitches, but it’s toward you. Slowly and carefully, you wrap an arm around her narrow shoulders, and hold her close. She’s still crying, and the hood has slipped from her dark curls.

“It’s okay that it’s taking time,” you say, “It’s really, really hard. I meant that. There’s…nothing out there. No one to explain to you, to, uh, us, what these feelings mean, really. I remember. I remember how much it feels like you’re just stuck in the same looped computer program. Endlessly completing the same actions with no idea why, only feeling like something isn’t right. And so scared of what happens if you do anything that breaks that loop.”

“That’s pretty much it,” she says with a note of wait, that wasn’t completely in my head???, “I don’t see how I can explain to anyone, especially Mom and Dad.”

“I think all you can do is be honest. There are some resources out there, although maybe they aren’t published yet,” you glance sideways at her, “But if you just…elucidate those feelings you’ve been sitting on, it at least opens the door to them comprehending.”

“I guess so,” she sighs, and then giggles, “But also, like, no offense, that was, like, a really freakin’ pretentious way to say that.”

You snort and ruffle her hair, “Whatever. Something for you to look forward to, then.”

She’s quiet for a bit and then, quick like a bird, she wraps her arms around you too, “So I’m gonna tell them, then?”

You shrug, “When you’re ready. Whenever that is. And I promise, you are no lesser if it takes a while. Okay?”

“But you’re still going to hate thinking about me, right? I mean, about how long it took me, you, to finally do it?” her head tilts.

You sigh, “I don’t know. It’s hard, I won’t pretend it isn’t. But I think I can at least say that it’s okay. That it’s not my, or your, fault.”

When you look up, her face appears. Smile first. Broad and full of braces, her quick and nervous brown eyes darting to your face and then back to her knees.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, giving her one last squeeze, “I’m the living proof, right?”

Her laugh lingers in the air as she fades away.

x

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette: Adventures at Camp-Halfblood

When Marinette arrived at camp at just six-years-old dressed in pink with pigtails in her hair and was shoved into Hermes cabin until she was claimed; most of the other campers hedged their bets on who her godly parent was.  She was a sweet girl with a cheerful deposition that could easily brighten anyone’s day. She also favored sketching and most artistic endeavors so half the campers thought Apollo was her father.

However, Marinette had an almost unnatural beauty to her that was clear from even her young age; with silky blue-ish black hair and large blue eyes that seemed to twinkle. There was a sheer adorableness to her that caused even the toughest of campers to coo. This caused some of the campers to assume Aphrodite was her mother.

 A few bet on Demeter as Marinette loved to bake. Some of Athena as how well organized and tactile the girl could be.

 Unfortunately, it would take a few years before anyone would get confirmation. And for bets to be paid out.

 As Marinette got older, she easily became the most well-liked camper; mostly because of the sweetest and kindest girl at camp. She was always there to help a friend in need, always there for someone to talk to. Hephaestus cabin liked how creative she was with her designs and always liked to offer an artistic flair to their own. While she didn’t rush towards battle as some campers did, it was clear Marinette still knew what to do with a sword. She was also creative and detailed when it came to planning attacks and defense which got her approval of the Athena cabin.

 Ares Cabin liked that she didn’t back down. Ever.  The first time Dionysus got her name wrong was legendary; it was also the last time.

 “You, mary-Anne!” The god of wine called. They were in the lunch hall “Announce to the rugrats, capture the flag is about to begin.”

 “Marinette,” The seven-year-old corrected politely with a smile on her face. “Marlene,” Dionysus waved her off.

Marinette just stared at the chubby god, her face emotionless. The hall seemed to grow a bit colder. Silence slowly took hold the campers as they watched a seven-year-old in a blue

polka-dotted sundress and pink ribbons in her hair stare down a god with unfeeling eyes as she assessed her opponent as if looking for a weakness.

 For the first time in a long time, Dionysus felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck as a small hint of fear started to turn in his stomach. And, to make matters worse, as if sensing this, his fear, a small smile appeared on the girl’s lovely face.

 “My name is Marinette,” Was all she said and turned around as skipped away.

 Dionysus nodded slowly, despite the girl not even looking. He swallowed a bit more of his coke and with a pop, he was gone, vanished. No one would see him at camp for two weeks. When he came back, from then on out, whenever he ran into the little girl again, he calls her some variation of “You girl,” “Girly” or even a “Lassie” once. It was clear that while the god was too proud to call her or anyone of the campers by their actual names, he would never mess up hers again.

 That day would forever remain in the hearts of the campers forever. When Marinette was eleven, she found out who her godly parent was.

She had been walking with Annabeth to the training yard, near the entrance of the camp, when they heard roars and a scream. Annabeth turned pale but a determined look appeared in her eyes. Marinette patted the blonde’s shoulder comfortingly. Though they were the same age, the blonde had arrived at camp a year after Marinette, and not under the best of circumstances. Grover,

Luka, Thalia, and Annabeth had been being chased by the most dangerous monsters from the underworld. Thalia hadn’t made it. It had been four years since.

 Each girl pulled out their swords, braced their shields, and raced towards the entrance of the camp. What they saw made both of them nearly throw up their breakfasts.

 Charles Beckendorf, son of Hephaestus, Laurel Victor, daughter of Nike, and Malcolm

 Pace, son of Athena were racing back to camp; different monsters hot on their tails. The three

 had been given a mission to retrieve Hephaestus’ stolen Helm. In this case, the helm was just a fancy word for solid gold, expertly carved, war helmet.

Laurel, easily the fastest girl at camp, was heavily injured and struggled with a wounded Malcolm to get to the safety of the camp borders while fending off the monsters. Charles, wearing his father’s helmet, fought valiantly and desperately to give his friends time to escape.

 “Go get help,” Marinette ordered the other girl. “Anyone you can. Find medics from Apollo cabin. Hurry.”

 It was a credit Annabeth that she didn’t hesitate to follow the direction as she raced off to seek allies.

 Marinette, on the other hand, raced the other way; out of the camp, out of the safety of the boundary line, straight to battle. She’d seen the manticore sneaking up on Charles and knew that between the Cyclopes and hellhounds swarming him, he was a dead man. Marinette rushed passed Laurel and Malcolm and was just in time as the manticore's tail moved to strike Charles, it hit Marinette’s shield.

 Fury filled her blue eyes as she began to fight: armor-less and with only a shield in one hand, a sword in the other, and a dagger on her hip, side by side with the son of Hephaestus. “Go!” She yelled at the other two demigods as she slashed at a Cyclops. As the monsters swarmed her and Charles, Marinette noted with a small bit of relief, that in the midst of the chaos of battle and her shoving her sword through the eye of a Cyclops with horrible breath, she spotted that Laurel and Malcolm crossing over the barrier.

 However, the relief died when a fearsome roar shook the very foundations of the camp and both campers to very cores.

 The creature had no legs and crawled on the ground like a snake. It was over 200 hundred feet long and had scales that glistened like armor. The monster moved like lightening and when Marinette met its eyes, for a moment she froze in sheer terror, “Drakon,” She whispered. That when she knew one or both of them were going to die. Only a child of Ares even had a remote chance of defeating it.

 “Shit,” Charles said as he killed a hellhound. Most of the monsters had been defeated. Only a few cyclopes and hellhounds remained. “Run back to camp!” He ordered. “Hurry! I’ll hold it off.”

Marinette didn’t have to even look at the black boy to know he wouldn’t stand a chance. Charles looked like he barely had enough strength left to lift his sword one more time. He was bleeding all over. He had so many injuries and wound Marinette wondered how he managed to keep himself upright.

 With a swing of her sword, Marinette finished off the last Cyclops. “Not this time,” She told the older boy. “You’re hurt really bad.” She told him. “It’ll kill you in seconds and get me before I even make it back. I’ll hold him off. I’m strong enough. I can do it.”

 “No!” Charles had started a tirade of protests. He wasn’t about to let anyone die for him, let alone a little kid who looked like she would be right at home if Disney suddenly named her one of their princesses. A girl who was nearly as battered, bruised, and bloody as he was.

 But Marinette wasn’t listening, because as soon as the moment of fear passed, she found herself charging at the Drakon, her sword ready.

 She barely dodged the monster’s first swipe at her. Her heart pounding her chest, Marinette slashes at the beast only to have her sword bounce off its scales, with not even a scratch on the Drakon. Acid dripped from its mouth burning holes into Marinette’s red shield.

 Marinette didn’t know how long she had been fighting; or rather dodging and helplessly poking a giant snake with a sword. Her arm had nearly been ripped off as she narrowly jumps out of the way of its teeth.

 Then a cry of pain sounded in her ear, and a sharp heartbreaking cry of someone screaming, “CHARLES!”

 Once more rage overtook the small bluenette and raced head on to Drakon, it’s jaws wide open to attack or possibly just eat the demigod. With a roar, Marinette launched her shield at its face. When the Drakon turned its head to bat it away, Marinette jumped forward as high as she could and rammed her sword into the Drakon’s eyes.

 The drakon reared back, letting out a terrifying shriek, sword still in its eyes as Marinette dangled from it; refusing to let go. With one hand free, Marinette pulled out her and stabbed it into the Drakon’s other eye. There was another howl of from the monster.  It swung back and

forth, but Marinette kept stabbing at its eyes. Its acid burning her arms and legs and whatever it managed to hit.

 Then, Marinette didn’t know what happened, but suddenly she was falling. Or rather the Drakon was crashing. It landed in a giant heap that caused the ground to shake. It withered on the ground, back and forth. Marinette who still clung to her sword, stood up on shaky legs, pulled

out her sword and then stabbed it again and then again as deep as it could go. Until the beast stop shaking until its last breath left its body.

 Marinette quickly pulled her sword free and turned to help her fellow demi-god Charles, only to find other campers had beat her to it. With a happy, exhausted smile, Marinette fell to her knees. The pain finally hitting her as the adrenaline wore off. Her sword slipped from her hand. She barely noticed most of the campers who turned up to help were staring at her with amazement in

their eyes. A few, who Marinette recognized as sons and daughter of Apollo, rushed towards with medical supplies.

 There was a loud, some fire in the corner of her eyes, murmurs from the crowd. There was a fiery symbol above her head, already a fading. Then Chiron (When had he arrived, Marinette wondered. She didn’t notice him a few seconds ago) stepped forward.

 “It is determined,” The centaur announced. “Hail, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of War.” That was when everything went dark for Marinette as she slipped into unconsciousness.

The next few days after that were pretty much a wash. Marinette was mostly in and out of sleep as the worst of her injuries were healed. Only when she got out of the healer’s cabin and headed towards her bunk in the Hermes’ cabin did she finally recall that she had been claimed.

 Mostly because Luke had given her an easy smile, and said, “Clarisse and her goons got your stuff already, oh fearsome Drakon slayer.” Then he pointed down another path. “Your cabin’s that way with the rest of Big Red’s kids.”

And that was that. Luke gave her a pitying look and wondered how the girl most people thought was made of sugar cookies and sunshine ended up in the cabin known for the meanest kids.

Dressed in a baby blue camp shirt, her hair still in her signature pigtails, Marinette held her held high as she walked to her new home. The young girl had never… appreciated the aesthetics of Cabin 5 whenever she had to walk by it. The kids there weren’t the friendliest, some either ignored her or picked on her so she did her best to avoid it.

Cabin 5, Ares cabin, Marinette’s cabin was painted with an angry red color. The roof was covered barbed wire, and there was a stuffed boar's head centered above the doorway. It always used to seem to stare at anyone who walked by. The grass in front of the cabin was rich and green but Marinette made sure to stay on the path as she recalled Annabeth warning her about the landmines that were buried in front of cabin 5. Only Ares kids knew where they hid.

Rock music blared loudly from the cabin; high enough to hurt someone’s ears.

Marinette braced herself as she headed up the stone steps of the cabin. With one last look around, she pushed opened the door and walked inside.

The sound of fighting and arguing and roars of the laughter hit on in the face. Two guys were wrestling in the middle of the room was which look liked a boxing ring. A few kids were cheering them on. Some kids, her siblings, were dancing in a makeshift mosh pit to the music. There were rock posters covering the wall. A giant TV that seemed to be playing whatever violent sport was on and kids were screaming at it. Weapons were thrown about everywhere. The only bright side was, it looked like Cabin 5 had its own kitchen. Everything was chaos.

Clarisse, she spotted, was arm-wrestling a boy twice her size; Sherman Yang, Marinette remembered, the mean girl second in command. While his twin brother Mark watched, declaring he had winners.

