#ignore the fact that the second image is from like a month ago

[disxcoartz]

:3

[lisired]

can you keep it down?

pairing: neighbor!mark x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, dilf!mark, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, choking, thigh slapping, forced submission, implications of brat taming (in progress), praise, degradation but it’s more like banter, unprotected sex (dont b silly wrap ur willy)

summary: The apartment next door to yours has been vacant for months. No one had gone in or out, not until your new next door neighbor moved in two weeks ago. Mark, a slightly older guy who prides himself on his patience and willpower with a penchant for control. But when you make it clear you’re resolved to wither away the things he values most, Mark decides he’s down for the challenge, determined to put a leash on your unrestrained behavior - and most importantly, finally shut you the hell up.

word count: 10.4k

a/n: 4/4 of the Temptation series. feedback is appreciated!

The first time you met Mark, it was right outside your door. 

It was late at night - debatably early in the morning - and you had been in the middle of bringing yourself to the third consecutive orgasm in a row when loud knocking interrupted you. Part of you was tempted to ignore whoever was determined to beat down your door, but it was ceaseless and frankly, you were growing annoyed. 

Swiftly you slipped on the closest pair of shorts and marched to the front door in large strides, swinging it open once you finally arrived. Then, your eyes met Mark’s. 

He was a mere stranger to you then. But what you saw made you want to know him. What you saw made you nearly forget that you were on the brink of orgasm only moments ago. A pair of beautiful brown eyes stared back at you. 

“Hey,” he greeted, voice gruff. “Sorry to bother you, but can you keep it down? I live right next door and with all the noise I can’t sleep.”

For a moment you only blinked, processing his words slowly. You weren’t aware that you were being that loud. But then again, you were in no state to properly register your actions - you were delirious with pleasure and had blocked everything else past your senses. 

When you finally processed his statement, your cheeks burned, slightly embarrassed. “Fuck. I’m so, so sorry, I had no idea. I’ll try to be quieter from now on.”

He gave you a courteous nod and replied, “No worries. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

And that was it. When you shimmied back out of your shorts, you didn’t even feel energetic anymore, only overcome by exhaustion and the burdensome fact that you had work in the morning. You groaned and flopped against your bedsheets, letting sleep swallow you whole. 

But the image of your new neighbor was reoccurring. There was something familiar about him, like you had seen him once before. And there were things you noticed right off the bat about him. For one, he was an older guy. Not old, but evidently beyond your years. And if the shorts he wore was any indicator, he was likely a father. 

That made the chain of thoughts about him increase, and you didn’t even know his first name. There was instant intrigue and desire to get to know your new, next-door neighbor. 

Though visions died quick, and dreams were killed even quicker. When you saw Mark swallowing some girl’s face only moments before she left his apartment on your way to work some days later, you rationalized yourself and decided to take it steady. It was certain that you were sure of what you wanted, but you respected his relationship. You were a great deal of things - delusional and a homewrecker weren’t on the list. 

The second time, it was when you least expected it - at a local cafe. 

Mark sat across from you, coffee cup in hand. Awareness of someone’s sudden presence made you shudder, and it slightly soothed you when you realized it was your hot neighbor. Your heart was still beating fast. 

You played it cool. “Are you stalking me, neighbor?” 

Amused, your neighbor let out a chuckle that was like music to your ears. “My name is Mark,” he introduced himself, smiling blithely. “And don’t flatter yourself, neighbor. I saw you here coincidentally and sat here because I had one good question for you.” 

With an eyebrow arched, you casted Mark an identical smile. It amused you that he spoke to you as if you had been long friends, though you didn’t mind. You had been intrigued by Mark the moment you first laid eyes on him, and had been incapable of taking them off him since. 

“Mark,” you said, tasting his name on your tongue. You played along and bobbed your head after a few moments, deciding you liked his name and gave him yours. “What do you have to ask me, Mark?” 

Mark leaned over the table, voice an octave above a whisper as he asked, “Who’s fucking you so good that you can’t be quiet?”

He leaned back out and eyed you smugly when you blinked in surprise. His bluntness had caught you off-guard and he was proud of it, but you refused to not quickly recover.

Feigning indifference, you replied, “No one. Most of the time it’s just me and my toys. I have a hectic work schedule so it’s rare for me to find time to mess with people.” 

Much to your misfortune, it was true. Working a busy office job meant that you had little time for even short-lived flings or one-night stands, much less the commitment of a serious relationship. It was difficult to recall the last time that you had gotten laid. With work taking such a humongous toll on you, your only way of relieving all of your pent-up frustrations was with sex toys. 

That response was a clear shock to Mark, and in return you took pride in it. He was expecting you to be taken, but now that you had essentially implied that you weren’t dating anyone, he felt free to make a move on you. It was an indirect way of asking you if you were single. He also didn’t expect the same girl that flushed red when he confronted you about your noisiness to meet his boldness, but it was a welcome surprise. Mark could tell only fun things would come out of knowing you and becoming your neighbor. 

Mark took a long sip from his cup, then asked, “What do you do for a living?”

“I work a variable job as an executive assistant that spends an ungodly amount of time behind a computer screen doing everyone else’s job for them,” you smiled tiredly. 

He threw you a playful grimace and glanced at his watch for a split-second, but you had his undivided attention again in no time. “Damn, no wonder. You must like things rough.”

That took you by surprise, but you didn’t dare show it. “You have no idea,” you grumbled, playing it safe. “What about you?”

Mark grinned with pride. “I’m an editor for a publishing company.”

“Must be fun.”

“I can’t complain. It’s a stress sometimes, but it pays the bills.”

You chuckled. “Amen to that.” 

It felt forbidden to be interested in your potentially taken neighbor that you only met a couple of days ago, yet here you were talking to him about your sex and work life. To make matters worse - and if that comment about you liking things rough was any indicator - you might have somehow also piqued his interests. 

Maybe you were just reading too much into his words. After all, you were his noisy neighbor that kept him up at night. He was probably just curious as to why you seemingly made enemies with silence. 

Mark glanced at his watch again then rose from his seat, and you figured he had places to be. “I’d better get going. I have to pick up my son.”

“Your son?” you questioned, furrowing your brows. The confusion was fake, of course. You had a hunch that he was a father, but you had never seen or heard the child to confirm your suspicions. 

“Yes, my son,” Mark gave you a hard stare that you couldn’t make out. “It’s Friday and he stays with me this weekend so please, if not for my sake then for his, keep it down.” 

You gave Mark a nod. He bid you farewell and made a break for the door, the chime of the bells letting you know that he was gone. He had wanted to stay for a bit, play for a little longer, but decided it was a good thing he didn’t get much of a chance to make a move. For now, Mark was intent on observing you. He wanted to figure you out a bit more before he went to first base. 

But damn was he interested. There was something about you a couple of moments ago that he was attracted to, how you seemed equally bold as he was. A stark contrast from the first time he met you, but he figured that he had simply caught you at a bad time. 

That was the thing, though - Mark didn’t know you. He needed more time before he could be sure you were worth it.

For at least the weekend, you obliged Mark’s wishes. As aforementioned, you were a great deal of things, but you weren’t petty for the wrong reasons. Or outright odd. It wasn’t like you were loud for the sake of it, you truly just never realized what you were capable of. 

Over the course of those days, you continued to think about Mark. He had cut deep in your imagination and now there was a permanent scar that refused to heal. It was silly, being so hung over a guy you hardly knew and couldn’t have, but you couldn’t help it. 

Mark was giving you a headache. You weren’t one to be indecisive over what you wanted, but that wasn’t the case here. From the moment he showed up at your doorstep, you knew that you had to have him. The problem was that you wanted to outline boundaries. There were places you were able to step and then there were places you weren’t. The last thing you wanted was to scare him away because of your urges. 

The third time you saw Mark was the following weekend, bumping into him in the halls. You were going to apologize, but then his face fell into your vision. And thus, you noticed something completely new about it. 

“You have a stubble,” you commented, nearly gawking. 

Mark bobbed his head, grinning. He found it interesting how you gazed up at him as if you’d never seen a man with a stubble before. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you don’t shave. Shocking, I know.” 

“I kind of like it.”

He snickered. “Only kinda?”

More than kind of - and while you weren’t afraid to admit it, you ignored his question. The stubble was the completion to Mark’s physical attractiveness that you hadn’t even known you would be into. He was already hot as hell, though now he was somehow even hotter. 

He shot you a smug smile, unable to miss the way that you leered at him. You found him attractive. It was no secret and Mark wasn’t sure if you intended for it to be or not, though the way that you were unabashedly fucking him with your eyes gave him a huge hint. After last weekend’s encounter, you didn’t strike him as the type to shy away very easily. Confident. 

So was he. 

“You’re just standing here watching me like you want to eat me. Do you like it that much?” 

There were a couple of routes you could take with that question. Either you could be honest and tell him how you felt, or you could beat around the bush. You chose the former. 

“Sight for sore eyes,” you replied, finally meeting his eyes. He held eye contact with you as well as the expectation that you would break, but you proved him wrong. You kept looking him in his eyes as you said, “I love it. I think it suits the fuck out of you.”

Mark raised a brow, intrigued by your response. “Mm,” he hummed. He moved a step closer to you and asked, “What else do you like?” 

Your breath began to speed up and so did your pulse when you picked up on how close your bodies were. You were hyper aware of the proximity and it was slowly killing you, setting off visceral reactions in your body. Another inch and his lips would be brushing yours. It felt like a test on your behalf - to see how you would react and if you would chicken out - and you utterly refused to back down from the challenge. 

Deflecting, you tore your eyes from his lips and asked back, “Initiating a conversation with me in the middle of the hallway?” 

He cocked his head to the side. “Do you wanna come in, then?”

“I don’t think your girlfriend would like that very much,” you faked a pout, the most subtle sullen undertone hiding in your sentence. 

Mark resisted a grin. It was probable you were indirectly determining whether or not he was single. But the tiniest hint of sadness in your voice suggested that you might have genuinely been under the impression he was in a relationship. 

“What girlfriend?” He threw you an utterly confused look. “I haven’t been in a relationship since the birth of Christ.” 

You stared at him with genuine surprise. “I saw you sucking some girl’s face like last week.” 

“And have you seen her around here again since?” Mark scoffed, amused. 

What he was implying began to sink in gradually and you realized that you had made an awfully large assumption the other day. Though in your defense, people making out with their hookups like that was completely unheard of to you. It looked too passionate, especially for the morning after. When you had nothing to quip, Mark made a face at you that made you want to sink into the ground, and added, “She’s not my girlfriend - she was a fling. We had sex the previous night but I’m sure you weren’t able to tell because unlike someone, I know how to be quiet.”

Was. That meant not any more. 

Affronted, and refusing to take that, you took a step back and shot, “Maybe your dick game is just weak if she’s that quiet.”

“You wanna find out?” Mark cocked his head to the side with an exasperating smile, taking a step forward for every step you took backwards until your back hit a wall. It was obvious that you were trying to get a rise out of him and he wouldn’t take the bait. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

Mark’s hands were on either side of you and his gaze rooted you in place. Neither of you seemed to give a damn that you were in public and in the view of a security camera. You kept staring at one another, pupils dilated with obvious want. Now that you were aware that Mark was single you deemed it perfectly safe to cave in to your desires, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to - yet. It was funny how whenever you finally got what you wanted, it was never enough. 

You smiled softly, matching the little smirk on his face - you didn’t want him to think that he had an advantage over you, and whether he did or didn’t wasn’t relevant. “Are you saying that you want me?” 

“I do want you,” Mark confessed without a care. He had no true intention of sleeping with you just yet, wanting to get to know you some more, but it wouldn’t hurt to admit that he was attracted to you nonetheless. “Do you want me?”

Seductively, you leered at him, then purred, “So bad.”

“Then, stop deflecting.”

With one little breath, you said, “Fine,” then closed the tiny gap between the both of you and your lips. When he kissed you back, your hands sought for his neck and his hooked around your waist. 

As you kissed Mark it only became more fierce, tongues and teeth clashing in attempts to maintain dominance over the other. Yet neither of you would cave. Both of you were fighting fire with fire and it was like nothing that either of you had ever experienced before. Mark displayed a clear need for power and control, and while you weren’t against letting him have it, you were never one to give it away that easily. 

You tugged on Mark’s hair, wanting to feel him as close as possible. His calloused hands began to wander all over you, kneading your skin and making you moan softly into his mouth. You could feel him grinning against your lips. His touch was like fire and your body was already burning with lust, desire, and everything in between. It had been so long since someone last touched you like this, kissed you like this. Mark was filling in all the little gaps and empty spaces. 

A rough pull at his locks made Mark groan into your mouth and he pinned your hands above your head, up against the wall. He got rougher, as if he was trying to fit you into the wall - or maybe force you through it. But the fervor was welcome, and although he had pinned your hands above your head, you still kissed him with as much eagerness as you were humanly capable. 

You pulled away when you had your fill, knowing that if you kept him close to you any longer you would make a move for his clothes, and your exhibitionism kink only extended so far. The both of you stared at one another with sheer lust, but there was an almost telepathic understanding between you. We have to wait. 

Out of breath, you casted Mark a flirtatious wink and smile before parting and said, “See you later, Mark.”

Then, you sashayed back to your apartment. When you felt his eyes boring holes into your back, you simpered to yourself. You had planted the seed; now all you had to do was let it grow. 

Days of messing around with Mark turned into weeks, but both of you were yet to succumb to your temptations. It was like you were waiting for the other to give in first and neither of you wanted to grant the other that satisfaction. 

But of course, after planting the seed you had to water it and give it sunshine. In other words, you continued to flirt with Mark, maintaining his interest. And in return, he maintained yours. From anyone else’s point of view it might have seemed silly to be resisting each other when it was clear as day that the lust was mutual, but you and Mark were too alike. Too much pride, and too much adoration for all things thrill and tension.

Even when he wasn’t in your company, Mark was on your mind. It had only gotten worse the moment you kissed him. In the beginning you only thought about him occasionally - mostly whenever you saw or heard him - but now he was creeping into your head during your downtime and that was a problem. Your thoughts consisted nearly completely of him. Mark, Mark, Mark. He was all you could think about. 

One weekend, you surprisingly encountered Mark at a playground. He appeared shocked to see you, but only let it show for a brief moment.

“I’m beginning to think that you’re the one stalking me. What in God’s name are you of all people doing at a playground?”

“Please. You’re not that special. I don’t have the time or energy to stalk anyone, baby,” you drawled with a hint of amusement. You pointed at a little girl. “You see that little girl in the purple shirt on the slide? That’s my niece. I’m babysitting her for my brother and sister-in-law. Today’s their anniversary and they wanted peace.”

Mark bobbed his head, understanding. “Of course. You can’t have any of that around a child. How old is she?”

“Just turned six about a week ago.” 

“Around my son’s age,” he remarked, then pointed towards the set of swings. A couple of children played over there, but only one young boy was in the group. And he looked almost just like someone you knew. “He’s right there on the swings. Six, but he’s nearing seven.”

He was absolutely adorable. You were already thinking about play dates between him and your niece. She was lovely and enjoyed meeting new people, bless her pure heart. 

You smiled softly with awe. “Stole your whole face. There’s no way in hell you could deny that boy.”

Mark snickered, shoulders shaking. “Damn right. My little mini-me,” he sighed happily. He took his eyes off his son for a split-second to glance over at you. You looked beautiful, as always. And you were watching your niece with so much intent and care that he doubted you had even snook a glance of your own his way. “Fond of kids?” 

“I babysitted throughout college,” you replied pensively. Reminiscent. “Believe it or not. I thought it was my calling because I was so responsible and the parents always praised me, plus it was a huge step towards individuality. Grew up with a lot of siblings and relatives, too, so I’ve always been around children.” 

Mark grinned, satisfied. That was the answer he wanted to hear. He was only curious because he was interested in you, and before he jumped too far ahead he needed to know what you thought about children. It was a relief that you had so much tenderness for and resonated so well with them. That gave him all the more reasons to want you by his side. “What about you?” he asked, adding when your face scrunched about with confusion, “Do you want kids of your own?” 