This is it, Marinette thought, this is my life now.

           She took a deep breath and went over to the head of the Cabin; Clarisse.

“Hey! I got next!” Mark quickly said again.

“Good for you,” Marinette sniped at him      

Suddenly Clarisse slammed Sherman’s hand down and stood up victorious, “Yes, sucker! Who wants some?”

           Mark moved to speak but Marinette interrupted him, “Before your next… showdown? Where can I find my room, please?”

“Can it, squirt! I’m on a roll,” Clarisse said with a quick glance at her. Then the bigger girl stopped and did a double-take. “Well, well, well; if it is in Drakon-slayer herself.” She announced or rather yelled loudly. Causing heads to turn and the music to die down. “If I hadn’t seen the take-down myself, I’d never guessed that a dainty little thing like yourself would belong here.” She said the word dainty like it was dirty.

           Marinette lifted an eyebrow, “I get by. Larger opponents have a habit of overestimating their own abilities against us dainty little things. They tend to go down fast.”

           Clarisse just snorted, “We need to work on your trash talk.” She slapped Marinette on the back. “It’ll be good to have another girl around. To busy many boys stinking up the place.”

           That was when Marinette noticed that in the entire room, including herself, there were only five, maybe six girls, all various ages and races, in comparison to upwards of twenty guys. But it was clear that they were all related. They all had the same smug, mean expressions; the same authentic large builds, most even favored the goldish red-eye color that sort of looked like flames.

“Am I the shortest one here?” Marinette shouted angrily. “What the hell! No!”

           Sherman smirked, “Not the shortest. Billie just turned seven. And you’re like a foot taller than him… For now.”

           Marinette glared and took a step forward. Only to be pulled back by Clarisse, “Beat him up later, I’ll show you your room.”

           Turned out that there was another good thing about living in the Ares cabin. Since there were so few girls, she got her own room. It was a nicely sized, just a bit bigger than her room in Paris. The walls were black and grey. There was a surprisingly comfy queen-sized bed. But other than that there was nothing. Most of her stuff was already there waiting for her. Her things were a mix of pink, purples, and frills that stood out against the backdrop.

“We don’t usually get girly-girls in our cabin,” Clarisse shrugged. “A week ago, I’d have said you wouldn’t have last a day. Then you single-handedly took down a drakon; now I’m wondering if I should be worried about my spot as head of the cabin.”

           Marinette laughed, “No interest in running this cabin; too many boys.”

“You’ll get used to having brothers,” Clarisse leaned against the door. “Or at least to the smells. Sisters are easier. We stick together. We’re already thought of as weaker, and more delicate by the morons. Show ‘em who’s boss every chance you get.”

           Marinette nodded.

“Just keep the fighting in the house,” Clarisse warned. “Outside this cabin; we’re a unit. Us versus everyone else. And we play to win.”

           Living in Cabin 5 wasn’t as bad as Marinette thought. She had to quickly make some ‘touch this and I’ll annihilate you and dance your corpse’ rules; most of which was to keep her brothers out of her room. An unspoken rule was quickly established that if Marinette was wearing something really pretty; don’t with her mess with her; she played dirty. Ryan and Hunter, two of her more troublesome brothers, quickly learned when after fighting each in a mud pit decided to ruin Marinette’s new designed sunflower dress by throwing a few mud pies at her. The fury in the small girl’s eyes sent shivers through the rest of the cabin. The next day Ryan and Hunter woke up to their skin bright pink and glittering covering their rooms.

           Her brother Troy, a blond with red eyes, learned next. Marinette's new silk top ended up having to be thrown away. Troy woke up glued to the ceiling with hair dyed purple and his eyebrows gone.

           Then there was Chase and a cashmere sweater. Chase ended up tied in a room playing Disney princess movies on reruns for hours and hours. He didn’t speak for a week after.

           Kendall and Marinette’s new purse that somehow ended up on the roof of the Apollo cabin covered in mud and who knows what else. All of the stuff she had in it was missing and had to be located. He woke up in a giant seaweed wrap strapped to a spinning board. Marinette and three of his other sisters had knives in their hands. One of his sister, Megan, started to spin the board as Marinette threw the first knife, it landed next to his head.

           The last one was Blaise, the strongest, toughest, meanest of all Ares’ sons. He thought it was a good idea to throw Marinette in the lake, while she was wearing her newest outfit designed. She had spent weeks working on it. He laughed as she stared daggers at him, soaking wet. Blaise didn’t show up at the cabin that night.

           When he finally did, it was the next morning. He was covered in dirt, and he pointed an accusing finger at Marinette, “She buried me alive!”

That was when Clarisse decided it was time to sit Marinette down, “That’s not we fight.”

           Marinette crossed her arms, “You’re right. That’s how I go to war.” She huffed. “You told me to show them who’s boss.”

“Yeah; not traumatize them!”

“I feel like you’re splitting hairs.”

           Most of her siblings left her alone after that.

Marinette had also claimed dominion over the rarely used kitchen. She baked lots of treats that seemed to get even more of her rowdier brothers to let her be.

           On the downside, she did find herself against Annabeth in capture the flag again and again. The two girls, still best friends, slowly found themselves enjoying the rivalry.

           Marinette met her father a few months later.

           During the Christmas break, Marinette found herself visiting the camp while her parents went to China to visit a sick friend of her mother’s. She had known for weeks that she’d be spending her break there and had created the perfect dress for the winter solstice. It was a mix of silvers and golds that went just below her knees and had a lace bodice.  It was her first time getting to go Olympus during the winter solstice. She only ever went to the summer one since she only spent her summers at camp.

           She stood happily in her dress as she waited for Ares cabin to depart to meet the rest of the campers to leave to go to the city.

“Let’s be real here,” Marinette smiled sweetly to her brothers who eyed her wearily. “Ruin my dress and I’ll kill you all. As far as I’m concerned you’re all to blame, the one who does the crime will just get it the worst. Clear? Good.”

           Clarisse rolled her eyes. Trust her tough as nails brother to be scared to death of their smallest sister.

           Olympus was beautiful. It was a mix of white and with grand pillars and statues everywhere. All the campers had gotten mixed up as most as found their friends on the way there. Marinette stood with Annabeth and Will, from the Apollo cabin.

           The gods were quick to greet their kids, at least the ones that had been claimed. The ones who hadn’t been greet cheerfully by a bubbly Hermes, like they were his own. The kids who knew their godly parents went to go meet them. For the first time, Marinette looked around eagerly for her own godly parent for the first time.

           She found her siblings and glided through the crowd, passed Athena, where she lost Annabeth, passed Apollo, where she lost will, and nearly passed Aphrodite when a hand reached out and grabbed hers.

           Marinette looked up at the attached hand and found Aphrodite looking at her with a smile on her face.

“I believe you are one of mine, darling,” The goddess said. “And don’t you look absolutely beautiful tonight.”

           The bluenette blushed, “Actually, my lady, I belong in another cabin.”

“Oh?” Aphrodite eyed the girl as she was confused. “Who’s cabin is that?” All the beautiful campers were hers.

“Mine!” A voice growled. Ares dressed in all black leather and wore black sunglasses, seemed to glare through them. “Let my girl go, babe! We’ll talk later.”

           The goddess of love eyed the beautiful Asian girl and the gruff warrior she knew and her mind just couldn’t compute. “She’s yours? Are you sure?” She asked but let the girl of the little girl’s hand.

           Ares snorted. “She killed a Drakon and she’s only eleven. She’s mine.”

           Marinette smiled softly at the goddess before rushing over to her brothers and sisters; listening gladly as Ares relayed some of his most recent battle stories. Unaware of the rather ridiculous image is made. A pretty little girl dressed in a silver and gold Christmas dress, surrounded by a leather-wearing, mean-faced, giant warrior that no question if someone told them they were a biker gang.

           Then it was Ares turned to listen as one by one his kids relayed the latest up and goings at camp; mostly their victories. A lot had stories about the pranks they pulled. When asked who the toughest and scariest person in their cabin was; there was the usual Clarisse, Sherman, Ryan, and Blaise but Ares was surprised to hear Marinette’s name drop a few times from his sons’ mouths.

“Powderpuff,” Ares growled towards his daughter who blinked wide innocent eyes at him. “I hear you’re tough. How do you fight dressed like all of that!” He waved at her outfit.

           Marinette crossed her arms and glared at her dad, “I don’t how. About as easy as you do dressed as Danny from Grease.”

           Silence.

           Ares and Marinette glared at each other; each willingly the other to break.

“Shit,” Clarisse whispered a curse.

           Sherman leaned toward his twin Mark, “Who are we betting on?”

           Mark shrugged, “I don’t know. Dad’s a god. But Marinette’s mean. Could go either way.”

           Ares chuckled and walked over to tower over his youngest daughter, “I ain’t your brothers. I don’t scare easily; no fear in my eyes.” He ruffled her hair. “And I don’t like frills.” Ares pulls a bit at lacy ribbons attached to his daughter’s sleeve. Unfortunately, no matter how well designed, with his strength the material ripped. Loud enough for everyone to hear.

           There gasps from her siblings.

           Marinette’s eyes slowly went from her sibling to her father.

“Can you kill a god?” Blaise asked Clarisse.

           Kendall shrugged, “Marinette’s about to find out.”

           A cold smirk appeared on Marinette’s face, “Fear! Why do people say that? In movies, when up against the bad guy? Say there not afraid to die? As if the matters. What does you being afraid have to do with anything?”

           Ares eyes his daughter curiously. He didn’t get the reaction he knew he’d have gotten if he did that to any of his other kids. For now, he let the matter drop as he decided to relay another of his war stories. Unaware of the blue eyes that would disappear from the room.

“Hey!” Ares shouted, drawing everyone’s attention. “Where’s my bike! Someone took my bike.”

           Clarisse looked around, ready to raise hell with her father and her siblings when she noticed, someone was missing. She took her a second to realize what happened. “Shit,” She whispered.

“What?” Sherman asked.

“Marinette’s missing,” Clarisse hissed.

“So?” The Asian boy shrugged, and then the words hit him. “…No. She wouldn’t.”

           Blaise, who overheard their conversation, shook his head, “She would. Marinette really liked that dress.”

“Who’d do what?” Ares growled. “You know who took my bike?”

           Clarisse sighed, hopefully, her dad didn’t kill her youngest sister, “I’ll give ya a hint; she really likes frills and you really pissed her off tonight.”

           Ares took off his glasses, and pits of fire looked out at his children, his eyes narrowed. “Marinette stole my bike?”

           Kendall nodded, “If you get to her quick enough; you might be able to stop her from painting it pink.”

“…She wouldn’t,” The god of war said darkly. There were multiple snorts from his children.

           Clarisse pinched her nose, “Does anyone know how long she’s been gone. Anything more than an hour, and that bike’s history. There will be care bears from threatening.”

           No one answered.

           Ares growled and with a pop, he was gone.

           He showed back up a couple of hours later; still no bike and look positively furious. The other gods, particularly Hephaestus, looked beyond amused. Word had spread that the Princess of Ares’ cabin, Ares’ own daughter, had stolen his bike and ran off. All because of a ripped ribbon on her dress.

           Aphrodite nodded approvingly; it was a rather stunning dress, she’d of raised Tartarus herself over it.

           When the campers returned to camp, the Ares’ cabin members came to find Marinette waiting on the bike in the middle of the boxing ring.

“Who wants to go for a ride?”

           Everyone did. They all cheered as one by one, or two by two, they rode the bike around camp.

           The next morning at breakfast, Marinette was eating with Annabeth with the door flew opened and Ares stomped in. He glared at his daughter, “BIKE. NOW!”

           Marinette placed down her toast, “I want a new dress first.” She glared at her dad.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” He towered over her.

           Marinette blinked, not a drop of fear in her, “It’s not. Until I get a replacement dress for the one you ruined. You don’t get your bike. And you’ll never find it without me.”

“Marinette!” Ares roared.

“DAD!” Marinette yelled back.

           The campers could only watch as the strangest scene to ever hit Camp half-blood played out in front of them.

“I! You! GRR!” Ares howled before stumped away.

           It took a week and three more public confrontations for Ares to finally give in and ask Aphrodite to get his daughter a dress.

“Here, princess!” he shoved it at her.

           Marinette nodded, left the lunch hall, and returned with the bike; same as it ever was, apart from the red bow ribbons attached to it.

           Ares scoffed at the sighted, nodded at his daughter and was gone. He’d return two days later to hang out with his kids in their cabin. His bike parked out in front; a single red ribbon still tied a handlebar.