There was no reluctance in your answer, like you had already thought long and hard about the question before. “Someday. When I’m married and sure I’ve chosen the right person to settle down and have kids with. And when I have a less demanding job so that I’m able to take care of my family and spend time with them,” you said, smiling wistfully. “My parents were busy people. They weren’t around a whole lot so me and my siblings practically raised each other.” 

Mark gave you a look. One you could make out as pity. You thought his response would be predictable, but it caught you by surprise. “You don’t want to be pitied, do you?” 

You blinked, genuinely unsure of how to respond for a moment. Then you broke into a broad grin and said, “Nope.” 

“I feel for you anyways,” Mark gave a playful nudge to your side with his elbow. “And I think you have beautiful visions for the future. I can tell you’re gonna be a great mother.” 

You thanked him in a way that was positively bashful. For a while, you and Mark chatted about whatever the hell you wanted - topics in relation to the children, personal life, and everything in between. After the day you and Mark kissed, a more mutual effort to get to know each other blossomed. Mark told you everything there was to know about his job. Most of the time he worked from home without much need for overseer authorization, and set his own hours. As someone who loved being in control, it suited him. 

It was alarming that you had gotten so personal so fast. You had only known each other for a month, more or less, and only really began talking a couple of weeks ago. Yet you felt comfortable enough to share a certain level of information that you normally would conceal. 

You were becoming close in every sense of the word. The tension between you and Mark never fizzled out, it only seemed to grow more, and more, and more, until it would eventually explode in your faces. By then, you would have no choice but to confront it directly. You couldn’t wait. 

Mark wrapped his arm around your waist, and peered down briefly to look at it. Contact drove you crazy. You loved having Mark’s hands on you, even in non-sexual ways. 

He pulled you into him and asked, “How long are you keeping her?”

“Just until five. I’m taking her to her grandma’s after this,” you replied, shifting your gaze back to the playground. But a smug smile tugged your lips. “Why?”

There was a shine in Mark’s pretty brown eyes. It was almost five. Voice tickling your neck, he leaned in to say bluntly, “Because I wanna take you for a ride. Are you down?” 

You casted him an observant glance over your shoulder. What Mark wanted was clear, or so you thought, but you were in the mood for playing hard to get. As per usual. “Dunno. What kind of ride?” 

“The kind where we get in my car and go whatever the road and a full tank of gas leads us,” Mark shrugged. “It’s a yes-no question, doll. Are you down, or not?” 

Doll. That was new. You had reached the pet name stage, calling each other ‘baby’ a couple of times, but ‘doll’ was new. It also had you wishing that you were both alone so that you could do something about how badly you craved Mark in that moment. 

“I’m down. Meet me outside the complex at six?” You questioned, peering up at him yet again. You smiled when you met his eyes, unable to resist the urge. Mark made you feel good inside, all warm and gross. It was a delight to know you were still capable of feeling such a way. After all, it had been so long since the last time. 

Mark nodded and smiled back. “I will. Child-less, so that we can have peace of our own.” 

You giggled into his chest. You could smell his scent, and it was heavenly. 

At six o’clock, Mark was waiting for you downstairs like he said that he would be. And he was child-less. You both were. 

Ever the gentleman, he opened the passenger door of his car for you and shut it once you were completely inside. Of course, it took more than simple courtesy to impress you, but something about it was making you giggle. Something you couldn’t pinpoint.

Mark gave you a look once he settled in the driver’s seat. “What’s funny?” 

“Chivalry,” you sighed, smiling. “Apparently, it’s not dead.”

Mark was amused, but held back a snort. You were occasionally ridiculous, but just the right amount. He could tolerate it. 

As he gripped the steering wheel, the car jerked to live underneath his fingertips, and soon you were both rolling. You said nothing for a little while, Mark focusing on the road and you peering out the window. The silence wasn’t awkward, but he cut on the radio and began to hum the song that was currently playing. 

You glanced at him witheringly, but he was unbothered. Then, you teased with a grin, “Oh, yeah. Show out, Beyoncé.” 

“Stop being a hater,” Mark groaned, then went back to singing. 

After some moments of teasing, you were finally content and gave it a rest, relaxing into the leather seat. You were happy. If anyone had told you a month ago that you’d be in your new neighbor’s car listening to him sing songs from the radio, you would have called them insane. But you weren’t stupid and you knew better than to vulnerate yourself to a stranger. You told a couple friends about him and realized why Mark had seemed familiar - because he was. One of them knew Mark and was able to vouch for him, assuring you he was a good guy. That was why you felt so goddamn free. 

It was peaceful, being alone with Mark. Whenever you weren’t both determined to get into each other’s pants, that was. But there was none of that right now - only the scenery whirling by at the pace of the lightning, the radio prevailing over the silence, and Mark by your side. And you by his. It felt too damn nice. 

“You never answered my question that day.”

“Hm?” you gazed at him, confused. By his sentence and sudden will to ignite conversation, although you didn’t mind. “What question?”

Mark’s hand left the steering wheel and dropped to your thigh, which undoubtedly didn’t go unnoticed by you. He didn’t move it, but you couldn’t ignore his fingers on your skin. “I asked you, what else do you like?” 

“About you, or in general?”

He shrugged. “Whatever gets you talking.”

You gazed through the windshield, pretending to be pondering deeply. “Well, in general, I like a bunch of things. I’ve got a penchant for poetry and music. This tends to shock people, but parties aren’t my scene. I’m a more reserved person. I love the color blue.” 

“Why blue?”

“Because it looks amazing on me,” you winked. 

“Mm,” Mark glanced at you fleetingly through the rear-view mirror. That was when his fingers started moving, kneading your thigh. “What else?” 

“Hm, well,” you began, pretending to be unbothered by his touch. In reality, you were melting with every move. “About you, there’s a lot for me to like, too. You’re confident, smart, funny, sexy,” then you licked your lips and added, “And an excellent kisser.” 

Mark grinned, hand still massaging your bare skin. “What a sweet-talker you are. Keep going,” he whispered, then gave your thigh a little squeeze. 

But you were honest. There were too many things you admired about Mark that led you to becoming drawn to him in such a little period of time. Just as easily as he had been able to make you tell him things, you had persuaded him into opening up. There was still so much to learn about each other on deeper levels, but time was your best friend. For now, you decided that you would tell him what you already knew. 

“I like the way you put so much care and effort into what you love. I’ve heard you talk about your son, your friends, your job. You never neglect anything,” you confessed, smiling fondly as you recalled the conversations you’d had. “I like how we’re similar, too. I think that’s part of the reason why we feel comfortable moving so fast. We’re cut from the same cloth. We both know what we want and when and how we want it, and we’re not afraid to go get it. It’s like playing a damn game of tug of war whenever I’m with you.”

“Or a very calculated game of chess,” Mark added, shaking his head with amusement. 

You giggled. “But there’s something about you that’s so… alluring. I’m attracted to it. You’re a hardworking borderline control freak that’s unafraid of sincerity. I love it.”

“Romantic. I’m swooning,” he deadpanned, throwing you a playful glare. 

“And you’re the right amount of sarcastic.” 

“And that’s what gets you going?”

“Baby, please. If I could kiss you right fucking now, I would,” you admitted. 

Mark said nothing, but his fingers kept fondling with your flesh, and your breath kept getting out of control. He gave your thigh another reassuring squeeze, letting you know he heard you. 

Forest views took over. You pressed your fingertips to the window glass and watched as the rapid blur of scenes that once consisted of neon city lights turned green. Moss-coated branches replaced them, last rays of sunlight filtering through them as you neared the woods and the gravel roads turned to dirt. 

“Woods, very spooky. Are you gonna kill me and hide my body out here?” you asked him humorously, watching as he drove you through the wild.

Mark didn’t take his eyes off the road as he replied, “And dump it in the lake.” 

“Lake?”

He smiled. “You’ll see.” 

You did see a lake. Mark parked his car near some trees and once he helped you outside, led you down a trail until you reached a bridge. It was long and stretched above a medium body of water. Blossoming flowers lived in the grass and the scent was earthy. You stretched ever so slightly over the railing and saw yours and Mark’s reflection staring back at you. 

There were little fountains in the lake. Creatures made the water ripple and you watched with Mark’s arm wrapped around your waist as the smell and sound of nature filled your senses. Ducks pecked around the land edges of the lake in hunt of food. 

“It’s beautiful,” you exhaled in awe. The clouds and setting sun peered down on the water and you wished that you had your camera on your person. It was a sight too gorgeous to let become nothing more than a memory fading at the back of your head. 

Mark bobbed his head in agreement. The corners of his lips tugged upwards as he said, “It is. I come here from time to time whenever I need to clear my head. It’s a nice place that I’ve always wanted to share with someone.” 

“You trust me enough to share it with me?�� you teased, palms on his chest as you gazed up at his face. “I mean, like what if I get arrested for tax fraud and every time you come here all you can think about is your old neighbor that got sent to prison for evading her taxes.” 

“Then, you better do your taxes, or else I’ll be right after you when you get out. For attempted murder.” 

You made a face of faux fear. “Shiver me timbers!” 

Somehow, Mark pulled you closer and gave you a kiss on the cheek. Any closer and you were sure he would be able to feel how fast your heart was beating. It was safe to say that you had a little crush on your neighbor. You wanted him to an extent that words couldn’t capture. 

There was something different with Mark. Linger was the perfect word to describe how his every action affected you. When he kissed you, you could still feel his lips on you moments afterwards. His every touch lingered on you, even the barest ones. You could taste him on you, his scent lingered on your body - it was too much. But Mark was too persistent. Even if you wanted to, and you didn’t, you couldn’t get away. 

Mark looked at you as if he wanted to kiss you, but to your misfortune, he didn’t. Instead his lips parted to say, “Watch the sunset with me.” 

Obediently, you turned to face the railing, which pleased him. He moved behind you and tightened his grip on your waist. 

The sunset was beautiful, even more so with Mark’s company. The two of you made conversation, all the while watching how the sky that was once a pleasant array of colors dulled a deep indigo. The sun descended below the horizon and its reflection in the water was replaced by the moon.

And you - the moonlight illuminated every inch of your face. Mark had always thought that you were gorgeous, but the moonlight made your beauty criminal. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. 

“I can’t control myself anymore,” Mark growled. At first, you were confused, but when he whirled you around and pressed his lips against yours, you quickly understood. 

Mark backed you against the railing, cornering you. Kissing him was too much fun. It was the same battle, the same fervent effort to compel one of you to submit to the other’s touch, yet both of you always held out, keeping your white flags lowered. Mark had never met anyone that challenged him this much, and you had never met anyone so desperate to prove a point. 

When one of you pulled away, you not only were breathing heavily, but dangerously turned on. Your despires were no longer pure wants - they were needs. 

“Mark,” you exhaled through shallow breaths, “Please.” 

Mark cocked a brow, incredulous, yet amused. “You’re begging?” 

You nodded, casting him a needy glance that nearly made him want to give you everything you wanted then and there. It wounded your pride to beg him to do anything, but you weren’t necessarily above it anymore. Lust made you do anything - and it was flowing rapidly through your bloodstream. “Please, I want it.”

That much was entertaining to him, although Mark still didn’t want to give himself to you yet. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to have sex with you, but he wanted to bide his time. He wanted things a specific way and hooking up with you in his car simply wasn’t ideal. 

Mark shook his head. “I’m not fucking you in my car.” 

You pursed your lips and fought back the best way you knew how, huffing, “Why not? Don’t wanna fuck up your expensive seats? Car sex virgin?” 

“My first time was in the back of a car,” Mark told you matter-of-factly, being sure to smile in the most menacing way possible. It was only deserved for the way you left him that day that you kissed him. You wanted to kiss that stupid grin off his face, but you thought he didn’t deserve it. “And everything I wanna do to you can’t happen in a car. You’ve been patient all this time, baby, you can wait a little more.” 

“Ever the elaborate controlling perfectionist are you,” you drawled, faux aggravation to your tone.

Mark entwined his fingers with yours. “But you love that about me.”

“I never said that.”

“Oh? Must I remind you of your little love confession in my car earlier?” he teased. 

You rolled your eyes. “No, thank you. But I will be expecting a four-page love letter detailing everything you like about me in the mail signed ‘Markie Pooh’ soon. I like to be courted.” 

Mark gave your forehead a chaste peck, grinning as he joked, “I’ll enclose it with a kiss.” 

You giggled. 

Soon, Mark drove you back home and you were kissing him goodbye. It was a dramatic farewell, considering you lived right next door to him, but tonight had been magical and you were wondering where the time had gone. All you wanted to do was freeze time and kiss Mark on that bridge forever. 

But you were also sick to your stomach that he still wasn’t in your guts. And tonight, you had a plan that would undoubtedly make him snap and give you what you wanted. 

Last night, you gave yourself the release that your body was begging for, since Mark refused to fulfill your desires himself. And you made sure to be loud so that your intentions were obvious - ever since the last time he asked you to keep it down, you began doing an impressive job at suppressing your noises, muffling them into your pillow or biting your lip. But not last night. You called it being petty for the right reasons. That was what you were, and rather proudly. 

For a little extra flare, you moaned Mark’s name. As much as it was you being petty for the sake of setting him off, it was also a self-indulging experience. Fantasizing about your neighbor was what brought you to the edge quicker than anything, and you came harder than ever with the thought of him on your mind. 

Mark didn’t text you the following day. Usually, you would find time through your hectic work hours to chat, and you would spend the better half of your lunch break typing away at your phone, but it was radio silence. 

It was weird. Maybe you and Mark were alike in more ways than you thought, and he was also extremely petty. But for the wrong reasons, in your opinion. 

When you came home from work, Mark was standing outside his door, waiting. He leaned against it and stared you down. 

“Had fun last night?” 

Pretending to be oblivious as to what he was referencing, you played dumb and answered, “You mean, at the bridge? Of course. When are we going again?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Mark chastised, glaring. “I heard you last night. You seemed like you were having a good time, you know, moaning my name and all like a slut.” 

Never had it ever crossed your mind that you would enjoy Mark calling you a slut, yet here you were, becoming more and more aroused the longer you pushed his buttons. With his commitment to patience, you typically never got much fun out of it, but right now he was approaching his limit and you were anticipating every second of it. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you replied, searching for your keys and acting as if you were paying him no mind. 

Mark wasn’t having any of it. For weeks you had all been all over each other, the mutual lust long-established, though now you were suddenly disregarding him and it was with one clear intention in mind. He wasn’t going to give in to your tricks, but he would play along with your little game. And he was going to win. 

The little remaining bits of restraint he had suddenly exhausted and Mark gripped your wrists, ignoring the sound of surprise you uttered as he dragged you into his apartment. The door slammed shut in your trail and he pushed you up against it, pinning your arms above your head as he began to kiss you with urgency. 

Kissing Mark was exhilarating. Whenever his lips were flush against yours, it was as if time stopped. Everything seemed to slow down but the dangerously rapid thud of your heart against your chest and the spreading wildfire in your body. You made an attempt to free your wrists from his seemingly tightening touch, writhing against him with desire to touch him, yet whatever strength you had Mark had more and you were unable to overpower his might. 

“Mark,” you exhaled, pulling away to catch your breath. “I want to touch you.” 

He hummed, an idea slithering into his brain. “If you want to so bad, then beg.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, slightly incredulous, yet the feeling dissipated when you remembered who exactly you were talking to. Scowling, you said, “I begged you once and now you’re getting too used to it.” 

“If you want to get your way when it comes to me, then you better start getting used to it. Now, do you wanna get your pretty little hands on me, or not?” 

You sighed. “I do.”

Mark gave you an expecting look. “Then, beg.” 

“You want me to get on my knees, too?” you deadpanned, shooting him a sharp glare that he seemed utterly unbothered by - and it exasperated you. 