           From then on the campers knew one thing…

           Never mess with the Princess of War.

           Almost two years later, after thirteen-year-old Marinette would receive a pair of earrings and new destiny, all of Paris would learn the same lesson.

[ask-anti-cosmo]

The Return of Anti-Cosmo part 3

Part 1 Part 2

You hung the girly costume in your closet, thinking you’d give it away or modify it for Halloween. Small arms wrapped around you, making you try to swat at the owner.

“Aw, you missed me!” Anti-Cosmo grinned. “I’ve repaid my debt and can now roam as I please!” he said, sounding a little too pleased with himself.

“Good for you. Now how does that ‘We’ll go our separate ways' thing sound?” you huffed.

“Aw, come now! Surely you've come to like me a little.” He poked at you with his wand.

“Knock it off! You’re more like an annoying little brother!” you said and walked from him.

“I can be big if I want to!” he said as his body morphed into the shape of an adult human male. You tried not to look impressed and went to the fridge for some blood. “See? More like a hot step-brother.” He said and winked.

You glanced back and sighed. “Fine, I’ll give you that.”

“So…you know what it’s like to have a brother I take it? Did you have one?” Anti-Cosmo asked.

You shot him a mild glare.

“Come now, I’ve been open with you, now it’s you’re turn!” he insisted.

“Fine, yes I had a brother. Lost him to Polio.” You huffed.

“Polio huh? Let’s see, the vaccine was made in 1954, so your brother passed away before then~?” he asked.

“What’s with that tone?” you glared.

“Just trying to figure out your age~ not simply ‘decades’ old are you?” he teased.

“Neither are you Mr. Centuries!” you huffed.

“Want to know a secret? I’m the youngest Anti-fairy in existence.” He stated proudly.

“What?? Are you serious?” you frowned.

“Indeed, an Anti-fairy can only be born when a fairy is born. Ever since my counterpart was born and destroyed countless cities and lives, the fairies ban themselves from having anymore children. We’re all immortal anyways so it’s not like having more offspring is too terribly important.”

“So you’ll never have kids?”

“Never.” He concluded firmly. “Even if I did want children, it’s not up to me. And my counterpart would be the last fairy alive they’d choose to have the first baby in centuries.”

“Huh…that’s sad.”

“If you knew him you’d know it’d be for the best.”

“I know you, and I can tell you certainly don’t deserve children.”

“Sticks and stones darling. Now then, it’s time to go find the one who put me in that safe.” Anti-Cosmo said and cracked his knuckles.

“You’re going to find her?” you asked eagerly.

“One turn deserves another “ he said and poofed up a spinning grindstone wheel and sharpened his wand against it for a minute.

“…I’m going with you.” You said.

He looked at you surprised. “I thought you didn’t care about me.”

“Well maybe I want to congratulate her.” You said sarcastically. “or learn her secrets.”

“Perfect, so do I. There is no way she could have known all of that information of my weaknesses just from what her grandmother knew. I never even told my doll about butterfly nets! Ooh, and maybe if she’s still alive, I’d see her too…” he grinned wickedly.

“She’d be an old lady.” You told him.

“No doubt, I’m used to that fact.” He shrugged. “I could easily make her much younger in an instant anyhow, so either way it doesn’t matter to me.” He said, swinging his wand slightly.

“That easy huh?” you asked in surprise.

“It would be easier to have an extra drink of blood.” He said, looking at you expectantly.

“No way bozo, you’re as dumb as your counterpart if you think I’d agree to that.” You folded his arms. His eye twitches at the insult.

“I need some kind of payment for you coming along to my revenge plan, it takes magic to teleport things to other places you know. Think of it as gas money.” He said and held his hand out to you.

You glared at his hand then at him again.

“Let me have some blood or you get to stay here while I go after the *beep* who locked me away.” He glared back, now looking impatient.

“Well look who got all entitled after I saved you from said safe.” You snarled. “for someone who preached about equal exchange, I haven’t received much thanks other than unwarranted touching and mocking.”

“Oh sweet summer child…” he said and your blood suddenly went cold. Not just a shivering feeling, your blood literally felt cold, as if it was freezing, slowing and hardening. Anti-Cosmo’s wand glowed with a vicious darkness. “What makes you think I owe you anything after you bit me?” he asked.

“I-if you hold you o-own b-blood in such high reg-gard…” you shivered before leaning forward and biting his arm, breaking the skin through his sleeve. The black shimmering blood escaped his flesh and tingled in your mouth, soaking his clothing.

He stared at you with amusement. “Well, you can’t deny now that we’re even. But if this is what it takes to avoid hurting your pride…” he shrugged and pulled his arm and your face closer before biting your shoulder. You grunted, unused to the sensation and started to feel light headed as your blood warmed and ran into his mouth. You started to struggle and bite harder, but he only laughed at you.

He took one last swallow before letting you go. “There now, I have my payment and you didn’t have to agree to it.” He smirked.

You let go of his arm. “That is not how deals work!!”

“You bit me, so I assumed it was fine to bite you back. What else was I supposed to assume?”

“Listen here you-“

“Magic for blood is my deal you asked for magic, so I took my payment.” He frowned and folded his arms. “You took my blood for releasing me. That made us even. Now that you’ve asked me to use my magic to help you come with me, it’s a deal.”

“Then hurry and finish up your end!” you growled, rubbing your bite mark.

“Nobody likes a whiner.” He huffed and waved his wand, making it glow darkly like it did before.

You felt your feet remove themselves from the ground and fell in a fancy old house. You stumbled from the strange Sensation of being picked up and set down magically. The house looked as though it was starting to be neglected, as if there was a single maid to do everything and wasn’t keeping up. The fact it was night didn’t help with how scary it was looking either.

“My my it has been quite some time~” Anti-Cosmo mused and began to walk around. “Looking a bit more haunted than I remember, but it no doubt belongs to my doll.”

“Does she still live here?” you frowned.

“Hmm…” Anti-Cosmo grinned and started to walk across the floor towards the stairs. He began to step upwards with a rhythmic sway and started to hum for a minute before beginning to sing.

“Places, places, get in your places~ throw on your dress and put on your doll faces…” he chimed, dancing up the stairs in a dancing manor. “Everyone, thinks that you’re perfect, please don’t let them look through the surface.”

He made it to the top of the stairs. He kept stepping to the beat of the song he sang so creepily, his voice echoing through the haunted halls. “Picture, picture, smile for the picture~ Pose with your brother, won’t you be a good SISTER?!” He yelled the last word and you heard a loud shriek echo through the house. You both could hear a set of footprint run from upstairs.

Anti-Cosmo giggled softly and motioned you to follow him. You swallowed and followed him up to a hallway with a room at the end. Inside the room, you could hear a woman crying and another comforting her. Anti-Cosmo grinned cruelly and became to sing again as he walked down the hall slowly.

“D-o-l-l h-o-u-s-e, I see things that nobody else sees. D-o-l-l h-o-u-s-e, I see things that nobody else sees.” He sang creepily before opening the door. Inside was a grown woman, comforting an old lady with hair curlers and lots of scars on her neck. They looked like bite marks, from a child sized mouth. “Hello again, my little doll.” Anti-Cosmo grinned wickedly.

The old lady whimpered at the sight of him, shrinking away and trying to hide behind the younger one.

“You…I buried you in the ocean, how are you here?!” the younger woman said.

“Ah yes, well this lovely dear freed me. We have a lot in common you see~” he said as he touched your face. You slapped his hand away.

“Knock it off you creep.” You huffed.

“I have never called you back…go away, I don’t want anything from you…” the old woman sobbed.

“Yet you send your lovely grand daughter to hunt me down and disengage my interaction with human lives?” he frowned.

“I did not send her…”

“I went on my own! Grandmother told the stories of everything awful you did! Creating worst problems than what she had before you came! You are an evil creature that doesn’t deserve life!” the younger woman yelled at him.

“She knew the price when making a deal with the devil.” Anti-Cosmo yawned. “What do you think, does granny deserves another life? I certainly think so, she used to have the most perfect porcelain face…” he said before waving his wand.

The grandma suddenly began to grow younger, but not just that, you noticed her skin began to shine and her eyes gloss over, looking more and more like a real ceramic doll.

“No! Leave her alone!! I’m the one you want!” the younger woman insisted. “I trapped you!”

“Indeed you did.” He glared and waved his wand at her. Her arms were suddenly chained down to the floor. Walls of a safe began to enclose around her, making her panic. They suddenly stopped.

Anti-Cosmo stepped closer to her. He waved away the safe wall that was in front of him so he could look her in the eye. “How did you know my weaknesses?” he glared. “You knew with too much exactness, and I never told your granny such things. Not even most fairies know as much as you did.” He glared and pointed his wand at her.

“I…I tried to Summon you.” She admitted. “Granny said you were everything opposite to Fairies, so I looked up ways to Summon fairies and…did the opposite of them. I even did it on a Friday the 13th…”

Anti-Cosmo narrowed his eyes. “Clever, but obviously you didn’t succeed.”

“Actually I did, just not in summoning you.” She said and hissed in pain as the chains around her arms tightened. You felt pity for these two women the Anti-fairy tormented and tried to think of a way to get AC off their backs.

“Who did you summon?” Anti-Cosmo hissed. “NAME THEM.”

“Ah…Anti-Binky…” she whimpered.

You almost laughed at the silly sounding name, but seeing the rage in Anti-Cosmo’s face got ride of that feeling. “He told you how to imprison me?!” he asked angrily.

“H-he said to pick a Sunday the 7th…that you’d be the most weak on that day, and to be sure I was your only target…to have the safe lined with butterfly netting and to keep your wand far from you…”

You started making mental notes of said weaknesses just in case. Especially with the plan you decided to put in place to save these two.

“I see…” Anti-Cosmo said before stepping back. “Well then, I know who to go for next. That little boil have been seeking my crown for centuries.” He huffed. The walls of the safe around the younger woman began to close in around her again.

You decided to start your plan.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Reader avoiding Erik because he got rough with her after play fighting/having intense rough sex.

The reader is experienced but she ain’t used to this type of fucking.

Warnings: HARDCORE SMUT. 

She left around 6:00 am, he was snoring like a damn bear. Y/N called that Uber real quick. She couldn’t handle his wild ass. Too many marks on her skin, legs like spaghetti, pussy sore and quivering. Back sore like she had osteoarthritis, braids a damn mess. This was the last time she fucked him. Y/N could be woman enough and admit it.

In her ride home, she could not stop thinking about that night though. He put a hurting on her. She covers her face, the visuals too explicit and vivid. He was gonna be so damn mad she left and she would take that blame. She had to chicken out on him.

Like clockwork, he was blowing her phone UP. She just watched it ring on silent, thinking about blocking his ass but that was too extreme. He’d probably hunt her down:

8 hrs ago: Erik’s New Bachelor Pad

Currently, Erik has Y/N thrown over his shoulder, making her laugh and giggle. She had finally given in to coming over and seeing him. Erik didn’t like to beg but he hounded Y/N to come over to his new spot. They had been seeing each other for a few months after meeting on Tinder. His profile picture on Tinder showed nothing but his mouth lined with a gold grill, description simple yet inviting.

My name is Erik, but you can call me Kill if you like.

She tried her luck, shooting her shot and now here they were, Erik’s tipsy ass in full-on play mode, lifting Y/N up and twirling her around like she weighed nothing. She was 200 pounds with a whole lot of ass, titties, and some stomach. Each time he stopped twirling her, he would grab her ass with both hands, Y/N’s body freezing up. Did he want to have sex? Was this his way of initiating it because she was so damn goofy? If so, she was nervous. Y/N wasn’t so confident with herself physically. She’s a beautiful full-figured black woman and Erik wanted her to know that he didn’t care, he liked them heavy and soft.

“Okay, I’m getting dizzy now,” Y/N swings her legs, “let me down, Kill.”

“Nah,” His voice was all raspy and dangerous, “I wanna play.”

She felt herself growing warm.

“Play how?” She tugged at his crinkled dreads since he had them braided before.

“I like the way you sound when you giggle and tell me to stop,” He twirls her again, a streak escaping her mouth. She was just so...soft.

“Stop it, Kill,” Erik mocks her with a fake girly voice.

“Forreal, I’m gonna throw up!!!” She smacks the back of his head, “let me down, nigga!!!”

“You wanna play fight?” He pulls her from his shoulder, wrapping her legs around his waist, “you hitting people you must want me to hit you back.”

“Fuck outta here,” The high pitched way she said that from Erik tickling her sides had him thrusting his hips forward. He wanted this plump sexy bitch. He just knew her pussy was so fucking good. She wasn’t gonna fuck this up for him tonight, he wanted his dick wet. On top of all of that, she was a straight-up tease, talked a lot of shit over the phone but in person, she wanted to play shy and hide, Nah, she should have told him no about coming over.

“What?” He had a glint in his eyes, “you think I won’t?”

Erik slaps her thigh really hard, so hard Y/N had to do a double-take and look at this nigga like he lost his marbles. That shit legit hurt but Erik was heavy-handed so it was expected.

“Ouch,” she glared at him, “That was harder than how I hit you!!!”

She mushed him, Erik taking her hand in his tight grip and biting it. She screeched, drawing her hand back from his mouth. That nigga bit like he had fangs.

“FUCK!!! Okay, you ain’t about to bite me with the teeth I will bite your ass back. You play too much now.”

Erik just laughed at her, biting his lip before palming her ass, “you should have stayed home then, you knew I was gonna trap you.”

Y/N blinked down at him, a nervous feeling crowding her. So he was gonna call her out about teasing him? Bet. He should have known she was shy with that shit in person.

“Let me down now.”

“Not until you tell me what you want me to do to you. Remember how I told you bitches would go running when they fuck with me? I’ll have your ass limping out of this house.”

Y/N pushed at Erik’s chest, his grip around her waist so damn tight he was cutting into her skin with his biceps. She pointed a stern finger at him, Erik laughing at the cute chubby finger and the long red nails she had.

“You taking this playing shit too far, I don’t wanna play no more.”

Her resolve was slipping, he just had to go and say that to her. Now she felt shredded of whatever confidence she had tonight. The soft playing was easier not this sexual shit. Erik snapped her out of her inner turmoil by putting her back over his shoulder again, walking her to his bedroom. She swung her legs, Erik tickling her feet. She couldn’t help but laugh. He had a hold on her again.

“Oh my God!! You literally have no chill.”

Erik opens his door, Darkness ahead. She couldn’t really make out anything except for the faint smell of maple and cedarwood. Out of nowhere, Erik tosses her on the bed, her body bouncing and shirt riding up to reveal her stomach. She tried to pull it down but Erik was over her now, grabbing her hands to stop her. The plush skin around her abdomen from this angle was mouth-watering. Y/N was the type of girl to make a nigga cum four times in the pussy. She had all the right amount of softness that drove Erik crazy. She really didn’t know how wild and rough Erik could be, but she was going to find out tonight. She smelled good, hair was done in these cute feed-in braids with baby hairs, tight jeans on, mmmm.

“What color underwear you got on?” Erik took his fingers, pulling at the button on her jeans, “you wearing lace? I bet that shit look good stretched over all that ass.”

“I-Don’t worry about it.” She wiggles beneath him, giving up and breathing heavily. The way her large chest moved, he was losing his sanity.

“Kill, get up!” Y/N brought her knees to her chest, pushing at his body with them, “Stop playing!”

“Stop playing,” He mocked her again. She kissed her teeth and rolled those big brown eyes. She was so damn fine shit was otherworldly.

“I’m being for real, Kill!” She starts whining, “oh my God.”

“Girl shut that shit up!!!” He says through clenched teeth. Y/N flenched as her eyes bore into his. He wasn’t going to stop, he was gonna keep ongoing. Y/N wasn’t used to this at all with a man. What was he going to do to her? She felt so weak beneath him. When Kill wanted something he was gonna get it and the way he fucking looked at her...

“You doing too much!”

“Stop acting like you don’t like it.”

He had his face buried in her neck now while he held her hands above her head. She felt like she had shackles around her wrists with how hard he was holding them. She could feel her hands shaking like she was losing circulation. His facial hair tickled and it was too overwhelming for her. Y/N began to wiggle again, kicking at his thighs, whimpering. He liked her helpless with nowhere to run, so she was only making it better for him. Y/N looked down at the exposed skin of his shoulder, taking her teeth to bite hard. Erik hisses, the sound coming out so smooth and sexy. He lifts, giving Y/N access to move. She pushed from beneath him, grabbing a pillow as a shield.

“AHT AHT!!! That’s it, no more, Kill.”

She really thought a pillow would stop him.

“Girl,” he kisses his teeth with a smirk, getting on his knees at the end of the bed before moving towards her, “you really think that pillow gonna stop me? I’ll rip that shit in half. You fucking with a beast, girl.”

Her face hides behind the pillow and the moment she did that, Erik pulls on it, Y/N holding on for dear life to keep a barrier between them. He was too damn much. No wonder bitches ran away.

“Eeeek!” She started laughing, her eyes watering from how hard she laughed. Y/N gave her all but Erik was practically lifting her from the bed with how hard he pulled on that pillow.

“Just let go,” He didn’t even break out a sweat, “let go before I beat your fucking ass.”

“Back away demon,” she could officially say she can’t handle Erik. If he was this insatiable with playing he was sure to knock her lights out when they fuck.

“Get the fuck off the pillow Y/N,” he speaks with a warning. She could see his biceps and pecs bulging from how hard he pulled. Her fingers were slipping and she was sweaty. Erik straddles her thighs, holding her in place so she wouldn’t move. He scrunches his face, dimples deeper than a 7ft pool. Without breaking a sweat, Erik successfully grabs the pillow before hitting Y/N with it hard upside her head nonstop. She tried reaching for the other pillow but the blows he was giving to her head had her falling back each time.

“SHIT!! OKAY!!!! Truce,” she looked between her fingers at him, watching as his chest moved up and down rapidly, mouth parted and that pillow up above his head. She admired his body from this angle, her eyes were unable to deny the fact that he was one sexy motherfucker. Erik tossed the pillow to the floor, reaching for her once again. He takes his hand, wrapping her braids around it and pulling. It was definitely meant to hurt her for sure. He looked pissed off...Nah, maybe sexually frustrated.

“Why you got my hair like that,” Y/N asks with a small voice.

“Why you keep blocking my advances? I want some pussy, Y/N.”

“Erik,” she kept her knees drawn to her chest, “I’m scared.”

“Why?” He pulls her hands from her face, settling between her legs, “You hit me up, remember? All that shit you was talking.”

He had his face against her neck again, French kissing her there, Y/N’s mouth going wide. She really liked that. He was so damn persuasive.

“Remember you told me how that pussy stay wet? You remember that?”

She could not fight the growing nerves inside of her.

“Didn’t I just ask you a fucking question, Y/N?”

“YES,” she gave him attitude.

“The fuck you talking to?”

Erik grabs her neck, making her look up at him. The sharp breath she took in had his dick jumping and rubbing against her plush thighs. Fuck, she was ruining his ass.

“Nobody!” She tries to move her head away.

“Nah, keep that same fucking energy.”

Erik lifts to a kneeling position over her body.

“Take all this off. Now.”

“No.”

“Ared then ima fucking do it.”

Y/N fiddled with her fingers, legs moving from side to side. He squinted his eyes and tilted his head.

“You wanna play again, baby girl?”

What was he doing to her? He was so manipulative.

“What now?” She sounded defeated.

“Its a little game called how many licks.”

She froze beneath him, Erik’s hands on her knees, spreading her clothed thighs.

“You let me lick that pussy, and if I make you cum with this mouth, which I know I will, you gotta let me do whatever the fuck I wanna do to that pussy.”

“...That’s not a fair game...”

It’s just eating pussy. To be honest, the shit never wowed her. The few times a nigga had the pleasure of grazing her clit with their tongue or slurping her slit with their lips it was mediocre, half the time she couldn’t feel anything but hard forced licks in one area. He was fine as hell, talked real good and nasty but was he really about it? He did say girls ran away. It could be that he wasn’t who he claimed to be.

A killer of pussy.

“You like eating pussy it seems,” Y/N could remember all the times he would casually bring up at the most random times how he was craving some pussy in his mouth or how obsessed with that shit he was.

“You say that like it’s a fucking problem. Forreal, you talking a lot of shit. Watch your mouth and let me show you.”

It was all or nothing. She was curious no matter how nervous.

“Fine.”

Erik went to work, undoing her tight jeans, slipping them past her legs. He made these deep-chested sounds, mumbling something with a shake of his head. Jeans off, he stares at what he wanted to see earlier. She had on a red thong with a black heart over the crotch. She had to be prepared.

“Oh look at this shit right here,” Erik slaps her pussy, Y/N trying to close her thighs but Erik was so damn swift. He had her legs all the way spread open like the peace sign. This made her pussy lips spread, the phat skin spilling out the sides of the thong. She could feel her wetness cooling against the open air. Her thighs shook nervously.

“Fuck playing that game.”

She tried pulling her legs but Erik’s hard grip on her lower legs kept her still. He was practically digging his nails into her skin.

“Ima eat the pussy, and ima make you cum, and then ima fuck the pussy and make you cum some more,” he smiles, humored by her sweaty face.

“Fuck you,” she starts to shiver. He was too much.

“Oh, it’s gonna happen. I sware to God,” He pounds his fist into his hand, “I’m gonna beat -that-pussy-up, you here me? Beat-that-shit-up.” Each time he said he was gonna beat it up he would punch his open palm to emphasize beating, his muscles flexed each time.

“Oh my God,” she panicked.

“You’ll be saying that too, say whatever you want I don’t care.”

Erik takes his hand, fisting her thong and ripping it off. It hurt, shit felt like rug burn on her hips and ass. Then, he lifts her up, pulling her shirt and bra off at the same damn time. Her titties popped out, her hands automatically coming up to cover them but Erik slaps her hands away, the large fleshy mounds bouncing free again. He reaches forward, pinching her nipples. She thrust her chest forward, hissing in pain. He starts pulling her nipples, twirling then flicking them.

“Big ass nipples, I bet these bitches hurt your back. It’s cool, I’ll hold em up for you,” he shakes them, “Ima put my dick between these and cum on your face and chin. Then ima make you lick it up and show me...”

Erik slaps her titties, mesmerized by how they bounced. She scrunched her face, looking down at the reddening skin.

“Kill, stop it, it hurts.”

“For now.”

She swallows spit. He focused his attention on her pussy again, pushing her down to the bed. He pinched her hips, the feeling from him ripping her panties still there.

“Ouch,” she whines timidly. She could feel the sides of her hips whelp up.

“So damn sexy, Y/N.” He finally looks down between her legs, “Girl, you got me in here drooling.”

She couldn’t look at him at all. He didn’t like that, grabbing her chin to make her look at him. Her cheeks were pinched all cute, lips wet and plump.

“You better look at me while I eat this pussy.”

“Ugh, okay.” She gives in. Just because she gave in that doesn’t mean she wasn’t nervous and ready to run away. Erik got down on his stomach, the view he provided hypnotizing her. She could see down the valley of his back, all the way to that plump ass of his with his jeans and boxers pushing lower on his hips from his position. He was making those same grunting noises and it had Y/N’s eyes fluttering away. This was too much and he didn’t even taste her juicy pussy yet.

“Ugh, fuck, you got the pinkest, wettest pussy I’ve had the pleasure of staring at.”

“Stop...” she was losing her resolve.

“Stop,” he mocks her.

Y/N��s lower lip trembles.

His tongue made her jolt. This was different from what she was used to for sure. It made her shudder from her skin to her nerve endings. It was just one...fucking...swipe. The way her eyes rolled reminded her of the exorcist but to Erik, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He did it again and again, using his lips from time to time to suck on her phat pussy...the juicy box tasting like a whole cake. She let her head fall back, stomach jiggling from how hard she moved.

“Yeah...what was all that talk?”

She was quiet. He started eating her again, hitting all the spots she liked to hit on herself.

“Kill!!!!” She tried keeping her cries to herself but the overflow of her orgasm made her wail. Erik laughs, Y/N’s thighs damn near squeezing his head. He parts her thighs, her hips sore from staying opened. Erik went at it again, his eyes on her and Y/N looking away each time their eyes connected. She was curious to see how he made her cum for the first time with that tongue but at the same time his eyes...they were too intense.

“You keep looking away...what I tell you about that?”

Erik yanks her legs towards the end of the bed. She pulled at his sheets, bringing that with her too.

“What are you doing?!!!”

“Teaching you a fucking lesson since you wanna be a fucking brat. If I tell you to look at me, you do that shit,” His eyes were ablaze. Face all glossy, Erik flips her over, arching her back. She tried to strain her neck to look at him, but he held her head down with his hand, her face suffocating in the sheets. He was so damn rough with it. Was she even gonna have legs left to run away.