The grin on his lips then was infuriating. “Don’t worry, you’ll do that later.” 

Ignoring the very obvious implication of those words, you made a face, but the look in Mark’s eyes when you met his gaze was so goddamn commanding. The dominance to his aura that you had been so intent on destroying was finally getting to you. 

“Please,” you whimpered, trying to ignore how pathetic you sounded. “Let me touch you, Mark, please.” 

Satisfied, Mark let go of your wrists and his lips immediately fell back on yours, the need to kiss you resurfacing. It was like resuming, pressing play and pause. There was something about hearing and seeing you beg - especially against your will - that he found so arousing. You were so resistant to his dominance and it was all too entertaining to see you finally succumb. 

Your hands raced to his shirt and with his own assistance, you hiked it above his head, hands flying to his chest afterwards. For a moment, your eyes opened to ogle at him, wallowing in the sight of his bare skin. Mark began to tug at your blouse and you both began to undress one another, leaving a trail of clothes behind you as you both headed to his bedroom. 

By the time you got to his bed, you were stripped down to nothing but your undergarments. Lying flat on your back, you watched as Mark took his sweet time to crawl over you. His hand moved at an agonizingly slow pace from your thighs, to your stomach, to your clothed breasts. You felt as if your breath was stuck in your throat as you anticipated what he would do next, and he finally leaned in your ear, whispering, “You do look good in blue.” 

He kissed you there for a little longer, heated and passionate, then pulled you up and said, “Get on your knees.” 

Submissively, you sank to the floor without a fight, which both pleased and surprised Mark. Though the little sly grin playing on your lips was a good enough indicator that you were planning something. And you were. Any other time you would have refused to listen to him without first making an attack on his pride, but you were skilled with your tongue and had a line of people you’d been with to show for it. 

You were resolved to make him unravel - and you would. 

The bulge of his dick was prominent through his underwear, of which you tugged down in desperate haste. You had wanted a taste of him for only God knows how long. 

His dick sprung against his stomach and by then your mouth was watering. You took him into your palm, smiling up at Mark as you began to leisurely pump him. Your efforts to tease him only became worse, intentionally letting your lips graze the head of his dick every now and then, giving him false hope that you’d finally get to the best part. 

“Don’t tease me, doll. You won’t like what’ll happen if you keep up,” Mark warned. 

“Punish me, Mark,” you said, smiling broadening. 

He wasn’t given the chance to respond before you took his cock into your mouth, a little grunt leaving his mouth instead. You were taking him into your mouth bit by bit, efforts to tease him still lingering. Mark grabbed a fistful of your hair and held it behind your neck. 

Mark, a man of patience, was beginning to lose the thing he clung to most. He used your hair to force you down on him some more. “Stop fooling around and take it, baby. Put your mouth to good use for once.��� 

In pursuit of spiting him, you fooled around for a moment longer, though finally gave up contentedly after you figured that you’d frustrated him enough. Soon you were steadily bobbing your head up and down his length, cheeks hollowed, his fingers gripping your hair to control your movements to an extent. 

The wet sound of your mouth sucking his dick and his little noises of pleasure echoed throughout the bedroom. You smiled to yourself slyly at a thought you were having. Mark was a groaner. 

He sounded heavenly. You were quick to discover his weaknesses, catching on to how he became noisier. Mark wasn’t the loudest guy that you’d been with, fairly moderate, but he was still unable to hide the signs that said loud and clear you were making him feel good. You looked up at him through your eyelashes and saw how pleasure was written all over his face, lips parted and his eyes closing from time to time. 

That drove Mark borderline insane, you peering up at him like that - and you had already known that it would. At the end of the day, Mark was simply a man, after all. And you had men all figured out. 

“Good girl. Just like that,” he praised, pushing your head down a little more. 

Your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and you stroked him all the while sucking him off, tasting pre-cum on your tongue. You could feel him twitching in your mouth and it was a pleasure. There was no denying he was close. 

When Mark noticed you slowing down in efforts to tease him, he was displeased and decided that he had enough of your schemes. The loosened, relaxed grip on your hair suddenly tightened and he began to thrust into your mouth, taking control. You were good with your mouth and able to take it deep, but the sudden movement caught you off-guard and you began to gag. 

“Just when I praise you, you decide you wanna be a little fucking brat,” Mark spat, pulling your hair again. “You just can’t listen, can you?”

You glared up at him, tears pricking your eyes, and the sight made him let out a laugh. He knew as well as the next person that you liked acting tough, but with tears in the corners of your eyes and a cock in your mouth, you looked nothing short of pathetic.

He shot you a withering look, adding, “You always act like you have the whole world in the palm of your hands. You try to get under my skin because you want to see me succumb to the same tricks you play on everyone else, but you know I won’t give an inch and you don’t know how to handle it. Wish you could see how pathetic you look when you shut the hell up and take my cock.” 

Right now you wished that he would shut the hell up, but oddly enough, his words were turning you on. You silently prayed that he wouldn’t catch on to how wet you were getting with every passing moment. 

Mark was close. His sentences became raspy, deep groans and his pace was relentless, merciless. Like he was trying to bruise the very back of your throat. It took everything in you not to choke out, but you refused to give him the satisfaction in seeing you in such a vulnerable state. He was already enjoying this too much. 

Mark groaned, “Fuck. You gonna swallow it, babe?”

As a way of saying ‘yes’, you hummed around his shaft and the vibration was making him lose his mind. You swiftly moved one of your palms to wipe at a streak of tears on your cheeks before he noticed. 

You doubted that he did. Mark was in another world, eyes closed as he was overcome by pleasure. The warmth and wetness of your mouth was everything and he was out of control, movements unrestrained. He came in your mouth with a grunt, giving your hair one last violent tug as his climax struck his body. You milked him dry, taking every bit of his cum in your mouth that you could possibly manage. 

There was a noise when you rolled him out of your mouth, looking him in his eyes immediately afterwards. Mark was breathless, and so were you, but he could only smile. 

You gave him a look, voice slightly hoarse from the throat-fucking as you asked, “What?” 

“Nothing,” he replied, smile unfaltering, but it was obviously something. “I’m simply enjoying the way you look with spit and my cum on your lips and chin.” 

You rolled your eyes and wiped yourself clean with the back of your hand. “And I was enjoying the way you looked like you were on the verge of losing your shit.” 

“Funny how you’re only quiet when you have a dick in your mouth.”

Wittily, you retorted, “Maybe I would shut up if you fucked me.” 

Instead of giving you an immediate response, Mark pulled you back onto the mattress, hovering above you as you lay flat on your back. “Mm-hm. That’s why you were moaning my name so loud last night, right? Because you wanted my dick?”

One of his palms slipped underneath the band of your underwear and you let out a little cry of surprise when you felt his fingers brushing against your arousal. You were holding in your breath. It had been so long since anyone had you like this and you were touch-starved, feeling completely deprived of sex and nearly the memory of what it was like. 

His free hand gave a loud, resounding smack to your thigh, and you yelped. “That was a question, doll.” 

“Yes,” you choked out. “Please. I want it so bad, Mark.”

“So wet, all for me,” he sighed with bliss. His fingers were now plunging inside your pussy, sliding in and out with ease. You hadn’t been this wet in ages. “How long has it been since you were last with someone?”

“I don’t know, like three months,” you guessed, not really wanting to think about it when his touch was all you could focus on. “A really long fucking time, basically.” 

Mark made a face, surprised. “No wonder you’re so damn needy.”

His teasing did nothing to help and you were quickly growing impatient. There was no need to explain why it had been so long, you were certain he already knew. With your work schedule there was rarely time to meet new people and you had no one to come home to. But Mark made it too goddamn easy, and considering how hard you worked, you could use a good fuck. 

“It’ll be a year by the time you fuck me,” you grumbled, impatient. What more did he want you to do? You sucked him off, begged, and yet he was still torturing you by resisting. It was like he was deliberately trying to get you to lose your goddamn mind, and knowing Mark, you wouldn’t put it past him. It was working. 

Mark said nothing, looking at you blithely. And hungrily. There was still a layer of clothes obstructing the view of your bare skin, and greedily his hands flew to the band of your underwear. You bit back a whimper at the feeling of being suddenly empty, but Mark tore your panties past your ankles, and your bra immediately followed as he tugged on the straps. 

The sight of your naked body had Mark’s dick throbbing and he swore then that you were Aphrodite. You were driving him past the brink of insanity. He had envisaged your body in his dreams and fantasies, though nothing could have prepared him for how beautiful you looked sprawled out on his sheets and he could only think one thing. Goddamn. 

That was it for him. He was still resolved to tease you to sheer hell, but he could keep playing your games while inside of you.

You made a tiny gasp when you felt the head of Mark’s cock prod your folds. The sight of your pussy was his kryptonite - you were dripping with arousal. You wanted him so badly and he wanted you just as much. He pushed the tip in with a raspy groan and made a couple slow, shallow thrusts. 

Then a couple turned into too many for you to count and you were becoming impatient. More than you already were. “Mark, hurry the hell up,” you grumbled. 

“Mm, no. I think I’ll keep going like this,” Mark teased. After the way you treated him only moments ago, he wasn’t the least bit sympathetic. “I told you, you weren’t going to like what happened if you kept teasing me. Now look.” 

Just like he said you wouldn’t, you weren’t liking this. He was agonizingly slow, not deep enough, and it was all deliberate. Karma was a fucking bitch. 

“Fuck you,” you spat, insincere. 

Mark was totally unbothered, seemingly paying you no mind as he replied, “That’s no way to talk to the man who you’re so wet for. Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll reconsider.” 

Holding back a groan in fear of his changing his mind about reconsidering, you tidied up the sentence you were preparing to say to him and fixed your tone. “Mark, can you please move faster?” 

“Don’t you sound so sweet when you ask like a good girl,” Mark sang. Before you could muster a response, he finally thrusted completely into you and you moaned. The way your pussy gripped him was his vice, and you stretched to accommodate his size. 

In no time he also discarded his formerly slow pace and adopted a new, speedier one. The way he was pounding you was so deep and perfect and you grabbed his shoulders, desperately needing something to cling to.

This type of experience used to only exist in your head. More often than not, you winded up touching yourself to the thought of the man before you as a way to cope with your stress and lechery. You would close your eyes and picture his dark hair matted by sweat, his face scrunched up with pleasure. You would imagine the noises that he’d make when he finally felt the grip of your pussy around his dick, the way your body responded to his every touch. It got you off too quick, tempting you to march over to his apartment and demand he finished the job. 

But you never did. You wanted to see him lose his patience - and you did. 

“Pussy’s so damn tight,” Mark groaned, which made you grin smugly. You knew that already. 

Mark leaned low and began to press soft kisses into your skin, his thumb brushing over your stiff nipples. He found you utterly beautiful, no flaw in his eyes. The breathy sounds you were making in response felt like hearing an angel. 

Although you were enjoying yourself, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing and said, “Don’t be gentle with me, baby.”

Mark smiled softly. “I don’t plan to be, doll.” 

When Mark was finished with your breasts, his mouth replaced them, beginning to latch roughly onto your neck. Which made you sigh out in bliss. The feeling of his teeth digging sharply into your flesh made you certain that he was going to leave Mark’s, and you were too fond of it. You wanted Mark to make you his. 

Everything was too much in the best way possible. You were intoxicated by the feeling of Mark’s bare cock between your walls, striking the sweetest parts of you. Your mouth parted in too-loud moans of his name. 

He gripped your throat, looking you dead in the eyes as he commanded, “Be fucking quiet.”

That made you clench around his length. At first, your eyes widened, but you recovered swiftly and your lips curled into a broad smile as you met Mark’s gaze. The look on your face right then made his cock twitch. 

“You like that, huh?” he asked, tightening the grip around your neck. You couldn’t get a single coherent word out, choking, but the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head was more than the perfect answer. 

Mark let go of your throat after a moment and began to watch the way your cunt swallowed him whole. It was satisfying to have you at his disposal like this. He was hell bent on taming you, no matter how many fucks it took; the more the merrier. He couldn’t get enough of the way you felt - warm, wet walls clamping tightly around his size - and he knew deep down that there was no way in hell this would be the last time. 

There was no going back. He was set on you; you on him. You were different from anyone he had ever been with before, you were a challenge. Brats were something he never thought he would be fond of, wallowing in the fact that most women bent to his will. But you caught onto his behavior fast and opposed it, resolved to break down his walls, and he was game. Mark never went down without a fight, though neither did you, and he liked it too damn much. 

Taming you was fun. It was something he never knew that he needed until you suddenly came into his life, providing him a little thrill and excitement on a silver platter. You were so much like him that it was all too easy to read you, to find out what made you tick. And making you feel defeated was what he got out of trying to put a leash on your wildness. 

Not too long after, you were moaning in a chant, “Mark,” his words forewarning you to be quiet going in one ear and out of the other. You couldn’t help it. It felt perfect. He was so deep and so thick, making you feel full. 

“Brat,” Mark hissed, shaking his head. But with how utterly disobedient you were he didn’t bother to scold you again, taking matters into his own hands by picking your panties and shoving them into your mouth. “That’ll shut you up.” 

There was an instant sound of protest and likely you cursing at him, considering how you narrowed your eyes at him, but there was no way for him to tell. Mark smiled tauntingly. “Can’t hear you, babe,” he said.

You raised your middle finger in a silent retaliation, but Mark retaliated back even quicker and lifted your hands above your head, pinning them down to the mattress. You felt so fucking powerless, yet Mark had so much power over you and your body. It wasn’t fair. 

It wasn’t long before you could finally sense your orgasm building up, a dam on the very verge of breaking loose. Everything felt otherworldly and you swore that you were no longer breathing. Like you were gone, but your body was still physically alive and well. Pleasure ripped through every last vein in your bare body and consumed it in its entirety, swallowing you in its mass. 

Mark’s pace was merciless, and when he moved one of his hands to wrap around your throat, so was the tight squeeze on both sides. It was damn near bruising and your eyes were fluttering, but you didn’t want him to stop. You were internally begging that he wouldn’t. 

Your panties fell from your mouth and you took the opportunity to ask with a struggle, “Can I please cum, Mark?” 

“Let go for me, babe,” Mark grunted, resisting the urge to comment on how pathetic you sounded asking for permission in your hoarse little voice. It came to him as a pleasant surprise, and a satisfying sound that left his dick throbbing. 

There was no need to tell you twice. You came with one last cry of his name, back arching as you began to come undone. It was explosive, your entire body reacting to the intensity of it. Your toes clenched and your pussy gripped relentlessly around his shaft. You swore that you were beginning to see stars. 

Mark pulled out and came on your stomach with a deep sexy groan, the sight and sound of you at your very climax triggering his own orgasm consecutively. His hands loosened their grip and set you free, and soon you were both lying flat on his bed, panting heavily. 

“So,” he began through shallow breaths, and you braced yourself for whatever he could have possibly said next. “How’s that for a weak dick game?” 

You glanced at him confused, then suddenly broke into a fit of laughter after you recalled what he was referencing. You had insulted his game. “I take it back,” you replied. “It’s alright.”

Mark raised a brow. “Just alright? Like I didn’t have to put your panties in your mouth because you wouldn’t stop screaming my name?” 

“I was not screaming.”

“You were screaming. And…,”

Before he could add anything else - and you knew he would, refusing to let you live anything that happened today down - you smashed your lips against his and carded your fingers through his hair, effectively shutting him up. Mark kissed back with joy, smiling against your lips. All of the other kisses that you two shared had consisted of rough, unrestrained attempts at dominating one another, but this was slow and sweet. It was gentle, and dare you say loving. 

“One more round?” you asked when you pulled away. 

Mark snickered. “Don’t tempt me, baby. If we start with one it might become two.”

You licked your lips and grinned. That was useful information. “Nope, I’m tempting you. Now give in.”

Mark gave your lips another kiss, but immediately became distracted once he caught another glimpse of the swell of your breasts. “Damn, baby,” he sighed contentedly, running his hands over the shape. “I just fucking might.” 

Temptations. Oh, how dangerous they were. But caving into them might have been the best decision you’d ever made - and Mark was living proof. 

He was your temptation.

[badkitty3000]

One Fateful Day

Five x Single Mom reader, one-shot, 5k words

Warnings: None!

I received a request quite a while ago for a fluffy, sweet one-shot where Five befriends a single mom. Hope you like a super soft Five, cause that's what this is! ❤️

A/N: This image was made entirely with AI, as you can probably tell by the glaringly bad mistakes.

Five listened to the sound of happy children playing and screaming, along with the quiet hum of distant traffic and the crunch of bike tires as they rolled across the gravel pathways of his favorite city park. He found his usual bench, brushing off a few fallen leaves before easing himself onto it with the groan of someone years older than he looked. As soon as he was situated, he glanced around and waited. It never took long before they found him. Sure enough, less than 30 seconds later, the gang of ne’er-do-wells showed up out of nowhere.

Five’s bird friends consisted mostly of some mangy looking pigeons, a few brown sparrows, and one particularly ornery blue jay. They knew him by sight and would flock at his feet whenever he came to visit. As they gathered around, cooing, chirping and hopping excitedly, Five smiled down at them.

“Hi, guys,” he said quietly. “How’ve you been? Staying out of trouble?”

As usual, he received no real response, but more flitters and flapping of wings. That was ok, though. He didn’t mind the one-sided conversations.

Pulling a small bag of bird seed out of his inside coat pocket, he continued talking.

“Sorry I missed you yesterday.” He sprinkled a handful of the seed on the ground and watched as the excitement of the crew intensified. “Klaus needed a ride to the dentist. He said to say hi.”

Five watched the intricate dance of bird hierarchy unraveling before him. He already knew their order of rank and which bird was going to get the majority of the feast while the others waited their turns.

“Wren Franklin…be nice. Bernice isn’t taking your share, Jack Sparrow, so quit your squawking.”

He threw another handful on the ground. “Trucker Bob, it’s ok buddy…you get on in there, they aren’t going to hurt you.” Five suddenly stomped his foot at the blue jay, causing everyone to scatter for a brief moment before scurrying back again. “Sandra Jay O’Connor, I saw that! If I see you peck at poor Mr. Tippington again, you will be banned for a month!”

As Five cursed the blue jay while cooing soft words of encouragement to a small and plain-looking brown bird, he heard a quiet giggle nearby. Sensing it was aimed in his direction, he looked up. On the next bench over, he saw you. Your eyes sparkled as you tried to stifle your laugh. You looked abruptly away as soon as Five glanced at you.

Five smiled softly to himself. He knew he looked and sounded like a crazy person. But he sensed you weren’t making fun of him, just that you were amused.

“You laugh, but I’ve seen that bird fly right onto a man’s head and fly off with his toupee purely for spite. Granted, she was probably doing him a favor because it was god awful, but still.”

You looked at Five and laughed shyly again before shaking your head. “I had no idea bird crime was so rampant in this city.”

“Oh, yes,” Five nodded solemnly. “In fact, I advise you to stay away from the park at night. You might find yourself in the middle of a fly-by shooting. Lots of bird gang violence around here.”

“Is that so? Well, thank you for the heads up,” you said with a smile. Just then, your 5 year-old daughter ran up, out of breath. You handed her a bottle of water. “Ready to go, sweetie?”

The little girl nodded while taking a sip. “Yep.”

You got up and started to walk away, taking your daughter’s hand in yours. You stopped and looked back at Five, who was still watching you. “Have a nice afternoon with your friends there, and I hope Mr. Tippington is ok.”

Five grinned widely. “Thank you, and he’ll be just fine.”

You nodded with a smile and turned to leave. Five watched you go, ignoring the fact that his feathered friends were now clearly irritated that their benefactor had yet to give them their full ration of seed for the day.

Two days later, and Five was back on his favorite bench. As he was in the middle of another inciteful, one-way conversation with his buddies on the ground, he heard a familiar voice from behind.

“Go along and play, Cassie, I’ll watch you from here.”

When Five turned, he saw you standing there. Your eyes sparkled in the sunlight just like the first time he saw you.

“So, do these birds do anything for you in return for you feeding them? Like bringing you gifts, or doing your taxes?” you teased.

Five chuckled. “No. They just let me talk their ears off while they eat.”

“Huh. Do birds have ears?”

Five shrugged. “You know, I’m not sure. Maybe that’s why they don’t care that I’m talking at them.”

You laughed and gestured to the empty side of Five’s bench. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

As Five moved over to make more room for you, you introduced yourself with a handshake.

“Nice to meet you. Five Hargreeves,” he said.

“Hargreeves? Why does that name sound familiar?” you asked, tilting your head.

Five sighed quietly. He really wondered why he hadn’t just picked another name by now. It would make things so much easier.

“Does The Umbrella Academy ring any bells?”

You were thoughtful for a second and then the lightbulb went on. “You’re kidding! You were…are…one of them?”

Five nodded. “Sure am. Good old Number Five.”

“I see,” you responded with a smile as you looked him up and down. “So, which one were you? I mean, what can you do?”

“Teleportation. Time travel.” He paused. “Pigeon summoning.”

You laughed. “Very cool. I can see your very impressive pigeon power in action now, but you’ll have to show me the others sometime.”

Five smiled. “Sure thing.”

You nodded. “Ok, Number Five. So, I’ve seen you around the park here a lot. Are you here with your kids, too?”

Five felt called out and a faint blush appeared on his cheeks. “Uh, no. No kids.” He was really hoping you didn’t think he was some creeper hanging out at the park for less innocent reasons. “Don’t worry, though. I just like to come here and feed these guys,” he explained, gesturing to the birds on the ground. “It’s like therapy but without the judgment and bill at the end.”

You looked dubious for just a moment, glancing over at the play structure where your daughter was swinging happily. But when you turned to face Five again, you relaxed. You glanced down at the birds. “They certainly seem to like you.”

Five shrugged. “I think they just view me as a human vending machine.” He held out the bag of seed towards you. “Want to be the hero?”

You nodded and reached into the bag, scooping up some seed and tossing it on the ground. The birds went crazy, tweeting and flapping their wings, making you laugh. Five grinned.

“See? They have no loyalty.”

“I see that. But you have names for them all?”

“Ah, well…some of them. At least the usual ones that come around. It’s rather interesting to observe their little avian society.” Five stopped, realizing that he sounded like a weirdo. “I’m sorry. I’m not a complete lunatic, I promise.”

You laughed, and once again Five could tell you weren’t making fun of him. You seemed genuinely charmed by him. You also had a very calming presence, he noticed. He didn’t feel awkward or on edge when talking with you, which was a refreshing change of pace these days.

“I don’t think you’re a lunatic. Believe me, I can spot them from a mile away and you’re not one.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

You jumped when you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket from an incoming call. You held it up to Five with an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s my ex and he’s supposed to take our daughter this weekend, so I have to figure out the details.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

As you turned to walk away for more privacy, Five took a look over at the playground. He saw the little girl you had called Cassie, climbing up the ladder to the monkey bars. She was small and Five watched as she got to the top rung, hesitantly reaching out for the first bar to cross. As she swung out, Five could see she wasn’t truly comfortable with what she was doing, and the ground was pretty far below. He stood up, looking over at you, but your back was turned as you were trying to focus on the call. When he turned back to the girl, he saw it start to happen like it was in slow motion. On the second bar, one of her hands started to slip, leaving her dangling by a few fingers. She let out a scream that got your attention, but it was too late.

Just as your daughter lost her grip with her remaining hand and began to fall to the ground, Five blinked directly under her, catching her just in time. As he stood there with your daughter in his arms, both of them looking shocked, you ran over in a panic.

“Cassie! Oh my god, are you ok?”

She nodded, still looking up at the mysterious man that had appeared out of the literal blue to save her. “Yeah.”

Five set her down and she ran to you, hugging you tightly around your waist. You held her to you and looked up at Five.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t believe I wasn’t watching…but you were…oh my god if you weren’t here…”

“No problem. I’m just glad I got there in time.”

You choked back the tears you could feel coming on. “I’m a terrible mother, aren’t I? I just let my kid fall off the monkey bars because I wasn’t paying attention. What kind of person does that?”

Five smiled gently. “A normal one. Of course you’re not a terrible mother.”

“You don’t even know me,” you sniffed with a smile.

“True. But in the very short time we’ve been talking, I can tell that you’re a great parent. Just like you can sniff out the lunatics, I can spot a shitty parent a mile away.”

Cassie let go of you, glancing back at Five with a smile and then back at you. “It’s true, mommy, you’re not shitty at all.”

“Cassie!” you gasped in horror at your daughter’s language.

Five tried to hold it in, but he had to laugh, which made Cassie laugh, which then made you laugh.

 “Sorry, I think that’s my fault,” Five said.

“Well, I’d like to blame you, but the truth is I have a bad habit of swearing like a sailor myself. I just usually try to keep it to a minimum around her, but I’m not always successful.”

Five nodded with a smile before crouching down in front of Cassie. “Maybe next time stick with the swings, ok?”

Cassie frowned, her eyebrows scrunched together as she crossed her arms. “Swings are for babies. I can DO the monkey bars, but these were slippery. Someone made them slippery.”

Five looked back up at you with a grin, then back at Cassie, fixing his face so that he was serious again. “I bet they did. That seems like a very logical explanation; I can tell you are very smart.”

Cassie uncrossed her arms with a smile and nodded. “I am! I get in trouble at school for saying I’m smarter than the other kids, but it’s not my fault. I’m only telling the truth.”

“We’re working on being humble, aren’t we Cassie?” you said in a reproving way.

Five chuckled and leaned in to whisper to Cassie, making sure he was still loud enough that you could hear. “I completely understand. I have the same problem.”

The little girl nodded solemnly, recognizing a fellow put-upon genius in her midst. She looked back up at you. “Can I go on the slide now?”

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I’m ok.”

“Alright, then. I promise I’ll be watching.”

As she ran off to the slide, you turned to Five. “I should probably go over and stand at the bottom. Just in case.”

“Oh sure, I understand.”

“Really, I can’t thank you enough, Five. You’re amazing.”

Five put his hands in his pockets and smiled shyly. “I think amazing is a bit much, but you’re welcome.”

“So, will you be coming by to feed your buddies tomorrow?”

“Most likely, yes.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I was thinking that I might bring Cassie back here tomorrow as well. Maybe around 2pm? Do you think you’ll be here then?”

“I think I will definitely be here at 2pm.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

With a smile, you gave him a small wave and turned to go join your daughter at the slide. Five watched you walk away, unable to keep the growing grin off his face. This was the most interaction he’d had with anyone that wasn’t part of his family in a very long time and it felt surprisingly good. Really good.

The next day, Five was already waiting at his usual bench when you and Cassie found your way over to him. When he saw you, he stood up, holding out a cup of coffee for you. His own cup was on the bench next to where he had been sitting.

“I wasn’t sure how you liked it. Or, even if you drank coffee, but here you go. It’s just black.”

As you took the cup, you giggled. “Yes, I do drink coffee, and black is perfect. Thank you so much, that wasn’t necessary.”

Five shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I was getting one for myself anyway, so it was no trouble.”

Cassie watched as you and Five stood there smiling at one another, but not saying anything. Her eyebrows came together and she looked up at Five, tilting her head to one side.

“My mom said your name is Five.”

Snapping out of his trance, he addressed Cassie. “Yes, it is.”

“That’s a number.”

“Yes, it is.”

“That’s how old I am.”

Five nodded. “You seem very mature for your age.”

She paused, eyeing him up thoughtfully. “Five’s a weird name.”

“Cassie!” you cried out, completely embarrassed at your daughter’s lack of a filter.

Biting back a laugh, Five pretended to look confused. “What do you mean it’s weird? I know at least a dozen other people named Five.”

Cassie paused, trying to determine if he was telling the truth or not. Then she shook her head with a small smile. “No, you don’t.”

Five grinned. “See? I knew you were smart.”

You laughed at their interaction, looking around. “So, where are your friends?”

“Oh, I haven’t put out the buffet yet. They’ll be here though.” He turned to Cassie. “Would you like to help feed some very ungrateful birds with me?”

The little girl’s face lit up. “Yes!”

“Ok, then, here you go,” Five took out his usual bag of birdseed and handed it to Cassie. “Just start sprinkling it on the ground. They’ll be here before you know it.”

As she took the seed and started to throw handfuls around and up in the air, laughing to herself, you and Five sat on the bench and watched. Sure enough, after about a minute, the small flock began to swoop in. Five identified all of them that had names, which made Cassie laugh even harder. As she giggled and let out little shrieks of joy while she continued to throw them more food, you turned to Five.

“I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time.”

“Really?”

You nodded. “It’s been really hard on her since the divorce. She has to go back and forth from house to house every week. It’s stressful and I can see it taking a toll on her. Which, naturally, makes me feel like shit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Five said earnestly. “But even if it’s hard on her now, it will be better for her in the long run. Kids are resilient and she really is very smart, so I have no doubt she’ll be fine. What happened with you and your ex, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well,” you sighed, “it’s a long story. But the short version is that we got together when we were young and just outgrew one another over time. He’s not a bad guy, but we argued all the time. The love was gone and we just didn’t want to fight anymore.” You looked over at Cassie with a guilty frown. “I just wish I could protect her from all of this.”

Five was silent for a moment as he took that in. “Look, I’m not a parent and I don’t pretend to know anything about marriage, but I can tell you that it sounds like you did her a favor. Growing up in a house with constant bickering can be stressful in its own right. And not seeing any love between parents is even worse. So, she’ll be more than fine. You showed her that everyone deserves to be happy and she’ll carry that with her as she grows older.”

It had been so long since someone had said exactly what you needed to hear, that you immediately started to tear up. Hurriedly wiping your eyes, you laughed at yourself.

“Sorry, I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.” You looked up at Five with a grateful smile and patted his hand that was next to yours. “Thank you for that. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Five swallowed nervously and looked down at your hand on top of his. “You’re welcome. And who knows, maybe you’ll find the right person down the road.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, taking in his clear green eyes. “Maybe I will.”

“Mommy look!” Cassie shrieked with a laugh, jarring you and Five out of your moment.

You quickly pulled your hand away, turning your attention back to your daughter. She was standing there, smiling ear to ear, as a small, skinny pigeon sat on her shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“It likes me!”

Five laughed, shaking his head. “I have been coming here for months and not one of those damn birds has ever sat on me like that.”

You laughed, too. “Unbelievable.”

“What’s this one’s name, Five?” Cassie giggled.

“Oh, uh…yeah, that’s…Fred.”

As Cassie continued on, feeding and talking to Fred, you looked over at Five. “What was that about?”

He ran a hand through his hair and lowered his voice. “I actually call that one Fuck Face.”

When you doubled over with laughter, Five grinned from ear to ear. He’d never made anyone laugh like that before, and it was the best he’d felt in a very long time.

Over the next few weeks, you and Five built up a close friendship. He listened to your stories about single mom life and how it could be lonely and difficult. You listened to his stories of his traumatic past and how he was attempting to live as a normal man for once in his life. The conversation came easily and you never felt awkward around one another. Soon, he had integrated himself into your life, and into Cassie’s, too.

She loved spending time with Five, and on the days when you didn’t see him, she always asked about him. He liked to tease her and she was always ready with her own zingers to sling back at him. When she told him bad knock knock jokes, he would groan and tell her how horrible they were, but he would be smiling the whole time. You would sit back, watching their banter, thinking how cute they were. 

There were more play dates at the park, more bird feedings, then lunch at a café, and eventually Sunday dinners at your house. Five had never felt this comfortable in his own skin before, and he actually thought he might have found what he had been looking for this whole time. Happiness.