“Kill, please!!!”

“Shut your fucking mouth, bitch.”

“Wha-FFFFFUCKKKKKK.”

He was tonguing her again from the back. She felt him slap her ass over and over, the pain making her curl up. She could feel tears prickle her eyes.

“Ouch, Kill,” she was crying into his blanket. He didn’t listen, his palm and nail prints in her ass. Her cheeks felt so hot and sore. She hoped she would still have skin left.

“I’m beating that phat juicy ass?” His hands rubbed soothingly, “big ass butt. You got too much ass on you.”

His face was buried in her pussy again. Y/N reaches back, trying to push his head away.

“Oh, oh my God, Kill, Kill, Killlllllllllllllllll.”

She was cumming again, hand waving in the air before slamming down onto the bed. She fell onto the bed, Erik giving her another round of thunderous slaps. She was about to faint. It hurt but at the same time, it felt...so good.

“Kill, nooooooooo,”

“YES.”

He stops, rubbing her again before kissing her all over her ass. She melted, teeth biting down on the blanket. He gave her a few seconds, undressing fully.

“I want you to see what I'm about to pound that pussy with. Turn the fuck around.”

She weakly looked at him, her eyes puffy. The minute she looked at his dick, she let her mouth drop open wide. HOLY FUCK. Mercy...he was...

“You don’t think it’s gonna fit?” He smirks.

“You are too fucking much,” she could feel her pussy twitching though.

“Ima make this dick fit,” He walked towards her.

She started shaking again. Erik grabs her hips, putting her into position.

“Nah, let me do it, you gotta arch like this...yeah...like that...that’s the best way to arch your fucking back, baby girl. That’s how you give that pussy up.”

Her thigh muscles disagreed with her. She waited, her fingers grabbing fist fulls of the blanket.

“Aye, look back at it. I want you to count each stroke I give this pussy.”

“Another game?!!!”

His hand came up to slap her ass again, Y/N reaching out with panic to stop him.

“OKAY!!! Oh my God, kill, okay.”

She sighs with defeat, keeping her eyes on him. Erik takes his dick, slapping her pussy with it. The creamy sounds her pussy made embarrassed her.

“You ready?”

She closed her eyes.

“No response? Okay...”

He placed himself at her quivering whole, his silence eerie.

“Kill-“

He cut her off abruptly, thrusting fully inside. She held her breath, eyes on him like he just took something from her. That look had him pulling all the way out, then thrusting back in, his balls hitting her clit.

“Like that?” Damn, he was all the way in her.

“I don’t hear you counting.”

“Two.”

“Good girl.”

Her lip trembles, the dick so deep in her pussy. Erik pulls out slow again, thrusting forward sharp.

“Three.” She watched him no matter how difficult.

“You can’t take it, can you? Too much? Count...”

“Ffffuck, four...”

“You can’t handle it can you?”

“Nooooo,” she whines.

“I believe it, too fucking bad though I want this good pussy.”

“FIVE!!!!” She almost fell flat but Erik has her shoulders. He picked up the pace. She kept her eye on him, tears falling and all. He just stares at her like the beating he was putting on her pussy wasn’t nothing. He was killing her pussy.

“I can’t take it! It’s so big and so deep!”

She was cumming, their staring contest ended, her eyes rolling up into her cranium almost. He didn’t even stop fucking her. She was overly sensitive, body sore, probably marked up too.

“You better lay there like a good bitch and take this dick!!!!”

“Aaahhhhhh!!!!”

“Got me back here all in this pussy!!!! You gonna let me cum in this pussy?! I wanna cum all over you, girl.”

He pulls out, looking at his rock hard dick covered in cream.

“All this cream.”

She looked at it, her chest growing tight.

“Come slurp up the mess you made.”

She knew better than to tell him no. She lifts up, crawling to him. Grabbing his dick, she puts her lips around him. Her taste on his equally tasty dick had her moaning.

“See, I told you. You taste like sugar, baby girl.”

She enjoyed this. Twirling her tongue and getting him all nice and wet with spit.

“I like the way those fat cheeks look when you suck my dick.”

Erik pulls out, smacking her on the cheeks with it.

“Spread your legs and hold that puss open.”

She fell back, fingers reaching down to keep her soaking wet pussy open. She allowed him to crawl over her, grabbing her legs to put over his shoulder. Erik slaps her clit with his dick before sinking back into her tight slit. She gasped at him, his lips on her nipples, biting them. The pain mixed with pleasure overwhelmed her. He snapped his hips into hers, the movement pushing her along the bed. She had one hand on his chest trying to slow him up but he was not stopping.

“Don’t push at me, this pussy feels too good to leave.”

“It’s too...m-muchhhhhh.”

“You like it though...look at the way I fuck you, LOOK!”

She looked, the vision like a heatwave.

“You see the way I do this,” he rolls his hips in her like he was slow grinding, “like how I do that don’t you?” He tilted his head down at her.

“It’s hella deep.” She moans.

He was dragging over her spot.

“Yeah...and this pussy hella tight. You know what I do to right pussy?”

He increased the tempo. She was looking at him with weak eyes. The way he had her folded...

“Ooooooo, Kill!!!! Oh my God. No fucking way you can fuck me like this!!!”

“This what I do to tight pussy...”

“Uh-Huh,” she froze, squirting on him now.

He was drilling, up in her like he was doing push-ups. She had full-on tears streaming down her face. After about two more strokes, Erik was swelling up, the snug fit really bussing her pussy wide open.

“Damn, your shit is really wide for all this dick. Sexy thick bitch.”

He was cumming, he grunted, his eyes hard and piercing. She held his gaze like she was paralyzed.

“Mhmm, mhmm, I’m gonna cum all over and cum in you. Shit, you so damn tight around me!!”

He spilled inside of her.

“Y/N. I’m telling you now. You better not leave. I am fucking you all night. Good fucking pussy on you.”

He gave her a sloppy kiss before lifting from her to get a warm wet rag. She let his words sink in while she tried to figure out how to get up. All night? What the hell...

“Let me see.”

Erik got on his knees, spreading her pussy. He smiles, loving his cum everywhere and hers. She was swollen and so damn wet and creamy. Gushing on the fucking bed.

“If I fuck this pretty pussy all night you gonna let me fill you up again? I like the sight of my cum all over this pussy like this.”

“Kill, I need a break.” Or maybe a leave of absence.

He kisses his teeth, “you’ll get one. But then I’m getting in this shit again.”

@tgigoldie​ @soufcakmistress​ @chefjessypooh​ @chaneajoyyy​ @pananegra​ @theblulife​ @becincere​ @blaqwidow91​ @fish-outta-watah​ @moonlight-night-sky​ @eyeknowmywrites​  @crowngold​ @njadakillthiscookie​ @blktinkerbell​ @luvanxi​ @sheisexcellent1​ @chocolatedippedinhoney​  @brandithecrystalgem​ @dababydababydababydababy​ @soulfulbeauty19​ @btitannaaa​ @sunkissedebony97​ @youngblackndgifted​ @harleycativy​ @rbhp​ @thee-germanpeach​ @thadelightfulone​ @bugngiz​

[etherealwaifgoddess]

One In A Million - Chpt.2

Summary: Rose navigates her first few hours in 1941 and makes an unexpected discovery in an alley way.

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! We’re back in 1941 now and the plot set up is rolling! I did a lot of research on the 1940′s when I was writing this fic because I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. So I hope that comes through as the fic progresses. Also, can anyone guess who Rose stumbles across in an alley? Hehe... I just can’t image who... XOXO - Ash

Chapter Two

Your eyes struggle to adjust in darkness after the blinding light and you hope for a minute that you didn’t blow the electricity in the lab. The faint smell of dampness and dust gives you hope though. You take a tentative step forward and collide with a piece of furniture, a desk you realize as you run your hands along it. You fumble around finding a lamp and switching it on, thankful for the gentle illumination. The basement is filled with shelves of boxes and two desks. The manila envelope on the desk bears the SSR logo and you realize you’ve actually done it. You check the watch in your pocket and mark down the time on your notepad, subtracting ten seconds for your fumbling around. The devices to set up are barely visible tacks which you quickly place in spots not easily seen. Now you just need the date and to find Agent Wilson. 

The first floor of the SSR office is buzzing with people. It’s four thirty and everyone is scrambling to finish their work before the office closes at five. The late day sun shines through the large glass windows that line the far side of the room and you feel like you’ve stepped onto a movie set. The room around you feels surreal, even as it dawns on you that you’ve done it. You actually time traveled. 

“Can I help you, ma’am?” a young man in a pale blue suit asks you. 

“Yes, have you seen Agent Wilson around?” you ask, hoping your search for him doesn’t take too long. You have a few bills in your pocket just in case you don’t find him right away but not enough to get by for more than a week on. 

The man nods and points back to a closed wooden office door, “He just got back this morning, should still be in his office.” 

You thank the man and weave your way through the room to the office. Knocking twice firmly, you wait until a gruff voice calls out, “Come in.”  You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and open the door. 

Agent Wilson is a tall older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and a lithe build accentuated by his neatly tailored suit. He’s hunched behind his desk, squinting at a file and only looks up once you’re right in front of his desk. “How can I help you, Ms….?”

You extend your hand politely but shake your head, “I was told to give you this.” you tell him and hand over the card. 

Wilson appraises you for a moment with a quirked brow, “I haven’t had any Sparrows show up here in quite some time.” 

You nod but don’t give him any further information.

“We’ll get you set up then. I’m assuming you need a permanent placement?” 

You nod again, “Yes, please.”

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back.” 

“Thank you.” you call after him. The heavy door swings shut and you’re left sitting in the quiet office. 

True to his word, Wilson returns less than five minutes later with a file in hand. It had been just enough time for you to locate his day calendar and write down the date, November 6th, 1941. You’ll have to make a few adjustments to narrow down the window of time for jumps when you get back. You’re about eighteen months off of the intended target date. “You’re all set Miss Miller.” 

You look down to the file and see your new name for the first time. “Please, Agent Wilson, call me Rose.” 

Wilson chuckles and returns your cheeky smile. “Your apartment is four blocks from here. You’ll have all weekend to settle in and then you’re due in at 8am on Monday for work. I trust you have some skills that we can utilize here at SSR?” 

“I’m great with data entry.” you offer, knowing a lifetime of using computers will put you at a distinct advantage. 

“Excellent. Talk to Marge when you get in and we’ll find something for you.” 

“Thank you.” you say earnestly, so grateful that the plans you laid in place are going smoothly.

“Of course, Rose.”  He gives you a kind, sympathetic smile, “We’ll see you Monday.”

You nod and bid him goodbye, leaving the SSR office and heading out into the brisk November air. The streets are busy with people heading home for the weekend and you find it easy to lose yourself in the crowd. The accents around you sound thicker, more authentically Brooklyn if that’s possible, and the clothes people are wearing in varying pastels and neutrals are fascinating in how different they are from what you expected. You’ll have to go shopping over the weekend and get a few things. First things first though, you need a winter coat and to find your bank to withdraw some money. 

You trade a dime for a cup of hot coffee and a Hershey’s bar from a news stand and realize the twenty dollars in your pocket will go a bit further than you had expected. You’re strolling down a block of shops looking in the windows trying to find one that sells coats when you hear a scuffle coming from an alleyway. You hurry over to see a broad shouldered man looming over what looks like a boy, pummeling him and tearing at the worn leather bag he’s clinging to. You know you should keep moving, it’s not a lady’s place in this time and you don’t want to risk causing a scene or getting yourself seriously injured. But you never did follow rules very well. “Hey!” you yell down the alley as you stalk towards the man with more confidence than you feel. “Knock it off you asshole!”

The man whips around, fury plain on his face, “You got quite a mouth on you, girlie.” 

“Yeah and I got quite a fist too. You wanna stop beating up kids and try your luck with a woman instead?” you glare, challenging him.

“How about I teach you some manners instead?” The man comes towards you with a slow predatory gait and you breathe through the fear rising up in your throat, remembering your self defense training. The man’s hand reaches out to grab your hair and you use your speed and momentum to twist his hand back sharply and force him down to his knees, howling in pain. 

“What the fuck lady?” the man screams, clutching his wrist. He stares at you for a moment before hurrying out of the alley, still holding his injured hand close. 

“You okay?” you ask, turning around to check on the boy who was being attacked. He pushes his flop of golden blonde hair back from his face and you realize he’s not a boy at all. “Oh shit.” you murmur. 