Even though he had become such a big part of your life in such a short time, you and Five had not moved past the friends stage. You were still a little gun shy after the divorce, and you weren’t even sure Five was interested in you that way. Sure, there had been several times when you had caught him looking at you in that way that made your heart do a little flip in your chest. And maybe your breath hitched a little whenever his hand brushed against yours in passing. But you liked how things were between you. At least for now.

Five wasn’t sure how you felt about him, either. He knew you were coming off a bad relationship and you probably wanted nothing to do with men for the time being. He definitely liked spending time with you, though. He found he looked forward to it more and more. Seeing you smile when you saw him was the best part of his day. But he didn’t want to assume you were interested in anything more. If he made a move and you shot him down, not only would it be embarrassing, it might ruin what you already had. And that was too important to lose.

The three of you were at the park again, and you watched as Cassie dragged Five off toward her favorite twisty slide, taking his hand and pulling him along while he pretended to grumble about it. After he was forced to slide down the plastic slide, you laughed loudly when you saw him reach the bottom.

“What?” he asked, brushing the dust off of his pristinely pressed slacks.

“Your hair!” you laughed. “The static made it stick straight up!”

He patted at his crazy hair with a frown and tried to smash it down, which made you laugh even harder. After Cassie came tumbling out of the slide herself, Five pretended to be annoyed with her.

“Hey, kid, you didn’t tell me that slide would mess up my hair.”

Cassie giggled. “You look funny. Like a porcupine.”

After Five fixed himself as best he could, Cassie took his hand and tugged on it again, this time trying to get him to crouch down to her level. When he did, she rested her hand on his forehead for a second, pulling it back with a frown. Then she looked at Five with a shake of her head. “You don’t feel hot.”

“Should I? I’m not feeling sick.”

She looked over at you. “I heard you talking to Taylor’s mom at the bus stop and you said Five was hot.” She put her hand on his cheek. “He feels normal.”

If the ground suddenly opened up and swallowed you whole, you would not have been more grateful. Instead, you remained frozen, your face on fire and your mouth trying to form words that wouldn’t come.

“Uh…” was all that you stammered out.

In true kid fashion, Cassie was oblivious to the faux pas she created. As Five slowly stood up again, and Cassie skipped off to the swing set, unbothered by it all, his eyes met yours. The self-satisfied smirk on his face spoke a thousand words.

“You said I was hot?”

“I…no…I mean well yeah…kind of…” you tried to stumble your way through a cohesive sentence.

Five adopted his typical cool stance, with his hands in his pockets, as he continued to grin like an absolute asshole. “So, is Taylor’s mom cute? Did you give her my number?”

After a few more seconds of being mortified, you started to see the humor in the situation. You relaxed and laughed quietly, looking at the ground with a shake of your head. “Damn it, you’re an asshole sometimes, you know?”

“But still hot, right?”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” you said with a groan.

Five shook his head slowly. “Probably not.”

As you ran a hand down your still-flushed face, you sighed. With a raised eyebrow, you jabbed a finger in his direction. “You fucking know you’re hot, too. That’s what makes it worse.” When he laughed, but didn’t deny it, you sighed again.

On your way over to the swings, Five bumped you with his elbow. “You’re pretty hot yourself, you know.”

When you looked over, you saw the corner of his mouth turn up as he swallowed hard. His eyes skirted away from yours as he looked at the ground.

“Thanks, Five,” you said, suddenly feeling very warm again.

“You’re welcome.”

It was a few days later when your little trio was walking to the park from your house. After Five had joined you for dinner, you had decided to take some of the leftover bread to his group of feathered friends. As you got close to Five’s regular bench, Cassie stopped him.

“Wait. Can you do the whooshing thing with me?”

Five chuckled. “You mean blinking? I suppose. If your mom doesn’t mind.”

“You can do my mom, too,” Cassie added.

Trying to hide a laugh, he nodded. “I would love to do your mom.”

Even though that little side comment sent a tingle down your spine, you pretended you hadn’t noticed. “It’s ok, you two go ahead.”

Five shot you a very devious grin before grabbing you both by the arms and blinking you over to the bench. Your shriek of surprise was cut short as you appeared out of his portal. Cassie was falling on the ground in a fit of giggles while you tried to catch your breath with a hand on your chest.

“Sorry,” Five said, unsuccessfully holding back his own glee.

“You are not, liar,” you laughed.

With a shrug and a grin, Five handed Cassie the bread for the birds. “Here you go, kid, they should be pretty happy with this feast.”

When Cassie opened the bag and spread the crumbs on the ground, the birds descended, recognizing their new, smaller food-bringer.

“Mr. Tippington, it’s ok,” Cassie cooed to the little brown bird that had become her favorite. “Trucker Bob, you’ll like today’s dinner, it’s bread!” She swatted the angry blue jay away, just like Five had shown her. “Sandra Jay…you be nice or no one will be your friend.”

Sitting next to Five, on the bench where you had first saw him talking to those ridiculous birds, you turned to him and studied his profile. You knew his face more intimately than anyone else’s, you thought. How many times had you stared at it while he was talking? Taking in the sharp angles of his jaw and the way he swept the hair out of his eyes with an agitated hand. It made you wonder…what was stopping you from doing what you really wanted?

Out of nowhere, you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but let out a short burst of laughter because the expression on his face was one of complete and utter confusion.

“Sorry,” you said, looking down at your lap. “I couldn’t resist.”

After a few seconds of Five trying to get his wits about him again, he smiled. “I’m so glad you did that first.”

“What do you mea—”

Your question was cut off by Five’s lips meeting yours, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. His kiss was soft and pure, and unlike any other kiss you’d had before. When you finally opened your eyes, meeting his gorgeous emerald ones, you felt so good you couldn’t contain your giant grin.

“I’m not sure what took me so long,” you confessed.

“Me either,” Five said with a chuckle before leaning in again, letting himself get lost in the softness of your lips and the sound of your quiet, contented sigh.

It was magical, pure and simple, and he wasn’t even sure how this was even possible. He wasn’t sure he was deserving of it, but he would take it.

“EW!!!”

You and Five jumped, pulling apart abruptly as Cassie looked on, hands on her hips.

“That’s gross,” she complained.

“Sorry, honey, uh…Five and I were just…”

“Mommy, I’m not dumb. I know you were kissing and it’s definitely yucky. You’re going to get germs.” She paused. “Are you married now?”

Five laughed, and covered your hand with his. “No, we’re not married. But we like each other, is that ok?”

Cassie thought for a moment, the birds around her seeming to stop and think with her. “Yeah, it’s ok. Just remember I want a baby sister, not a baby brother.” Then she turned back to her birds, ignoring the two shocked adults.

“Well…sorry about that,” you responded with a cringe.

“No need to apologize. These are all good things to know. Yes to a baby sister, no to a baby brother.”

“Oh my gosh,” you said, covering your eyes in embarrassment.

Five gently moved your hand away. When you looked back at him, his soft smile told you everything you needed to know. And when he leaned in for another kiss, you felt like you were finally where you were supposed to be.

“I want this. Do you?” he asked, his voice heartbreakingly quiet.

You nodded. “Yes. I feel like…like we’re meant to be somehow. Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” Five said before kissing you once again, cradling your face in his hand.

Five had found what he had never dared to dream of. Someone he didn’t have to lie to, or pretend with, or put up a wall against. You liked him for who he was, and he wasn’t ashamed of anything when he was with you. You brought out all of the good within him, and he never felt safer than when he was with you and Cassie. You and she were his found family; the key to his happiness.

As for you, you had finally found the right person. Somehow, Five had become your best friend and confidant. And now, he was something more. Someone that understood you and knew the real you, all the way down to your bones. He was all you had been waiting for, and you couldn’t wait to start a new chapter of your life with him.

[moonyswritinq]

howdy! i recently stumbled upon your account and saw that your requests were open. i have a small request for a newt x m!reader one-shot. feel free to ignore this if you don't feel like you're up for it 👍

maybe one where the reader has longer hair, and is a runner, as the weather's gotten warmer it's starting to become more of a chore when it comes to maintaining it so he asks newt to help him cut it? it can be as silly or goofy as you want, platonic or romantic is up to you.

i hope you're having a great day and enjoying the fall weather

-🦇

if the haircut fits — newt x male reader

❝ IF THE HAIRCUT FITS ❞

Thank you so much for the request, Bat. So sorry it took so long to finish, and I kind of ran away with this one, but I hope you enjoy!

SYNOPSIS ➢ As summer started to creep into the Glade, the sun’s rays had been hitting you much harder than usual; your hair, especially, have been more of a nuisance. Your solution? Get one of your closest friends to cut it for you. But losing the weight of your hair made you want to get rid of some weight off your chest, as well.

PAIRING ➢ newt x male reader

CONTENT WARNING ➢ friends to lovers, kissing, touching, banter, light insults sexual innuendoes, fluff, slight hurt/comfort, mentions of eating, mentions of drinking, slight violence (a slap), mentions of body, no use of y/n

WORD COUNT ➢ 7.3 k

AUTHORS NOTE ➢ I like to keep any image of the reader’s body out of my writing, but in this he’s implied to be well built, but not explicitly mentioned. The hair may also be more of a non-black standard, since I’m not sure exactly how black hair behaves in this situation, but I tried to keep it as vague as possible. I’m sure there are also a lot of inaccuracies in this concerning the Glade, such as the weather and the sun and the lake, but for the sake of this fic it works like I say it does — I am the author and therefore, God.

The air had gotten warmer recently. You’d noticed it only a few days ago, when your breath hadn’t exhaled in a cloud of white smoke and your neck had started to sweat after a full day of running in the Maze. The weather didn’t exactly respond to how the seasons—that on some level your subconscious knew existed—worked, but it changed all the same. It had only gotten warmer, and quickly, too. With the sun bearing down on from overhead, the air was chokingly warm, your skin practically dripping with sweat and the ends of your hair clinging to your neck. It had grown long during the past few months and while it was a comfort in the colder weather, strands of it now hung uncomfortably in your eyes despite your best attempts to pull it back into a knot.

Minho walked just in front of you through the gates of the Maze and entered the green forestry of the Glade. The walls closed right behind you and in spite of the late hour of the day the sun still shone bright in the sky. He was just as eager to take cover from it under the cool shade of the Glade’s woods as to throw himself into the equally cool lake. You ran up beside him, patting him on the shoulder.

“This weather,” he grunted, wiping the palms of his hands on his trousers. They left tracks of sweat. “I swear it’s got something against us.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a sigh. You peeled your drenched shirt from your skin, pulling it over your head in an attempt to ease some of the warmth. It didn’t made much of a difference.

Minho threw you a sideway glance as you walked across the green fields. “Eager to show your body off?”

You threw your head back in a bark, sidestepping so you would walk backwards to face him. Your hands spread as your head tilted with conviction.

“You’d want to show off your body too if it looked like this,” you said. Minho couldn’t help but smile at your comment, shaking his head in exasperation. You turned around to walk beside him normally again. 

As the two of you made your way to the lake, you passed the gardens and its track-hoes, Newt being one among them. Despite the fact that he was second in command, he liked the calming repetitiveness of caring for vegetables and flowers. He’d told you one late night when you’d found him sitting by himself, staring up at the night sky, and your curiosity had gotten the better of you. Now, his eyes met yours in an instant, as if he’d known exactly where you were. As if he’d been watching you for some while, and waiting for you to notice. Your stomach flipped at his unashamed staring, nervous under the gaze, as your mind drew a blank. Quickly, you rearranged your mouth into a smirk, to which he shook his head out of his stunned stupor and continued with his task, but you could tell his mind wasn’t present as his eyes kept jumping back and forth.

Minho saw your smug smile and hit you across the chest, hard enough to cause you to stumble. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Newt cover his mouth from something that looked like a chuckle and you glared back at Minho’s now-smug smile. He just tilted his head and kept walking to the cover of the trees.

“You can flirt with Newt later,” he said. “Let’s go wash off.”

“I wasn’t flirting with anyone! Let alone Newt.”

“Whatever, man.”

You grumbled something unintelligible, which he ignored, as you walked together to the lake on the other side of the Glade. It was a rather long walk, but the time in the trees’ shade cooled you down nicely. Reaching the lake, the water was darkening with the passing of the sun, seeming almost more ominous now than inviting. You found a few other Gladers there already, some of them laying by the bank with their shirts discarded and the rest of them submerged in the water. Minho wasted no time removing his shirt and running into the dark water. You discarded your earlier thoughts and quickly followed suit, pulling your hair from its knot and jumping into the lake with a splash that earned you an ugly glare from a Glader nearby. Minho shared the glare and slapped the water hard, sending it flying in your direction.

“Shankhead,” he muttered.

You only laughed and leant backwards, fully submerging your body under the dark water. Your muscles relaxed and let the water carry you out further in the lake, effectively cooling you down. This was exactly what you needed after a warm and exhausting day; your head under the water, your hair spread around you like the halo of some angel—if an angel could be trapped in a maze. The cold water felt like a blanket across your mind, quieting your thoughts down to a tenth of their usual volume. There were few things that could calm you like this.

The peace didn’t last long, though, as Minho’s hand suddenly closed over your arm and dragged you above surface.

“What?” you spit at him.

He cocked his head to the end of the lake and when you turned your head you saw Newt’s figure walking closer, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. You immediately tried to stand up, but forgot you were too far out, and instead of touching the sand you sunk deeper in the water with a splutter. Again, you broke the surface with a gasp and a flail of your arms, struggling to wipe your hair out of your eyes. Minho was unsurprisingly unhelpful, barking out his laugh at your unfortunate. You glared at him and swam to the bank where Newt stood waiting. It was only then that you noticed a lot of the other boys were gone or also on their way from the lake.

“Smooth,” Newt commented when you reached him.

“Shut up.”

He nodded his head to the woods behind him. “Dinnertime’s soon. Reckoned I’d go get you.”

“I am honoured your lordship would bother thinking of little ol’ me,” you smiled. He only rolled his eyes.

Your steps brought you up further, the water splashing around your knees. Newt’s arms were crossed over his chest as he leant on one foot, waiting for you to reach him. You noticed that he adamantly kept his eyes fixated on a spot just above your head, refusing to glance at any part of your body that was currently on display. A part of you sparked with amusement. Minho stepped out just behind you and went over to retrieve your clothes, throwing your shirt and boots at you.

“Thanks,” you bit at him, just barely avoiding one hitting your head.

He flashed you with a smug smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, immediately causing wet spots to bloom wherever it touched his skin directly. “My pleasure,” he said and started walking back to the huts, through the now-dark forest.

The sun had settled quickly and long shadows now stretched before you as you turned to walk into the forest. Newt followed suit, staring at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Not going to put on your shirt?” he asked.

You turned your head to catch Newt’s gaze sweeping across your figure. It filled you with a strange satisfaction to see him checking you out. When he noticed that you’d caught him, he immediately looked away, his posture suddenly stiff. His cheeks were definitely redder than they had been before, although it was difficult to tell in the darkening light. Your lips tugged into something resembling a smile.

“Why? Does it bother you?”

Newt scoffed and met your gaze defiantly underneath his golden fringe. “No. I just don’t want your stupid arse to get sick.”

Your smile widened. “Oh, really? Do you happen to care for me, Newt?”

“I am not admitting that,” he said and rolled his eyes. His tone was suspiciously even, as if it took everything in him not to check you out again. “I’m only saying it’d be be more trouble than you’re worth to get you healthy again.”

His brown eyes met yours, obstructed with a few strands. You had the urge to reach out and pull them away, to see his eyes more clearly, but instead you sent him a simple smile and nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, you have your priorities clear,” you said.

“Just go get ready, won’t you?” His glare was enough to send shivers down your spine and his hands started to turn your body in the direction of the huts, now already having reached the end of the woods. “See what I told you? You’re already getting cold!”

“Fine,” you drawled with your hands up in defence, looking at him over your shoulder. “I’ll see you at the bonfire.”

He lifted his hand in half a wave and swiftly turned away from you, walking to where the others had begun to gather by the fire. Sometimes you forgot he had hurt his leg—it had happened before you arrived in the Glade—but looking at him now his limp was evident in his step. You lingered a moment longer to watch his hair glow in the contrast from the fire, vaguely resembling the sun in an eclipse. You found the view almost poetic, entrancing you in its picturesque aestheticism. It reminded you of Icarus flying too close to the sun, you standing by, helpless to aid him in his downfall, inevitably and irrevocably fated to meet his doom. You weren’t sure where the thought or the name had come from, but ancient knowledge seemed to lord over you in a cloud of mystery.

“Go!” called Newt suddenly over his shoulder. He met your eye with a quirk of his brow and for a second his eyes seemed to draw you into the depths of his soul, but then you blinked and the feeling was gone.

“Going!” you jumped out of your daze to call back and quickly turned to make your way to the huts. How he had known you’d stayed put you didn’t know, but didn’t question further. You rushed to your cot to grab a change of clean clothes and a towel to dry off with, even though most of the water had already dried and cooled your skin with the night’s chill. Still, your hair hung heavy with water, wetting the new shirt you put on. You groaned as you tried to wipe it with the towel, but to no avail. The only downsides to having long hair was it took forever to dry. It would have to warm by the fire.

You changed into the warm pair of trousers and put on your boots. Still, your damp hair felt cold against your skin, which would have been nice if the temperature didn’t drop so suddenly as soon as the sun was gone. You hurried to the fire, the air enveloping you into its warm grasp, eyes already searching for the familiar blonde boy. A lot of the Gladers were milling about, eating the good food Frypan had cooked up or drinking some of the incredibly strong spirit you knew Newt fancied. Someone was laughing loudly nearby but you ignored it in favour of searching for the quiet spot you knew you would find him by. When your eyes settled on him, sitting on a log with a drink in his hand and a plate on his knee, your hand reflexively made its way to pull back your bangs from your eyes. Warmth settled in your stomach that was equally familiar.

“Don’t worry, you look good,” came Minho’s voice beside you. You shot him a glare and removed your fingers from your hair, still itching to pull it away. “Not that your ego needs the boost.”

“Not what I was concerned with,” you said. You swallowed. “But thanks.”

Minho grinned. Your lips lifted into an answering grin and Minho nudged you towards the fire. “Go get ‘em.”

You frowned at him, pretending not to understand what he meant, before shaking your head and walking towards where Newt was sitting. His gaze lifted as you approached and you felt your stomach flipping, not uncomfortably. 

“So, he can wear a shirt? Was starting to believe you weren’t capable of it,” said Newt, lowering his drink from his lips.

“Yeah,” you answered with a sheepish grin.

You sat down next to him on the log and reached over to nick a few pieces of his fruit. Newt immediately leant away, lifting the plate away from your reach.

“Woah--oi, hey! Don’t take my food! Get your bloody own from Frypan,” he grumbled, settling you with a glare. You recognised the glint in his eye though, the one that told you he wasn’t entirely serious. His eyes shone in the firelight, softening the longer you stayed quiet, and his lips even started to turn up. At the sight of it, yours did as well. He always knew how to bring out your mischievous side.

“Your food tastes much better.”

“It’s exactly the same.”

You shook your head. “No, by its mere proximity to you, the food is better.”

Newt rolled his eyes and placed his plate back on his knee, where your hand quickly snatched away the remainder of his fruit. He only sighed and took a long sip from his drink, pretending to ignore your staring at him. Finally, he lowered his glass and met your gaze with a sigh.

“What?” asked Newt, tone as flat as he could manage to make it in your presence.

Your lips tugged into a smile. “Nothing,” you said and glanced away.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Newt swiftly turn to you before you felt a nudge against your side, almost pushing you off balance. You cried out and reached towards him to stabilise yourself, sending him the harshest glare you could muster in spite of the laughter that was waiting in your throat. He met it with a glare of his own while ignoring your hands on his arm and shoulder, which suddenly felt too hot to the touch. Blood rushed to your cheeks.

“Nothing,” you repeated, avoiding his gaze. You were forced to let go of him with a clearing of your throat, conscious of your cold hands. You became too aware of your hair brushing your cheek, annoyingly tickling your skin. Before you could move, Newt’s hand had reached out to brush it away. Your breath hitched in your throat and you were unable to rip your eyes away from his.

“Sorry,” he said bashfully and withdrew it, curling it into an uncertain fist.

You smiled. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s getting too long,” you mumbled, your hands moving as if with a mind of their own to fiddle with the longer strands of your hair. 

“I could help you, you know?” spoke Newt, drawing your gaze to him. He seemed not to have noticed your flustered state or he chose to ignore it. You hoped it was the former.

You frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

His voice broke as he opened his mouth to speak, but he cleared his throat and nodded to your head.“I could help cut your hair.”

“Really?” you asked, surprise evident in your voice. You supposed cutting weeds while gardening got him familiar around shears. 

“I mean, yeah, sure,” said Newt. “Reckon I’d do a better job than anything you’d manage, anyway.”

Your head whipped to the side, mouth open in indignation. “That’s foul!”

His lips tugged into a grin and he lifted an eyebrow with the argument. “Am I wrong?” Your eyes swept over his own hair, which you assumed he’d cut himself, and pursed your lips in contemplation. It looked good. He looked good. Especially in that light, when the fire casted a golden aura that settled around his head like a halo. It effortlessly managed to draw your attention to every shift in his movement.

“No,” you finally grumbled, again tugging at a strand.

His hand reached out to tuck the stray strand of your hair away, and in doing so pushed away your own. The short moment of contact made your breath stutter and come out in a short burst. Newt met your gaze with a smile. It felt different than before, none of his usual amusement visible in his gaze. Instead, there now hung a heavy silence over the both of you, despite the loud chatter and laughter of those who had gathered by the fire. You were so close to him that you could count the lashes on his eyes. His gaze, which usually swirled with the pain and frustration that served as a reminder that Newt was capable of more than he let on, was now void of that. There was only curiosity and something softer that you couldn’t describe to be found. Newt must have felt your breath on his hand by now were it not for you holding it in anticipation. As if suddenly realising it, he blinked and leant away from you, his hand falling down at your side. Your breathing returned to normal as you tried to keep the warmth rushing to your cheeks at bay, trying in vain to ignore how close you two had just been. It was too dark for you to see if he was feeling the same way, or he was just too good at hiding it, but it didn’t keep you from scrutinising his face for any clues.

“Take a sick day tomorrow, meet me by the gardens,” he said after a few minutes of silently staring into the fire. His voice was level, as if he hadn’t been caressing your cheek only moments before.

You tried to match his nonchalance and arched an eyebrow. “Minho will murder me.”

Newt cocked his head. “Let that be on my head.”

“Fine,” you said and stood up with a groan, feeling the stretch of your muscles from the day’s run. Newt followed your movement, meeting your eye as you pointed an accusing finger at him. “On your head, be it.”

Newt nodded, sending a smirk your way. You stepped away from him and made your way to Frypan. As you grabbed a few sandwiches, Gally sneaked up by your side, swiping one of the sandwiches in your hand.

“Got tired of flirting, huh?” he chuckled.

You glared at him and bit into your sandwich. “Shut up.”

He smirked smugly. “It’s plain as day, Greeny.”

“You’re worse than Minho,” you grumbled. Your finger lifted to point in his direction. “And stop calling me that, I haven’t been Greeny for a year.”

His mocking laughter followed you as you walked away from the fire towards the huts, shaking your head. A few Gladers had followed your trail of thought, also deigning to go to bed early. You fell into your sleeping cot with your feet kicked up and a deep sigh escaping your lips. Your mind couldn’t keep from trailing back to the sight of Newt by the fire, his brown eyes shining along with his smug smirk. A groan fought through your throat as you rubbed your eyes in frustration.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Newt. On the contrary, you liked him a lot. He was kind and funny and witty and smart and always knew how to both make you laugh and trample on your nerves to get you furious with him. But you didn’t fancy him, no matter how much Minho and Gally liked to imply it. He just had a special way to worm his way into your thoughts and then burrow there. For days after an interaction, you would think of how he looked at you a certain way or how he would accidentally touch you while brushing past.

It drove you insane, how easily Newt could get inside your mind.

And how easily he could stir up the warmth inside your stomach and make it rush to your cheeks with only a simple gesture. You had found yourself trying to hide your cheeks when around him too often lately and you were sure he had noticed, but only given you the curtesy of not commenting on it.

“Fuck,” you groaned again and turned over in your cot, your hair prickling your skin with reminder of what tomorrow would bring.

It was difficult to distract your mind from Newt long enough to settle down. Eventually, you managed to fall into a restless sleep, filled with the muddled dreams of red sunlight bouncing off of bluish marble, almost creating the illusion of moving water. You saw the reflection of your form against the stone below you but before you had the chance to take it all in, a hand had clasped your own and another drawn you in by your waist. When you looked up, it was the face of none other than the person you had previously been trying to forget, although you could not fathom why at that moment. Newt. His warm smile calmed you down and you allowed him to lead you into the first steps of a waltz. How you had learnt it you didn’t question, but just followed his captivating eyes and trusted him to catch you if you fell. Those same eyes were gazing into yours, big and brown and with the same curiosity that had gazed on you earlier that day. Only now, you allowed yourself to get lost in the sight of them, to be entranced by their deep swirling darkness. Right when Newt had stretched his arm out and sent you into a light spin, and his hand was ready to welcome you back into his embrace, had his expression changed from one of bliss to one of chock and disgust. You halted, frowning at his actions, before following his line of sight and reaching a hand up to the top of your head. To your horror, all your hair had suddenly vanished. Panic rose through you, clawing blindly at your empty head, wanting to escape from this, from everything, from Newt’s hateful glance. You took a step and tried another but caught the only small imperfection in the marble that caused you to stumble, falling down, down, and down… waiting for the ground to hit you.

What came instead was a slap on your chin, harsh enough to force you awake.

“Ngh— fuck,” you croaked, blinking drowsily. Your vision cleared up as you squinted at your assailant, recognising the judging stare immediately. “Come on, man.”

The sun had barely come up again over the tall walls guarding the Glade when Minho had deigned to make you a visit. That time was usually when you would get ready for your run in the Maze. Apparently, Newt had not said anything to Minho which made you let out a deep groan. Minho was staring down at your messy form, his arms crossed over his chest with a harsh stare pinning you to your place. He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow.

“Anyone tell you you’re an ugly sleeper?” he asked, a sickly sweet smile on his lips.

“No, I’m adorable,” you stated, trying to sit up as best as you could. “I’m taking a day off. I’m sick.” You punctuated your words with the best fake cough you could muster.

Minho looked unconvinced. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” you countered. When he raised an eyebrow you sighed in defeat. “Okay, I’m not sick. But I’m still taking a day off. If you want to argue, take it up with Newt. He’s got senior on you. And we both know you won’t miss me today.”

Minho’s breath released in a sharp burst as he contemplated your words. Finally, he let his arms fall to his side. “Fine,” he said, but raised a finger to point at you. “But you better have a damn good reason as to why you’re staying here today.”

You shot him a smile. “A damn good reason.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. “I will miss you, by the way,” he called over his shoulder. Then, he added, with a smug smirk, “Sweetheart.”

It was then your turn to roll your eyes as a bark of laughter forced itself out your throat. You rubbed your face from sleep, trying to get rid of your sluggishness. As you were already awake, you figured you could just as well get up to meet Newt a little earlier. It wouldn’t be long until the rest of the Gladers woke up, anyway.

Minho and the rest of the Runners were already by the Maze’s walls. You could see their figures in the distance as the gates started to open with a loud rumble, one that you could feel shaking the earth beneath your feet. You shook your head and stretched your limbs, feeling them pop and crack individually. Minho liked to be up and early with his runs, but you were glad to get a day off to rest. You turned to your things, changing into a clean pair of clothes and put your hair up, mostly out of autonomy. Last time you would do that for a while, you figured.

Newt’s cot was among one of the empty ones, so you assumed he would have already gone to Frypan’s station to get breakfast. You made your way over there, spotting his slumped figure immediately. He jumped when you dropped down beside him, nicking an apple from his plate.

“Could you maybe get your own food for once?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow. You smiled through your amusement, slowly chewing on the fruit. You swallowed with an exaggerated motion, sending him a sickly sweet smile.

“No,” you said. He rolled his eyes while taking a mouthful of his scrambled eggs, ignoring your presence in the process.

“Remind me again why I needed to take the whole day?” you asked. “Hopefully, Minho won’t feel as murder-y when he gets back later as how he felt this morning.”

You saw the corner of his lip lift into what you imagined to be a smile. Smug bastard.

“My art takes time,” he eventually answered, turning to you. “I want it to look good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I already look good.”

“And I want you to stay that way.” Newt shot a meaningful glance at the other Gladers, which had you wincing. Some of them could benefit from a more skilful haircut, you must admit.

“Fine.”

“Besides,” he said, “it’s easier when the sun is at its highest. Less chance for me to fuck it up then.”

Newt smiled at you, but his words indicated an underlying threat, one that had you smiling back in amusement. He really loved pushing your buttons. It didn’t help that you actually were concerned about your hair being fucked up—not that you would consider yourself a vain person, but you knew how much someone’s looks could be diminished because of a bad haircut. And your thoughts ran to the dream you’d had; was it a nightmare or a premonition?

You scratched your neck, conscious of the hair touching your skin. “You know what? I’m actually not so certain about this.”

Newt sighed and pinned his gaze on you. “I see you swatting your hair away all the time,” he said, exasperation shining through annoyance. “It’s clearly annoying you.”

His words made something in you flip. “Are you saying that you notice me all the time, then?” you asked with a smug smile, unable to keep your amusement at bay for long.

He ignored your question. “I’m not going to fuck it up, mate.” When you sent him a sceptical glare he sighed again, and asked, “What are you so afraid of? Don’t you trust my skills?”

Your lips tugged in earnest for a moment, before again settling into their smug familiarity. “I guess I’m just scared you’ll find me less attractive if I cut my hair.” You blinked through your eyelashes, meeting Newt’s incredulous gaze. “I mean, what if the whole reason you like me is because of my handsome hair?”

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, turning to look down at his plate.

“So you admit you do find me attractive?” you chuckled.

“Never said that.”

Your lips pressed into a line, wondering if you had crossed the line that time. It took a moment to decide before opening your mouth again. “Will you still help me?”

“Of course,” he smiled at you, winking playfully. The gesture made butterflies immediately appear in your stomach and you had to look away lest he see the smile gracing your lips. He stood up from his seat, leaving the rest of his breakfast untouched, and nudged your side. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Or would you rather we wait until I get tired and the light is bad for me to slip with my shears?”

He had a point, damn him. “Fine,” you admitted, following suit and going outside with him. The sun blinded the both of you, already high in the sky. It felt strange for it to be this bright out and not being in the maze running.

Newt started walking toward the garden so you followed point, close at his heel. He picked up a pair of dirty looking shears, turning to flash you a grin. You looked at them skeptically, which he must have noticed.

“Look, they’ll get the job done, alright?”

Your eyebrow cocked. “You sure? Looks like they haven’t worked since ten years ago.”

Newt laughed dryly and nudged past you, walking the way to the woods.

“Hey, where are you going?” you asked.

“The lake. Need to get your hair wet,” he called over his shoulder.

Hmm. Sounded reasonable. You ran to keep up with him and joined him by the lake you had been swimming in the day before. The water looked even more inviting now, with the sun glittering across its surface instead of the afternoon’s deep shadows. Newt, none too gently, shoved you in the direction of it, sitting himself down by the bank.

You flashed a smile to him. “That eager to see me shirtless again?”

He rolled his eyes and reached for the water to splash it up at you. You yelped and jumped out of reach, giving him a stare full of contempt. “Just dump your ‘ead in the water, you knob.”

“Since you asked so kindly.”