“I had him on the ropes.” Steve Rogers tells you as he pulls himself up from the dirty asphalt. 

“Well, I apologize for intervening then. I’ll just leave you be.” 

He’s bleeding and unsteady on his feet and you want to help him but you can’t risk altering timelines. Of all the alleys in Brooklyn, you had to stumble across Steve freaking Rogers himself. You curse yourself mentally as you go to leave, stopping only when you hear Steve call out “Wait!” 

You turn back, unable to refuse the plea in his deep, smooth voice. 

“I should be the one apologizing, not you. I appreciate you stopping. No one else ever does.” he tells you while wiping the blood off his hand onto his threadbare jacket. He extends the cleaned hand towards you, “Steve Rogers.” 

“Rose Miller.” you tell him and shake his hand briefly. 

“Thank you, Rose. That was quite the trick you pulled on Jimmy.”

“Oh it was nothing, really. I should be going.” you force yourself to turn away from those piercing blue eyes and head towards the opening of the alley. You’re less than a dozen steps away from freedom when a dark haired man comes barreling into the alley almost knocking you over. He looks terrified and runs over to Steve, assessing his cuts and bruises while tutting like a mother hen. “Jesus, Stevie. I saw Jimmy going past and I thought he’d finally done you in. He was furious.” 

“I’m fine, Buck.” Steve says pushing him off, “There was an angel nearby who intervened.” 

Bucky looks over at you, studying you for the first time and you’re frozen in place. You should be running away as fast as your legs can carry you, going back to following through on your mission and not making any more waves in the past than you already have. But Bucky gives you the most charming smile you’ve ever been on the receiving end of and you know you’re a goner. 

“I didn’t know we had any angels left in Brooklyn.” he says smoothly, taking a few steps forward to shake your hand. “James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.” he winks at the last bit and you are pretty sure your ovaries have exploded. You had seen footage of the illustrious super soldiers before but nothing could ever compare to being on the receiving end of Bucky Barnes’ flirtations. 

“Rose Miller” you tell him, shaking his hand firmly. The new name flows with ease the more you use it and you find you actually like it. 

“Thanks for saving my buddy here. He forgets he’s all bark and no bite sometimes.” 

Steve huffs and shoves at Bucky, “I’ll bite you, jerk.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m real afraid.” Bucky shoves him back but then tucks him under his arm affectionately. They share a long look and you wonder for a second if there really was any truth to the speculation that the pair were more than just best friends. “So what can I do to thank you for saving my friend?” Bucky asks you.

You shake your head, you need to stop this before it gets out of hand. “Nothing, really. I’ll just be on my way.” your shiver despite yourself and both men pick up on it immediately. 

“Well least I can do is lend you a warm coat.” Bucky shucks off his dark wool coat and drapes it over your shoulders. It smells like man and sea, an oddly exhilarating mix. “Now, what do you say to dinner? Our place is only a block over and I’m sure Stevie has something delicious planned.” 

“I put ham, potatoes, and green beans on the stove this morning to simmer. It should be done about now.” Steve tells you quietly. 

“What do you say, doll? That’s one of Steve’s specialties; best dinner in the city by a mile.” 

They both look so hopeful it tugs on your heart strings. You are a modern, twenty first century woman, you remind yourself. You have a masters degree and are halfway to a doctorate. You don’t fawn over men like a teenage girl. You have more self restraint than this.  “Sounds great.” you find yourself saying. 

Both men break into blindingly bright smiles and Bucky throws his free arm around your shoulders, leading you down the street with them. So much for self restraint. 

Bucky and Steve’s home is a quaint two bedroom apartment over top of a garage. It’s chilly but Bucky is quick to throw on the heat once you’re inside. “Make yourself at home.” he tells you and Steve retreats quietly to the kitchen to check on dinner. Bucky reemerges a few minutes later having changed out of his worn work clothes into a simple button up shirt and slacks. His hair is shiny and slicked back and you’re once again stunned by how much more attractive he is in person. You set down the sketch you were looking at, a little embarrassed to have been caught looking around. “This is beautiful.” you say, motioning to the rough outline of a city skyline. 

Bucky crosses the room to see what you were looking at, “Oh yeah, Stevie did this one last week. He’s talented, that’s for sure.” 

“Talking about me?” Steve asks, poking his head out of the kitchen.

“Rose here was just admiring one of your drawings. I was telling her how you’re gonna be a famous artist pretty soon and we’ll be living all the way uptown and going to fancy parties at the MET.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and retreats back into the kitchen. 

“He really is brilliant.” Bucky insists, “He just needs to catch a break instead of a cold for once.” 

“You’re a good friend.” you say with a warm smile. It’s hard not to get swept up in his charm. 

Steve pokes his head out again announcing it’s time for dinner and Bucky leads you to their table which is sitting at the far end of the kitchen with two chairs and a stack of crates around it. “We don’t have company much.” Steve explains motioning at the stack of crates. 

“It’s okay.” you assure him, “Dinner smells wonderful.” 

“You two take a chair. I’m fine on the crates and I can serve.” Bucky busies himself dishing out the food and setting tall thin glasses of water by each place. 

You settle into your seat facing Steve across the table and take a moment to really study him. He’s all angles and pale skin with bright blue eyes shining out from beneath his mop of blonde hair. You knew he was short before the serum and had seen the pictures, but seeing him up close he isn’t quite as frail as they made him out to be. Sure, he looks like a strong wind could knock him over, but there is a quiet strength beneath his exterior. It’s no wonder that Erskine chose him for Project Rebirth. 

“Rose?” Steve prompts, breaking you from your thoughts.

You realize you’ve been caught staring, Steve is looking at you curiously while Bucky just smirks from his makeshift seat.

“Sorry, don’t know where my mind went for a minute.” you demure. 

Bucky huffs a suppressed chuckle and moves on, asking Steve how his day was. 

You learn Steve has been looking for work as an illustrator at various papers and magazines around the city. He works a few days a week at the neighborhood grocery store stocking shelves but they just don’t have enough hours for him anymore. He’d been out for a month with the flu last spring and the owner had hired more help to cover while he was sick. They let him come back but with half the hours he had before. Bucky caught a lucky break down at the docks around that time and picked up extra shifts, eventually earning himself a promotion over the summer. He wants Steve to pursue his art more and is willing to work 24/7 to make that happen if need be. His fierce devotion to Steve pursuing his dream is sweet but he brushes it off as nothing when you call him on. You give the guys vague details about your life when they ask. You try to stick to as much truth as you can but it’s difficult. You share that your parents died shortly after your eighteenth birthday and that you’re new to the city. You tell them you have a new apartment nearby and that you are starting a job on Monday at the SSR as a typist. 

The night wears on and you move from the dining room to the living room so you can listen to the radio with Steve. Bucky insists on cleaning up after dinner since Steve had cooked, brushing off his kindness as “only fair” when you compliment him. It’s blissfully easy spending time with the guys. They are obviously close but make an effort to make you feel included in whatever they’re talking about. There are also little signs that you would have missed if you hadn’t been studying them so intently. A shared knowing smile, the “accidental” brush of a hand, the way they orbit around each other closer than most people would be comfortable with. When you wander down the hall looking for the bathroom you notice only one of the bedrooms looks lived in and it doesn’t surprise you in the least. Oh, what the historians would say if they knew.

You’re headed back down the hall when you hear fierce whispering. You pause a few feet from the end of the hall, wanting to give them their privacy. The apartment is small though and you can hear everything.

“Ask her out, Stevie.” Bucky demands in a hushed voice.

“She’s more your speed, Buck. She’s stunning.” Steve whispers back.

“And she’s been makin’ eyes at you all night.”

“Come on, you know I don’t need anybody but you.”

“I know but one day you’re gonna have to settle down with somebody. Somebody you can take out to a movie without getting arrested. Do the whole wife, kids, and a desk job thing. You deserve a good life, Stevie.” 

“I have a good life now. And what about you, huh? What happens when I go off and settle down?”

“Then I’ll settle down too. Probably with one of your wife’s friends. We’ll still spend all the holidays together, get houses next door, vacation with each other every summer at the beach, our kids will grow up together.” Bucky says this with all the confidence he can muster. In reality, he thinks, Steve will go settle down with some wonderful woman and pop out a brood of perfect little blonde babies to whom he will be Uncle Bucky; eternally single and hanging around on holidays because he’s got nowhere else to go. Steve Rogers is it for him, he’s known that since he was fourteen and he doubts anything will ever change it. 

“You paint a nice picture, Buck. You left out a few things though.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” 

“How I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night without the sound of you snoring away next to me. How it would never really feel like Christmas without getting to watch you unwrap presents in your stupid ratty robe. How vacations would be unbearable having to do all the cheesy romantic tourist things with someone that isn’t you.” 

Bucky swallows past the lump in his throat. “You always were a maudlin little punk.” 

Steve knows he’s won and gives Bucky’s hand a quick squeeze. It’s an old argument but it doesn’t stop them from rehashing it from time to time. They both just want what’s best for each other.

You take that moment to rejoin them in the living room, making sure your clicking heels on the hardwood announces your arrival. The tips of Steve’s ears are tinged pink and both his and Bucky’s hands are stuffed into their pockets. They had jolted apart quickly when they heard you coming. 

“Well boys,” you tell them, “You sure know how to show a girl a good time but I’ve got to get going.” 

“We appreciate you joining us. Maybe you can stop by another time if you’re free?” Steve asks.

You know it’s a bad idea but your mouth is saying yes before your brain catches up.

Steve smiles broadly at your agreement, “Great. I know you’re close but it’s late. Let Bucky walk you home, okay?” 

Bucky nods, on board with the suggestion. “I can get my coat back once you’re home then. You don’t want my work coat stinkin’ up your nice apartment.” 

“Alright, thank you Bucky.” you agree, knowing it’s only proper in this time period. 

Bucky collects his coat and wraps it around your shoulders with practiced ease. 

Steve takes your hand for a moment before thinking better of it and dropping it. “Thank you.” he says softly, “For stopping today.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” you shoot him a small smile. 

Bucky motions to the door and you follow him out into the early November chill. 

You give Bucky your address and he leads the way. You’re thankful to not have to pretend to be familiar with the area. You’re only one block down and one block over from their place but the cold night air has you shivering even under Bucky’s coat. You mentally add a hat, gloves, and a scarf to the list of things you’ll need. “Thank you for walking me home.” you say from your apartment stoop. 

“Any time, doll. I’m real glad you helped Steve out today.” he drawls.  

“Of course. I couldn’t just walk past and do nothing.” 

“Most people do. You share that with him though.” 

“Share what?” you asked, confused.

“Not being able to stay out of it when you see something wrong going on.” he explains.

You smile at him, blushing a little despite yourself. “Guilty as charged.” you admit. 

“Come over and see us again sometime, okay doll? I know Stevie would appreciate the company. He’s a great guy and I think you two would really get along.”

It’s blatant what he’s trying to do and your heart melts a little at the devotion he has for his friend, even at his own expense. “I’ll come over again soon.” you assure him. 

You shrug off Bucky’s jacket, handing it back to him, and he bids you a goodnight as you close the apartment door behind you. Resting on the inside of the door for a moment you can’t decide if you want your words to him to be the truth or a lie. One thing is certain though; whether or not you go see them again you’re never going to forget those sweet Brooklyn boys.

[intricate-oeuvre]

On how to be deadly || Geralt of Rivia || part XII

Word count: 1.4k+

Summary: Axelia is Witcher experiment herself and has gone through same harsh Trials as Geralt, but she wasn’t so lucky with the outcome. Her vision didn’t become better. Therefore, she was rendered blind in the end. And because of that, she solely uses her Witcher senses to make her ways. Only potions can give her false sense of sight for limited time.Somewhere along the way she meets the Rivian. Who’s interested to know how she’s been killing monsters and hasn’t been killed herself yet.

Warnings: nakedness, bad grammar. Insinuated smut? angst, girls being girls or something. it’s getting angsty at the end again!! Filler chapter!!

A/N: STAY SAFE! WASH YOUR HANDS AND FOR FUCKS SAKE STAY HOME!!!

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

Axelia wasn’t sure if she could go back to him so easily. But she couldn’t deny that she had missed his warmth, his strong hands holding her, his lips against her skin. 

Young woman looked up the man, searching his eyes for a second. Letting him invade all of her senses.

For him she smelled of velvet rose and sandalwood. Always. Always reminding him of home.

For her… well…he had broken her heart so many times, she wasn’t sure how to pinpoint his scent. There was that akin smell of leather, cedar and moss. Most likely from all the nights spent in forests and fields. It gave her this sentimental feeling, making her remember better times. And yet… there was this other undertone of scent. That strictly reminded her what both of them were. Monsters. Trained killers. Gore. Demise.

So, he wore the smell of blood and death like a perfume.

Something almost… unbreakable… Rough… about it.

Then her hands shot up and, standing on her tiptoes, she cradled his face and pressed her lips against his. Geralt’s hands slid down to her waist, rough fingers digging in her skin and pulling her into him.

Yeah, she definitely missed this part. Such goddess on top of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, disturbing both lovers and their lustful embraces on the bed. Axelia nor Geralt didn’t seem to notice it until a voice said out loud:

“You are supposed to get ready not roll around in bed.”

Axelia and Geralt looked at the intruder. Both caught in this act of debauchery, breaths heavy as ever.

“What the--?” Axelia yelped, at start not being able to dispatch who was standing in the room. All she could do was to grab onto Geralt.

“Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled in warning, his hand protectively wrapping around Axelia’s naked back, pulling her closer to his own chest.

“Oh, stop your boorish grunts. We have wedding feast to attend.” Jaskier came marching in and carrying clothes with him. Completely ignoring two naked bodies in the bed, that were half hidden behind the silken bedspreads.

“Pardon… Going where now?” Axelia slid off of Geralt and pulled the blanket higher in front of her naked chest.

“Lord Chetword’s daughter has married to-day and there is a feast, of course.” Jaskier explained walking further in the room and laying clothes on the back of the chair.

“Who are we?” Axelia narrowed her eyes, her breath still slightly uneven.

“We.” Geralt looked at her across his shoulder, now sitting on the edge of the bed, grabbing pants out of Jaskier’s out-stretched hand.

“Come again? What?” Axelia blinked rapidly.

“Now, now. It’s enough of lazing around. Come, I got you dresses, come, choose.” Jaskier threw cluster of dresses on the end of the bed.

“I don’t…” Axelia eyed them warily.

“You don’t what?” Jaskier quirked eyebrow at her, hands on his hips.

“She doesn’t wear dresses.” Geralt sighed as he got up and walked over to the chair.

"Why?” Jaskier narrowed his eyes at her.

“I need to be able to fight not look like girl from home-grown brothel.” Axelia explained, slightly growing more irritated.

“Utter nonsense.” Jaskier swatted at nothing. Axelia reached across the bed to pull one of the dresses closer to her, her left hand still holding blanket against her chest.

“Where am I supposed to put my sword? Daggers?” Axelia turned the fabric around in her hand.

“You don’t need to be a witcher tonight. No monsters will attack.” Jaskier said, looking at another dress.

“Huh, monsters. How about all those nilfgaardians with shit-eating grins that patrol the edge of this kingdom? Pretty sure that they are in the forests, just waiting to strike at all these imbeciles who do absolutely nothing.” Axelia huffed and threw the dress back on the bed and leaned against the headboards, her head turned too look through window on her right.

“Tonight, lady shouldn’t curse.” Jaskier pointed at her.

“Get fucked.” Axelia rolled her eyes. Her statement making Geralt snort and Jaskier look at her with wide mouth, blinking in surprise.

Silence.

Jaskier was still gaping like fish, his eyes turning to Geralt, silently asking for help.

“She’ll come.” Geralt sighed with slow blink as he pulled on the shirt. Axelia’s eyes shot to Geralt, catching unreadable expression on his face.

“Good. Till later. And, please, for the love of God, pick at least one dress.” Jaskier sighed defeatedly.

“I make no promises.” Axelia mumbled, her eyes once again running along the dresses on the bed.

“Then go naked, see if I care.” Jaskier groaned and went to the door.

Before he could leave, Axelia sat up straight:

“How much time do I have? To get ready?”

“Rough two hours.” He sang, leaving the room and closing the doors behind him.

“Oh, I make it rough.” Axelia grinned as her eyes slid to Geralt, raising on her knees to make her way to the edge of the bed, letting the silk blanket run down her bare body. Raising her hands, she reached out for the witcher in front of her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, Axelia was sitting on the bed. Geralt had already left and she was now alone. Ciri accompanied her just minutes later.

“Are you ready?” girl had asked. Axelia didn’t answer, only hummed, lacing the front strings of the skin-coloured corset.

“Did you choose a dress, then? Because Jaskier told me that—” Ciri said, her eyes momentarily jumping to doors.

“Whatever he told you is bullocks.” Axelia sighed. She stood up, only dressed in corset, undergarments and shoes.

“Dresses are so impractical.” Axelia sighed.

“And ugly…” she mumbled soon after, her eyes narrowing at some of the dresses.

“White? As if I am the young bride? Red? Like blood. This beige one? Like some frail maiden. Too restricting, too girly…” With roll of her eyes, she plucked the black dress from the bed.

“Hold this.” She thrusted it in Ciri’s hands, as she picked up scissors and a burning candle.

Next couple of minutes, Axelia was cutting, ripping and mending with candle’s flame, a dress, that she would at least be pleased to wear.

“Why are you doing this?” Ciri glanced down at Axelia who had leaned down to make a long slit. “And why are you cutting off the sleeves?”

“Because…” she trailed off, her white eyes following the flame as it went along the edge of fabric, “I need to hide things… in my dress… and I can’t swing my hands if I have tight fabric around my shoulders.”

“What things, thought?” Ciri paid close attention to Axelia’s skilful movements.

“Knives… daggers… depends…” Axelia stood fully and blew out the candle.

“Now, can you get ready?” Ciri said, glancing out of the window.

“I wonder where you got that impatience from…” Axelia whispered and turned to pull on the dress.

“I already want to leave.” She said out louder.

“Just entertain Jaskier’s thought of a party for couple of hours.” Ciri smiled reassuringly.

“Jaskier is not the one I want to entertain…” Axelia said, and the realized how it sounded and quickly added: “Or anyone, for that matter.”

Snuggly putting small knife between her breasts, and hiding a dagger in the garter around her thigh, Axelia run her hands down the sides of the dress.

“This is how them all mages dress?” Axelia looked at Ciri.

“Yeah… speaking of mages…” Ciri trailed off.

“What?” Axelia wanted to know, her hands raising to rearrange the decorative metal shoulder pads that had light chains running in low arcs across her back.

“Yennefer is coming, too.” Ciri said quietly and unsurely.

“Alright.” Axelia let out a deep sigh, and tended to her hair, making it into a messy knot at the top of her neck. Couple of strands framing her face. Her eyebrows raised as she listened.

“And… well… what I gathered, earlier, when Geralt was talking with Yen… Yennefer… Aa… They are going together?” Ciri winced at her own words.

Axelia froze. Her face turning stoic and apathetic. Why she wasn’t surprised, was beyond her. She kind of expected it. She felt as if all her being just turned into ashes.

“It’s nothing new, I assume.” Axelia chewed on nothing and let her hands fall to her sides.

“But you’re still coming, right?” Ciri dared to ask.

“Yeah… to entertain Jaskier, I suppose…” Axelia mumbled. Dipping her fourth-finger in a pot of waxy lipstick, made her lips look dark, yet faded purple.

“Let’s go, so I can leave faster.” Axelia rolled her eyes and strode out of the room. Her long legs with heels on, carrying her quickly ahead, making Ciri run after her.

And suddenly, when she was walking down the lengthy hall to the feast, she felt… done?

And her ashes becoming steel.

~~~~

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

~~~~

tags: @boiled-onionrings​​ @fandomwithnolifesblog​​ @901seconds​​ @kingniazx​​ @shesakillerkween @your-dreams-are-strong​​ @stitchattacks​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @stormfire6​​ @mr-illegal-king​​ @stretchkingblog97​​ @mikariell95​​ @geralt-of-motherfucking-rivia​​ @martian-m​​ @republicansithlord​​ @notso-fetch​​ @lizliz3107 @godlydolans​​ @arsaky-lou​​ @eternallyvenus​​ @le-reina-asesina @alwayshave-faith​​ @writingmi​​ @staringmoony​​ @kenai731 @holychic​​ @dramaticturnaway​​ @ihopeyousteponarosepetal​​ @seouldesire​​ @runs-with-sciss0rs @yes-captainstark​​ @fandomhell97​​ @newtdisneywho​​ @ekaymnslvs​​ @deansbbyblog @hopplessdreamer​ @dejewskoo​​ @sleepy-bunnie​​ @strangerliaa​​ @puffedchoco @mommableaubear  @secretsthathauntus​​ @sailor-moons-butt​​ @sageandberries-png​​ @star017​​ @rahdaleigh @introvertedmouse​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @katkit73​

a/n: pardon, if Tumblr doesn't let me tag you

It’s about to get lit next chapter, because somebody is about to be kidnapped. There’s gonna be running in long dresses. Axelia and Yennefer will be bitches at each other. It’s gonna be a shit-show. Geralt is still confused puppy about his feelings. But Yennefer can really go fuck herself in my fic, tho.

[gleekto]

Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA,  and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Even Better Than the Real Thing (5/15)

Kurt is sitting at his desk, completing his essay on queer subtext in ‘Cats’ when Rachel rushes in the front door like a hurricane. “Please help me clean, Kurt. They’ll be here soon.”

“Who will be here when?” Kurt is immediately irritated. 

“You know, the cast, hair and make up, whomever can make it. I really felt that as the star of the show that I should be hosting a get together evening. I’ve got the wine, we can warm up some easy appetizers, cut some veggies. Oh and can you make your guacamole?-”

‘Wait what? Did you even think to ask me if tonight worked for me? My essay is due tomorrow.”

“I did-” Kurt stares at her. “I didn’t ask? I mean I thought I mentioned it last weekend.” 

Kurt sighs deeply. “You didn’t.”

“Okay I’m sorry. But come on, Kurt. I know your essay must be almost done. You never leave anything to the last minute-”

“Unlike some other people, apparently.” Kurt groans and shakes his head but begrudgingly stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. “You clean. I’ll do the guac and veggies.” Rachel thanks him profusely and he shoos her away so he can get the food done. He will need to shower and change before anyone arrives. And clean his room. Because though he won’t ask Rachel who’s coming, he’s not going to risk Blaine Anderson thinking his home is a mess. 

...

By the time Kurt feels ready enough to enter the gathering from the safety of his bedroom, having carefully chosen a definitely flattering but not trying too hard outfit for the occasion - a skintight white long sleeved shirt under a dark grey vest with tight dark blue jeans - there are already a good ten guests in his living room, milling and drinking wine and laughing too loudly. But so far, no Blaine Anderson. He chats for a bit with Sarah and Joan, two of the hair and make up folks, and tries very hard to be interested in whose hair is the hardest to get consistently correct, and not to be distracted by who is not there.

“Rachel!” The door swings open about half an hour later and there he is, giving Rachel a big hug, handing her a bottle of red wine, and apologizing for being late. Kurt’s heart beat quickens slightly but he notices that he is not going into full on panic mode. They’re friends, buddies, and of course they’ll talk tonight. Yes, it’s Blaine Anderson and yes, he’s really very gorgeous, but it’s a bit more like hot gay friend has entered the premises and less like he’s holding his breath to catch a brief glimpse of Sing!’s most eligible bachelor. He can do this.

“You almost missed your chance,” Kurt wanders over and hands Blaine a Corona with lime. “It’s the last one but lucky for you, I set it aside.”

Blaine smiles widely, looking genuinely thankful  - Kurt thinks more appreciative than a saved beer would warrant. “You know my drink of choice?”

“Given that it’s all you’ve been drinking each time I’ve seen you - I guess I know your “drink of choice.” Kurt makes quotation marks with his fingers.

Blaine raises the bottle in a cheers-like gesture. “So this is your home,” Blaine takes in the apartment, looking at both Kurt and Rachel. 

“Two bedrooms, two bathrooms-” 

“That was a requirement,” Kurt adds. “I have a very particular nighttime skin routine and there was no way I was competing with Rachel Berry for the mirror.” Blaine laughs and keeps smiling at him with those sparkly eyes.  It’s unnerving.

“Kurt, why don’t you give him a mini-tour? I need to refill the Sangria bowl,” Rachel says, flitting off to the next thing.

“Why don’t you, then?” Blaine says. Kurt surveys the room. The apartment is not that big.