You lowered your body closer to the bank, only letting your head submerge under the water. It felt cold, but not uncomfortably so. You felt a tap against your shoulder, Newt, and sprang up into sitting position. Water dripped from your hair, drenching your shirt and face. When you turned to Newt, your smile was crooked.

“Great,” he said, moving to sit behind you, shears in his hands. “Now all you have to do is keep still. Think you can do that?”

“Anything for you, Newt.”

You sighed happily and leant back, letting the sun cast its warm rays over you. You didn’t notice the moment Newt hesitated after your words, before he started drawing his fingers through your hair. All you knew was that suddenly his touch was there and it felt heavenly. You knew he only did it to measure your hair to cut it, but every time his fingers brushed against your scalp shivers erupted across your spine. You almost had the mind to close your eyes and fall asleep right then and there, with Newt almost caressing you. You imagined those same fingers running down from your head, touching the skin over your neck, brushing past your abdomen and squeezing your thighs. Even the thought of it made your breath hitch and you kept still to keep him from noticing anything amiss. Slowly and carefully, he worked, cutting methodically. You cracked an eye open, trying to glance at him from the corner of it.

“How’s it going, Newt?” you asked.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled lightly, and said, “Don’t rush me.”

It was enough to make warmth travel to your cheeks and your abdomen, so you kept quiet after that and let him do his work in peace. His fingers danced closer to your skin then, trying to get to the nape of your neck and it took all your willpower not to shy away from him. Slowly, you relaxed into his hold again, numbed by the featherlight touches and breaths of air fanning over your skin when he sat too close.

And suddenly, it was all over. With one final brush of his hand, his fingers running through your hair thoroughly, he cleared his throat and moved away.

“All done,” said Newt, though it was almost a whisper.

You opened your eyes to the sight of him sitting on his folded knees and his fingers fidgeting with the shears, looking almost as if it took all his power to concentrate on his breathing. You smiled, raising an eyebrow, and ran your own hand through your hair. It felt lighter, and smooth, and you hadn’t realised how much of a relief it was to be gone with the length.

“How do I look?” you asked, meeting his eye.

“Good.”

“Better than before?”

Newt shrugged and stood up. “Good, like always.”

Your lips quirked into a mischievous smile. “You think I’m good looking?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffed, but you could definitely see a redness spreading across his cheeks. He tried to turn away but you were quicker, bounding closer to him and shaking away the cutaway strands in the same movement. It was fun teasing him.

“You’re the one who said it!” you exclaimed.

“Oi, stop being difficult,” he settled his glare on you.

“I’m not.”

He shot you a look, one that told you he was trying to stay annoyed but secretly enjoying your antics. “You are,” he said while turning in the way to the rest of the Glade, shears hanging loosely from his grip.

You ripped your gaze from his long fingers, the image of them making your mind return to how you had wanted him to touch you earlier, and instead ran to keep up with his steps. You could sense the smile hiding in the corner of his lip, almost like a sixth sense, determined to bring it out. So, eyebrows lifted in a suggestive expression, you saddled closer to his side and said, “But you like a challenge, right—so why are you complaining?”

The gaze Newt responded with could only be described as filled with disbelief, and something else—something mischievous. “So now you’re a challenge, hm?” he asked, his eyebrows disappearing behind the ruffles of his hair.

You frowned and tilted your head at him. “Hey! Are you calling me easy?”

“Well, if the haircut fits…” he trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence up to your active imagination.

“Now that’s just plain rude,” you muttered, lowering your gaze to the ground to avoid any missteps in the uncertain terrain of the Glade’s woods.

“I’m so very sorry, mate,” said Newt, without much conviction. You rolled your eyes at his sarcastic tone and noticed the flashing smile that was then all too visible on his face. “How can I make it up to you?”

“You can start by not calling me ‘mate’,” you retorted, not thinking through your words except to win this ‘argument’.

Newt glanced at you. “And what would you rather me call you?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, avoiding his gaze, while all too aware of what he was trying to get you to admit. But you were comfortable with the dance you and him were engaged in. It had been going on for so long that you had forgotten how to not do it with him. It was easier to keep dancing with him, to keep the illusion of a ballroom couple perfect rather than to quiet the orchestra and run from your Prince Charming. Newt seemed to sense where your thoughts had run to, as he tried to meet your gaze.

“You sure about that?” he asked sceptically.

“Er, yeah?”

Newt was way too good at reading you and would not believe any excuses you tried to make, however convincing they may be. You both despised and admired him for it. He stopped you in your tracks with a hand across your midriff; the feel of his fingers pressing against your skin, even through the shirt, made shivers travel down your spine. The hand quickly retreated as he tried searching your eyes.

“I—,” he started, voice unsteady. He cleared his throat to regain his composure as you waited for him, arms crossed, trying to keep up the charade any way you could. “I think you’d rather me call you ‘good looking’. Or ‘handsome’. Or ‘pretty’. Or what about ‘love’, hm?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth traveling up your neck to rush to your cheeks. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he said, an eyebrow raised from the very obvious tremor in your voice.

“Are you teasing me, Newt?” you asked incredulously.

Newt flashed you a smug smile and shrugged, looking away bashfully. “Got to be my turn to do it sometime,” he said.

You were used to you teasing him and poking fun, but he always took it in stride and seldom flirted back—which was what this had somehow turned into. If you’d known you two would end up flirting because of him cutting your hair you never would have agreed to his help—or maybe you still would have. Either way, there was no escaping it now. Fuck it, you thought. A frustrated groan seethed through your pressed lips as you threw your hands up in exasperation.

“You know what? Fine,” you said, meeting Newt’s gaze defiantly. “Yes, I’d like to be called all of those things. And I would like to call you all of those things.” You paused to then search Newt’s gaze, but he just stared at you in stunned silence and made no attempt to answer, so you kept going, albeit slightly more hesitant. “I—I want to hold you, to touch you, embrace you in the way that simple friends shouldn’t do. I’d like to whisper into your ear at night how much you brighten my days and make this shucking life worth living. Most of all, I would like to call you mine.”

You paused again to inhale deeply, your breathing shallow after your rant. It had driven your emotions to the surface so well you might as well have been wearing your feelings on your sleeve, ready to hand out romantic professions for anyone bothering to glance your way.

You hadn’t noticed how warm your cheeks had suddenly gotten, and made to move away while muttering, “There—I’ve said it. Let’s just go.”

“Wait—no—” Newt shouted, throwing out his arm to grab your wrist.

He pulled you back into him, making you lose balance, and a moment later his lips had closed over yours. The surprised gasp that had escaped your lips was quieted by his kiss and you quickly melted into his embrace. Immediately, his fingers closed over your nape, taking hold of your now-short hair and drawing you even closer. You could feel him pressing himself closer in whatever way he could manage, one hand tugging at your hair and the other clawing at your waist. Each individual touch sent sparks of warmth and cold over your skin as your hands closed over his jaw and throat. Even your imagination couldn’t have predicted how he would feel, how his body would fit against yours and make you want to never breathe again if it meant you could stay with him, like this, forever.

Finally, you had to pull away to suck in a deep breath of air, Newt trailing after and barely letting you go. You couldn’t fight the chuckle that forced its way out nor the grin that spread over your lips. Neither could he, as you saw his blushing face break out in a beam and his eyes jumping all over your face. It made you painfully aware of yourself and you bowed your head to settle against the crook of his neck, bashful in spite of your close contact. His hands were still holding onto your waist and kept your body pressed against him.

“Don’t get shy now,” he chided, though his tone was light and his fingers were rubbing slow circles across your back.

Despite the warm sun that glared over the pair of you, his gesture made a shiver crawl up your spine and you pulled away to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “Really, you’re calling me shy?” He nodded to your question. “I’m shy when you’re here— Have you completely forgotten who’s always bold and teases and openly flirts with you?”

Newt scoffed, drawing his hands over the small of your back. “Well, maybe I stole your boldness when I kissed you.”

You almost couldn’t believe him. His cheeks were already flushed, but burned even brighter when your hand pressed against his neck to pull him in again, forcefully pressing your lips against his and claiming his tongue as yours. In doing so, you swallowed his surprised gasp with your kiss, but he didn’t manage to suppress the moan when you took his bottom lip between your teeth and bit lightly. It made you smile smugly, pulling away immediately to look upon his bright red face and dazed expression.

“Who’s shy now, hm?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and stepping out of his hold.

Newt shot you an angry glance, but it was difficult to take him seriously when he was also blushing furiously. He decided to leave it at that and with not much dignity, pick up the shears he had dropped and started walking back towards the huts. Again, you had to run after him with laughter playing on your lips. You could tell he wasn’t really annoyed, but it was easy to slip back in the comfortable dance of your relationship.

You wouldn’t let him pretend like all of this had not happened, though. He looked at you in surprise when your hand sought out his own, fingers intertwining and closing over his. You smiled back, feeling a slight burning at the tip of your ears, but he leant in and placed a light kiss that made you wish for more again, which eased your nervousness.

“Guess we’re both a little shy, huh,” he remarked. You just shrugged, looking ahead to the opening of the forest, but the smile still apparent on your lips.

“And where the fuck have you two been?” cried Alby’s voice as soon as you stepped out of the trees.

Immediately, you felt as if you jumped out of your skin and let go of Newt’s hand, his cheeks burning as much as yours did. You scratched the back of your neck and glanced sheepishly at Newt, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes; neither of you could fight the smiles that broke out on both your faces.

“On your head be it, you said,” you smirked, slipping away from his indignant eyebrow raise.

You left Newt to deal with Alby alone with a playful wink, to which he only shook his head and hid his smile as he faced the approaching commander. You had half a mind to skip away with the happiness that were bubbling through you, but managed to contain yourself to walking away with a steady pace, though you couldn’t keep your thoughts from running back to the memory of Newt against you nor the smile that followed.

END NOTE ➢ I do have an idea for a part two should anyone be interested in it. Hope you enjoyed this!

[heavyhitterheaux]

Concept for First Lady

"I saved your fucking image."

“Why do we ALWAYS do this?” Jack exclaimed while throwing his hands up towards you, but all you did was attempt to put your excuse of hair into a ponytail because you didn’t know the last time you actually brushed it. 

“We always don’t do anything, you brought it up so I answered your question.” You fired back while looking at the two mismatched socks on your feet.

“I’m trying here so the least you can do is cut me some slack!”

“Jackman, if this is what you call trying to at least attempt to act like you care about this marriage, this is one hell of a poor job.”

“Here we fucking go. Don’t you think that if I wanted a divorce or to separate from you that I would have done it already?” Jack asked and you could tell he was immediately filled with regret as his eyes went wide and all you did was stare at him.  

“There’s still time to go to the courthouse today if that’s your heart’s desire since it’s only eleven in the morning. But let’s be serious I saved your fucking image because come the fuck on, I could have thrown your ass under the bus. No matter how you mistreated me and put your wife, someone that you gave your last name to on the back burner, I still did right by you. As much shit as you did and it wasn’t a secret, it got played out for the entire world to see but yet, I never spoke bad about you ONE TIME. Because as much as you constantly give me headaches, I love you and I do want to save this marriage. But if I’m the only one trying then fuck it. The one thing that really sticks out in my mind is when I actually did fight Anitta and you didn’t even ask me if I was okay, not once. Despite how she had acted towards me ever since she met me. I told you how I felt about her and all you did was ignore me in order to try and boost your career. The career that I helped you create, but whatever.” You simply shrugged your shoulders and tried to walk past Jack, but he caught your wrist and lightly tugged on it.

Deep down, he knew that he had been difficult towards you and it had been hard to process his emotions and Jack did feel some type of way about how he had treated you. He broke the one promise to you when you told him not to ever forget where he came from or the people that helped him get to where he was, but now he had done the exact opposite and the fame had got to his head.

It took him hearing it from his mother to finally realize it.

“Y/N…. wait a second.” 

All you did was turn to look up at him and let out a deep sigh.

“I promise to do better and do right by you….. And them. I’m sorry I just…. I know for a fact that I have to be better about expressing how I feel towards you and a few months ago, I thought that I was going to lose you forever. Please don’t ever think that I don’t love you because I do. I love you more than life itself and just for the past year I haven’t been the best husband that I could be and want to get back in your good graces and fix this. I’m tired of us fighting and we have three little ones that don’t need to grow up in a dysfunctional household. You know for a fact that divorce would never be an option for me on my end. I was serious when I asked you to marry me at nineteen and I’m still serious now.”

“It’s not just us anymore and they should always be your first thought.” You quietly said as you could hear through the baby monitor that they were awake.

“I’ll…. Go make an appointment with Fatima after I check on them.”

The two of you had been seeing a marriage counselor named Fatima and you could tell that she was genuine and also wanted the best for the two of you.

“That sounds like a good idea.” You quietly answered as you simply hugged yourself in your pink oversized sweater that Jack bought you years ago, not bothering to make eye contact with him.

“We’re going to get through this, baby. One step at a time.” Jack quietly said as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

All you did was nod in response as you sat down on the bed and simply stared off into space. 

Jack simply sighed as tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he walked out of your shared bedroom and was on his way to the triplets room when he pulled out his phone to do a quick google search.

He knew that something was wrong. 

What are the signs of postpartum depression?

[stratossphere]

feral | v.v

ville’s trying to read emails and you’re…bored.

warnings: smut, masturbation, voyeurism, daddy kink, finger sucking, fingering, unprotected sex, hair pulling, spanking, reader has a “slight” breeding kink, ville is pretty dom in this one

word count: 5.9k

a/n: in celebration of neon noir…i present to you the horniest thing i have ever written. this one is…a lot

— —

Having a funny, charismatic, deliciously handsome rockstar boyfriend was hard. First, for obvious reasons, such as his long seasons of touring or his drinking habit, but second, and more importantly, the fact that you literally could not contain your level of horniness around him. Ever.

And that was currently manifesting itself in the fact that he was working, and completely ignoring you whilst you were resisting the urge to shove his hand in your pants.

But that didn't mean you couldn't bother him just a little bit in the face of his ignoring. That he had grown to have to deal with, and wouldn't really respond much to anyways.

As he read through all the emails he had been ignoring while on tour on your laptop that he was borrowing for that exact purpose, you gently took his free hand that was currently resting on the edge of the laptop and placed it on your thigh, keeping your eyes on him as his vision scanned quickly over each line of text on his screen.

And of course, he did nothing but absentmindedly pull his hand away, going right back onto the laptop as he finished clicking through the links that HIM's manager had sent him a month ago. On one hand, it was sweet to know that he always answered your emails when you sent them within a matter of hours at most, but on the other hand you were thinking about how annoying he would be if you were ever forced to manage him.

You waited a few minutes, leaning your leg a little closer to him before you pulled his hand back again, this time setting it on your inner thigh and holding it there with your hand over his. This time, when he tried to pull his hand away, he couldn't, and you saw him glance at you for a split second.

"Y/n." He mumbled your name irritatedly, his voice barely audible. Despite his warning, his hand relaxed on your leg, and when you took your hand off of him, he didn't move it. Mission accomplished.

Your next move, which was definitely bound to earn you more than a warning, was pushing his hand right between your legs, letting out a soft whine as you did so. And, true to your assumptions, you were immediately met with a sharp inhale and Ville's venomous stare in your direction.

"Stop it." And then his hand was pulled away once again. You frowned, because why the hell did he always have to be so hardheaded? before instead resting your chin on his shoulder and pretending you were focused on his screen along with him.

"Why?" Dragging out the word, you watched as his frown deepened by tenfold, a deep sigh escaping him as he clicked into a new email. Which, funnily enough, was from Bam. And contained a picture of you and Ville making out on Bam's bed that you had taken on his camera that he used for filming because you were mad at him. It had text below it that said STOP TOUCHING MY FUCKING SHIT DOUCHEBAG. Ville snorted at the picture, whereas you just pouted even more because you wanted to be making out like that now. And there were several things you wanted to take pictures of the two of you doing at the moment that the image on his screen was only fueling your ideas on.