“Well, this is the living room slash kitchen slash main room.” I mean, Blaine can’t really think there is that much of a tour to take, but he’ll humour him. Kurt leads Blaine to Rachel’s unfortunately overly pink room and bathroom. “I couldn’t convince her that it was not a bold choice, but a bad choice.” Blaine’s eyebrows rise as he takes in light pink walls with splashes of bubble gum pink accents, and he laughs genuinely at Kurt’s commentary. Neither this tour, nor Kurt, are really that amusing but okay. Blaine Anderson is having fun. 

“I guess she really is a girly girl at heart,” Blaine says as he follows Kurt into his own room. Much more soothing, and more adult, shades of blues and greys, with some bold orange accent pillows on his bed for flare. 

“A girly girl can still have taste - and that room, Blaine, is too much pink.” 

“I dated a guy last year who had a pink room,” Blaine rolls his eyes at the memory as he sits down on Kurt’s bed. Okay. Guess they’re staying here for a bit.

“Just really proud?” Kurt pulls out his desk chair and faces Blaine.

“A proud gay guy can still have taste,” Blaine mimics, looking approvingly around Kurt’s room.

“Indeed.” There’s a brief pause and Kurt’s heart starts to race again, worried it might get awkward. “Wait - didn’t you say you couldn’t meet anyone while working on Sing!?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t stop me from trying. Or sort of trying while enjoying,” Blaine pauses. “The LA scenery.” 

Now Kurt laughs, shaking his head to himself. “Honestly, I can’t imagine having a life where there are so many options that they are all just part of the pretty scenery. Although I suppose Mr. Pink’s room didn’t qualify.”

“Mr. Pink,” Blaine pauses, looking like he is assessing whether he should say whatever is on the tip of his tongue. “Had a body to make up for the room,” Kurt’s eyes widen but he wills himself to play it cool. No big deal. Friends chatting about past relationships. “So we had a week of torrid sex and the rest is history.”

Kurt bites his lip. This image is too much. Blaine Anderson having torrid sex is too much. He knows he’s red. He just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Honestly, Blaine, I’m from Lima, Ohio and your life right now, it’s outside my mid-western frame of reference.”

Blaine chuckles again but he nods. Does he think Kurt is just hilariously innocent? “I know. You know, I don’t completely forget what it’s like to arrive in LA from small town Ohio. I’m only 24.  Did you ever get out to Columbus for any of the  LBGT youth dances or game nights? I used to do that. Even got my first kiss from a drunken college freshman behind the community centre. Very romantic.”

“Nope.” Kurt answers quickly. “Never went to Columbus. No dances or games. No kisses.” He’s embarrassed but what else was he going to say? Blaine’s suspicion of his innocence confirmed.

“No first kisses?” Blaine repeats and Kurt shakes his head quickly. 

“Why is that so hard to believe? I thought we already discussed that Lima is not exactly a gay mecca.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not. Lima would not exactly be the best place to meet someone.” Blaine agrees, shaking his head and looking down slightly before looking right back into Kurt’s eyes. “It’s just that,” Blaine breathes in, “You’re hot.”

What. The fuck. 

Great. Now the silence is going to be super painful because Kurt is certain no coherent words will come out of his mouth ever again. 

“Anyways,” Blaine bites his lower lip, shaking off his momentary slip of the tongue. “Thank you for the tour.” Kurt gets up to lead them back out to the others. “You’re one up on Mr. Pink.”

“For my decor? I hope so.” Kurt manages to speak words.

“In all areas,” Blaine says quietly from behind him and before Kurt can register the second less than subtle compliment in five minutes, and turn around, Blaine is back in the crowd, chatting with Joan and Sarah as if nothing could be more interesting than the perfect hair gel. As if he did not just say what he said. 

Kurt is done. For the night. Maybe forever. He’s sure he’s not capable of any more small talk with echoes of “You’re hot” and “In all areas” singing through his head. He quietly sneaks into his bedroom and closes the door. He may be innocent and even naive. But Blaine Anderson was most definitely flirting with him. He was honest, at least about his relationship past (or lack thereof), but Blaine didn’t run away. He stayed. And stared. And flirted. 

This situation is real. And very complicated. 

He needs to stop blogging. 

Out of respect for my source, who is a good friend, I need to stop posting on this blog. I will leave the blog up for all the fun gifs, and I may even be back to peruse on occasion. You know I will miss you all. Keep sing!ing, my friends -LimaBlaineFan

[annab-nana]

The One That Got Away - Colby Brock

This is the first part of the story. Be sure to read Part 2 after this.

Colby confessed his love for y/n when he is in Kansas, but she wasn’t ready. When she is finally ready, he seems to be taken up by someone else.

Warnings: some curse words

Word Count: 1.8k+

--------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean we’re over, Ryder? What happened? Things were going so good,” I tell him over the phone. His sigh from the other end flows into my ear before I hear his voice again.

“I don’t feel the same as I used to, y/n. I hope that we can be friends.” I roll my eyes at the comment.

“If you are going to break up with me over the phone, I have zero interest in being your friend. You obviously have no respect for me. Fuck you, Ryder,” I spit out before ending the call. I feel the tears prick my eyes, but I wipe them away before they have the chance to fall. Shaking my head of any thought of what just happened, I turn around and walk back into Colby’s house.

“Is everything alright, sweetie?” I hear Colby’s mom’s soft voice ask me.

“Yes ma’am. Everything’s okay,” I say as I show her a kind smile. She returns it and nods as I leave to go back to Colby’s room.

“So, what did Ryder want?” Colby asks me when I open the door. When his eyes come up from his phone and meet mine, he can tell something is wrong.

“What happened?” He gets up from his bed, setting his phone down, and placing his hands on my arms, making sure my attention was on him. My once again teary eyes lift to meet his bright blue ones.

“Umm… Ryder broke up with me,” I sigh as I lean my head against his chest. One hand comes up from my arm and begins to run his fingers through my hair in a comforting manner.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He whispers in my ear as he lays his head against my own.

“Maybe in a minute. Let’s just lay down for now.” He brings us to the bed, and we lay down similar to how we were standing. My head lays on his chest as he runs his fingers through my hair over and over again. In the comfort of his presence, I let my tears finally flow and soak into his shirt.

“I don’t understand what happened,” I confess to my best friend as I lean up to look at him.

“I don’t know, y/n. He wasn’t that good of a guy in high school, but I know you thought he changed. The fact that he broke up with you over the phone with no explanation tells me that he hasn’t at all. He’s the same old crap Ryder that he’s always been,” Colby explains to me and I realize he’s right.

Ryder was a piece of shit in high school and treated girls just like that, but he seemed so different when we started talking. I guess I thought he had changed, but I was wrong. The tears fall harder as I drop my head back onto Colby’s chest.

“Why can’t every guy be like you?” I huff out and I feel his chest vibrate underneath me from his chuckles.

“If every guy was like me, then I would be very special, now would I?” He laughs.

“No, but I wish every guy acted a little bit like you do. You are an amazing guy, Colbs and any girl would be lucky to have you. I hope you know how much I love and appreciate you for always being there for me,” I tell him as I squeeze him a little tighter.

“Well, you know you can have me if you want to.” He muttered under his breath, but I heard him.

“What do you mean, Colby?” I say as I lift my head. He props himself up on his elbows and I lift myself off of him, sitting with my legs crossed next to him.

“Well I guess now is as good a time as any, but I like you, y/n. I always have but didn’t know how to say it and we live so far away from each other that it would probably be pointless, but I am willing to do long distance if it means I can call you mine. I was going to tell you a few months ago, but you were telling me about Ryder, so I didn’t.” He scratches the back of his head in nervousness as he waits for my response.

“I have felt the same way about you, but I don’t think right now is a good time,” I say as I watch all hopefulness drain from his face.

“I’m sorry. I am saying yes, but just not now.” I grab his hand with both of my own and rub small circles into the back of it.

“I’ll wait until you are ready then,” He tells me, and I smile.

“I don’t want you to wait for me. If you find someone in Los Angeles that you want to be with, then you should be with them regardless of me.” He pulls me into him by his hand as his other pulls my side. We now lay facing each other, hands together, and in silence for a moment.

“When are you coming to LA anyway? You’re coming soon right?” He asks to change the subject.

“Yeah, I’m coming next month for Jake’s birthday. You’re leaving Kansas tomorrow, aren’t you?” I ask and he nods, a saddened look on his face. I lay back on his chest and soak up the rest of the time I have with him before he leaves.

...

“Bye Dad! See you in two weeks!” I shout into my house before I shut the door and walk to my car. I start the car and head for the airport.

While on the plane, my mind races of what I am actually doing. I decided to leave a week early to surprise Colby. I realized that I am completely over Ryder’s dumb ass and ready to be with Colby. Not gonna lie, I am super nervous about it, but I know he said he wants me, and I want him, so nothing should be wrong.

After a short flight, I arrive at LAX and get my bags.

“Y/n?” I hear from behind me. I turn around to see my other best friend and run up to hug him.

“Jakey!” I yell as my arms wrap around his neck and his around my waist.

“I haven’t seen you since Christmas,” Jake says in my ear as he loosens his grip on me and we pull away. I have already told him that I was coming early to surprise Colby.

“I know, but now you have me for two weeks before I have to go back to Kansas,” I say as we walk to his car.

“I’m excited for you to meet Tara. She’s at my apartment right now and can’t wait to meet you,” He tells me. We approach his car and he drives us to his apartment building. After sneaking to Jake’s place without Colby seeing me, I open the door to see several pink balloons and a sign that says “Welcome Back Y/N!” that is being held by a small girl with dark hair that has blonde highlights in it.

“HI Y/N!” She shouts before setting the sign down on the counter and running up to hug me.

“Hey Tara!” I yell, returning her same energy and giving her a squeeze.

“Ah, my two favorite girls finally meeting each other,” Jake says from behind me. Tara peeks her head around me to see him and smiles greatly. It’s cute to see how much she loves him in just her smile. She runs around me and hugs him.

“Awe, so cute,” I gush at the adorable couple before me.

“I know. We are pretty cute,” Jake says in a girly voice and he kicks his foot up behind him. Tara comes to me and grabs my hand, dragging me to the couch.

“Okay you have to tell me everything about you and Colby,” She says. I let out a breath before beginning the story.

...

“…And now I am over Ryder and ready to be with Colby.” I finish the whole story of everything that has happened since I met Colby in middle school.

“Woah well, I hope all goes good when you tell him,” She wishes, and I nod.

“I should probably head over there now, so I’ll see you guys later,” I say as I stand and head for the door.

“Bye y/n,” Both Jake and Tara say as I leave. I skip along down the hall but stop before approaching Colby’s front door. Right before I knock, I hear some talking coming from the other side of the door. I place my ear against the door to get a better listen and what I hear breaks my heart. I run back to Jake’s apartment with tear-filled eyes and knock waiting for someone to answer.

“Come in!” I hear him yell before I open the door.

“What happened?” Tara questions as she gets sight of my facial expression. She comes up to me and pulls me into her.

“I told him not to wait for me and I guess he didn’t because I just heard him fucking some girl in his apartment,” I tell them, and Tara holds me a little tighter.

“I’ll be right back,” Jake says before walking out his door.

“Don’t do anything crazy!” Tara yells after him before bringing me back to the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?” She asks sweetly and I shake my head before breaking down into more tears. She pulls me into her and rubs my back to soothe me just like Colby did a few weeks ago.

Fuck, I wish I would have asked him to wait for me, but that wouldn’t have been fair to him. Tara runs her fingers through my hair like Colby did too which only causes my tears to come harder.

“I wish I would have told him to- to wait,” I say through my sobs.

“I know, baby, but we can’t do anything about that now,” She shushes, continuously running her fingers through the ends of my hair.

“I’m back!” Jake shouts as he swings the door open. He has a bag in one hand and some blankets in his other. “I got your favorite food, stole some blankets from Sam’s place, and we can watch your favorite movie. I know it won’t fix everything, but it might help.”

The act of kindness brought more tears to my eyes, but these were happy and loving tears because I have the best friends in the world.

“Did I do something wrong?” He questions and I shake my head.

“No, you did something good. These are happy tears, right?” Tara spoke for me and I nodded. I got up from the couch and went over to Jake to hug him.

“I fucking love you. Do you know that?” I whisper in his ear before hearing his giggle.

“Well, I was hoping that you loved me, but I wasn’t sure,” He laughs as we pull away. I grab the blankets from him, and we walk to the couch, back to Tara. I hand them each a blanket and Jake hands us each our food.

“So, what are we watching, y/n?” Tara asks as she begins to dig in.

“The Shining, duh.”

PART 2>