"Because I'm trying to fucking do something, and you can't contain your female urges." Ville replied after he'd finished laughing at the email, peeling your hand away where it had begun to creep towards him again. You lifted my head then, because the use of the phrase 'female urges' was not one you were a fan of.

"That's not a thing." If any gender had 'urges', it was definitely men. This was coming from the man that had once gotten you both kicked out of a party in Bam's hotel room because he wouldn't stop sticking his hand in your shirt.

"Yes it is. It's called uh...ovulating or something." He waved it off, going right back to his (your) computer screen and starting to type out a response to the email that Bam had sent three weeks ago. The end result was:

Ah, good times! Hope you enjoyed the crusty sheets, mate!

Love you Bam Bam xoxo

Embarrassingly enough, you were, in fact, ovulating. Not that you were ever going to let him know that knowing what he would do with the information, but it was a little funny in your own head. Ignoring his blatantly male take on women's hormones, you put your hand on his leg.

"I wanna play." You whined, pushing your hand up under the bottom of your laptop so that you could reach his inner thigh. Finally, after what felt like forever, you heard him exhale shakily at the touch.

"My fucking god, woman." He muttered, his hands pausing on the keyboard as you felt where he was definitely hard under the visual shield of the laptop. That lying bastard. "I think you'd be happy if all I did was let you watch me jerk off."

You perked up at that idea, because why the fuck hadn't you thought of that. Sure, you’d walked in on him with his hand down his pants more times than you could count, but you’d never explicitly watched him. When he saw the look on your face, he let out a scoff.

"Absolutely not." He was saying no, but he was also closing the laptop and setting it on the floor. You were already getting hot and bothered over the idea, so it was a little late for that, and you were immediately crawling into his lap as soon as he sat back up from putting the laptop down.

"Please? I wanna watch." You begged, cupping his cheek as you tried to plead your case. He shook his head, giving you a look like you were crazy.

"Hell no! I'm going to go soft if you're at my feet giving me the Kubrick stare!" He ridiculed, eyes trained more on the see-through material of your bra than your actual face as he spoke. You tilted his chin up towards you.

"I'll sit next to you. You don't even have to look at me." You were coming up with every solution you could think of (even though you would've loved to be Kubrick-staring him down from his feet), knowing he was only saying no because you were annoying him. "I'll be good. I promise."

"Y/n. Obviously if I'm fucking jerking it, I want to look at you. I just don't want you being...you." What a sweet and flattering thing to say to your girlfriend of many years. He clearly heard how he sounded, because he sighed and ran a hand over his face. "What I mean by that is, if I let you sit at the edge of the bed so that I can look at you, you'll do something weird like touch my feet."

You would totally do something like that, but still a little offensive.

"I'll stay right here." You reassured, getting off of him and rolling to his side so that you were next to him but far enough away where he had room to work should he say yes. And, judging by the tent in his jeans, you had a feeling he was going to. A deep, heavy sigh came from beside you.

"At least strip down so I'm not just going with a dry imagination." He caved, and his eyes could not have physically rolled harder when you let out a cheer and immediately jumped off the bed to do so.

"You're the best. I love you so much." You celebrated as you stripped down what little clothes you still had on this late into the evening, watching as he got up to do the same whilst grumbling to himself. You smiled, because sometimes it was endearing just how much of a grump he could be.

"Yeah, you better, because I'm not doing this again." He muttered, eyes glued to you as you climbed back onto the bed despite his complaining. You watched him with hungry eyes as he finished slipping his jeans down his hips, mouth partially open at how hard he was already. You had no idea how he was able to be that aroused and yet give no sign of it. He was definitely a better man than you.

"Say it back." You let your tone raise to a whine yet again, opening your arms to him as he got ready to get back into bed with you. He sighed once again before doing so, accepting your embrace and shooting you another look.

"I love you. You fucking psycho." He pressed a kiss to your lips before turning onto his back, neck resting against the pillows as he released his breath and situated himself. "I can't believe I said yes to this."

"Relax. Not like you've never done it before." You said dryly, shooting him a look as he rested his hand on his stomach. Just to give him a little kick-off, you took your finger and began to trace the tattoo on his lower stomach, kissing at his neck as you did so and watching a bead of precum start to form at his slit. Too easy.

"Spit." He only let you tease for a little bit before he was pulling your hand away, holding his up in front of your mouth for you to spit into his palm. You grabbed his wrist, making eye contact with him before licking up his palm and then spitting wetly right in the center. The theatrics were just for fun, but he clearly liked it, because suddenly his lip was drawn between his teeth.

When he finally wrapped his now spit-slick hand around his cock he let out a low groan, head falling to the side slightly to rest against yours as he began to move his fist up and down.

If your camera wasn't packed away somewhere out of reach, you would've taken a picture of how he looked at that moment. The muscles of his abdomen were tensed tightly as he stroked his cock, his lip drawn between his teeth and his eyes partially hooded as he continued to let small sounds escape his throat.

"Fuck. You look so good, baby." You breathed as you kissed at his neck, sucking softly and watching as your mouth left marks on his pale skin. He would be pissed about it later, but he most likely didn't even notice now. "I don't know why we never did this before."

"Because I'd rather fuck you than my own fucking h-hand." He stuttered, his head tilting a little more before he was catching you in a kiss; his tongue swiping along your bottom lip as he basically devoured your mouth with his. You moaned softly as you watched his hand pick up its pace with his thumb sliding over his tip every so often.

"After this I want you inside me." You nipped at his neck just as you said it and listened to him actually moan in response, a grin curling its way onto your face in success at how affected he was by just your words. "I've been waiting for you to fuck me all day."

"Shut up or I'm gonna—" He broke off his own voice with another gasp, his hand moving at a desperate pace by this point with the precum that visibly slicked his entire cock from the stimulation of his palm. "Just be quiet or I'm gonna blow a load before I'm—before I'm ready."

You were perfectly okay with that, but you shut your mouth for his sake, instead pressing your lips to his shoulder and then beginning to work your way back up to his neck once more. You used tongue with each of your kisses, and you could tell he liked it with the soft moans that elicited from his lips with every kiss.

It took everything you had inside of you not to reach out and touch him like you so badly wanted to. Let alone put your mouth on him like you wanted to even more. You were exhibiting a lot of self restraint for how incredibly, painfully horny you were. However, talking wasn't touching, and you could only keep your mouth closed like he'd requested for so long.

"Let me call you daddy tonight, baby." Okay, so maybe you were purposely trying to get him to cum faster, but it was still a genuine question. He never agreed to let you call him daddy unless it was your birthday, but tonight he had said yes to something he would've usually said no to, so you were pushing your luck. And, low and behold, he let out a moan that you would've paid good money to make your ringtone, his head falling back against the wall.

"Ohh...fuck, whatever you want." He muttered, clearly too fucked out to actually listen to what you were saying. You moaned in his ear just to rile him up more, licking gently along the shell of it and listening to his shaky breathing. His hand on his cock had lost an even rhythm and was now pumping unevenly as he chased his own high, his moans coming in steady streams now as you kissed from his cheek down to the hollow of his throat. And, the finishing move:

"I wanna see you cum, daddy." You whined in his ear, sucking on the sweet spot just below his ear that always made him moan no matter where you were or what you were doing. He did exactly that, his voice going high and shaky as his hips jerked.

He groaned your name as he came, free hand shooting out to grip your thigh while his back arched just slightly. You continued to kiss and suck at his skin as his cum shot in ropes onto his stomach and hand, relishing in the sound of his ragged breathing as he slowly came down from his high.

"Fuck. I wanna do that every day." You breathed as you finally detached from his neck, a hint of a grin on your lips as his hand slowly moved to a stop on his cock. He just looked at you as you raised his hand towards your mouth, aiming to clean his fingers off.

"You're insane." He muttered, lip drawing back between his teeth as you sucked his fingers clean. He wanted to pretend that he wasn't a fan of your behavior, but his cheeks were flushed in arousal and you could see the way he was staring at you.

You hummed in agreement as you sucked gently at his fingertips, holding his intense stare as you let your hands trail softly away from his wrist. He then took his hand away, wiping the cum off of his stomach before pressing his fingers back to your lips.

"Good girl." He cooed at how easily you cleaned the rest of the cum from his fingers, eyes on fire as he watched you before grabbing your face gently once you took his fingers out of your mouth and rubbing his thumb across your lips. "What do you want, my love?"

"Fuck me raw from behind." You already knew the answer to that, because that's all you’d been thinking about for most of the day, and you immediately saw the way his lips dipped into a frown.

"No. No more going raw." He said firmly, gripping your chin a bit tighter and giving you a look that told me not to argue. You whined, getting around his grip and pressing kisses to his cheek as you took his hand and pressed it back between your legs where he'd taken it away before.

"Please! Do whatever you want to me." You pleaded, moaning as you finally felt him start to circle his fingers around your clit while he vehemently denied your request. He smirked, swiping his fingers through your pussy before he was slowly pushing two of them into you.

"You're like a fucking cat in heat, you know that? You always need more." He muttered as he began to curl his fingers into you, pressing them in and out painfully slowly in a clear attempt to rile you up. "And I'd be careful telling me I can do whatever I want to you."

"Do whatever you want. I need you." You whimpered, voice coming out shaky and stuttered as your head spun with the pleasure of his fingers inside of you. He caught your lips with his, humming against the kiss as he slowed the pace of his fingers even more just to be an asshole.

"So, I can edge you until you're crying and begging?" He proposed, cockiness filling his tone as he stilled his fingers inside of you. You let out a huff, looking at him fully and showing your displeasure for the level of teasing he was putting you through from someone who apparently had a lot of work to do.

"Ville." You begged him frustratedly, not knowing quite what you were asking of him but knowing that he could take the hint regardless. He watched you closely as he began to push his fingers back into you again, still going slow but bringing that hum of pleasure back despite the torturous pace.

"If you would shut the fuck up and lay there like a good girl, then I would stop teasing." He finally seemed to lose his patience, and his free hand came out to shove your hips down where they'd been beginning to come off the bed. Your mouth immediately slammed shut, head turned in his direction as you tried to meet his fiery glare without shivering. When you didn't speak, he tutted. "You'd do anything if it meant I'd fuck you, wouldn't you?"

Whew. After this was done, and you were in a different setting, he was going to get his ass kicked for this. You knew he was completely right, and you were 100% pliant under his touch at that moment, but he didn't need to point it out.

When, once again, you didn't respond due to the fact that you were too busy moaning as he increased the pace of his fingers, he cooed at you and pressed a kiss to your jaw.

"You're so beautiful." He mumbled, grinning against your skin as your arm came up to wrap around his while still giving his hand room to move. "I love you."

You would've replied, but just as he said it he pulled his fingers out of you, instead causing you to gasp in both surprise and disappointment as you watched him stick his fingers right into his mouth. This man was going to drive you insane.

"Bend over at the edge of the bed. And take your hair down." He said after he'd finished vulgarly sucking his fingers clean, snapping his fingers for you to hurry up and then looking at you expectantly. Still reeling from the feeling of his fingers, it took you a second to comprehend what he'd just said to you, but once it clicked, you immediately sat up and detangled yourself from him.

"Why do I need to put my hair down?" You’d had it in a mess clipped up on your head considering it was getting long enough to where Ville always accidentally laid on it and yanked the shit out of your skull, and you weren't sure you wanted it all over in the position you were about to be in. He just looked at you.

"Because I said so." Ooh, you loved it when he said that. You watched him get up where you were still on your knees at the edge of the bed before you quickly yanked your hair clip out of your hair and got into the position that he'd so politely requested. You felt a bit of exposure with how baring your position was and how voraciously his eyes were eating you alive, but it was immediately soothed by his hand trailing up your thigh. "Every time you call me daddy, I'm going to put a fucking handprint on your ass."

"What? Why?" What was the point of saying yes if he was just going to torture you along with it? Although, obviously you weren't going to object, because you were too turned on to care, but still. He spanked hard.

"Once again, because I said so. If you keep asking me fucking why, I'll start early." His hand smoothed over your ass and squeezed harshly, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as, once again for your best interest, you shut your mouth. He stilled his hand. "I didn't say you couldn't do it. I just told you what will happen if you do."

"Okay." You found the strength in your extremely fucked-out state to respond to him because you knew he was expecting it, and melted a little more when you felt his other hand come up on your hip.

"Test it out." He was going to put you into cardiac arrest. Seriously. You re-shifted the weight of your body onto your elbows to look back at him, a 'stop fucking with me before I kill you' look on your face, only to be met with an expectant raise of his eyebrows and silence. You bit at your lip.

"Please fuck me, daddy. I need to feel you." You were getting a little desperate, sure, but if he wanted to play games, you could play games. As you said it, you arched your back a little more and wiggled your hips, trying to entice him in the best way you knew how. However, as soon as the words were out of your mouth, you felt the burning sting of his hand coming down on your asscheek, a loud slap echoing throughout his bedroom as he smacked your ass. You let out a sharp cry at the feeling, at which he just groaned along with.

"After this, no more asking to go raw. You won't get my cock in you for a long time if you whine about it again." Ville ordered, massaging your ass and letting his fingernails drag over your skin as he spoke to ignite the sting even more.

Excitement coursed through you, and just as you were getting ready to start really begging, met with the precipice of sacrificing another spank in lieu of calling him daddy once again, you finally felt him line himself up at your entrance.

You moaned loudly as he quickly pushed into you, hitting every nerve he'd been aggravating with his fingers only a couple minutes before with an iron grip on your hip. He didn't give you much time to adjust, clearly on his own set pace as he began to thrust his cock into you while strained gasps rose in your throat over and over again.

And then, to add onto it, you suddenly felt Ville's hand behind you, and then your head was being pulled back with tension in your scalp that told you he had his fingers gripped into your hair. That explained asking you to let it down.

"Fuck, your pussy is so tight." Ville groaned as he began to snap his hips into you with a force that had you gripping the sheets for some form of stability, using both his grip on your hip and his hold on your hair to pull you back harshly on his cock.

"Ville." You whined, wanting to bury your face in the sheets but unable to due to the fact that he was still pulling your hair. You yelped as you felt another smack to your ass.

"That's not my name. Get it fucking right." He snapped, his voice coming out strong and steady despite how hard he was fucking you. You tried to speak through your moans, taking a second before you were even able to find your voice due to the fact that you knew what was coming once you did.

"Daddy. Feels so good." Your voice came out hoarse and shaky, and you felt tears brimming in your eyes as you cried out again when his hand smacked down on your ass even harder this time. He was clearly just manipulating it out of you so that he could spank you, but it wasn't like you minded. You were too busy focusing on not cumming on the spot with every pull of your hair and every brush of his tip at your sweet spot.

Ville's room was filled with the sound of moans and the echoing slap of skin-on-skin as he fucked you within an inch of your life, the fact that he was standing on the floor and you were on the bed allowing him more purchase to slam into you without mercy as you cried out with every thrust.

Your orgasm was rising up fast inside you considering he'd already been fingering you and he'd been snapping at you enough to wet anyone's panties at least a little bit, and you found yourself shaking with the effort of trying to hold yourself back.

"I can feel you shaking. You want to cum, don't you?" Once again, his voice was nothing if not condescending, and you felt his brutal, harsh thrusts suddenly slow to languid, smooth rolls of his hips as he purposely slowed himself down just to keep you from reaching that tipping point. You let out a whine of frustration.

"Yes. Daddy, please." One again, another harsh smack; this time to your other cheek. You already knew by the time that you were done with this that your ass was going to be bright red (and probably a little bruised), and you could practically picture Ville's giddy look at the fact.

"Beg for it, if you want it so bad." He said simply in response. You could just make out the sound of him groaning with every roll of his hips, and you were praying that he'd grant you some mercy in favor of reaching his own climax.

"Please, baby. I can't take it anymore." You pleaded, nails dug deep into his sheets and voice broken apart. Your head spun with the pleasure clouding every inch of your body as you inhaled the smell of Ville on his sheets, and your legs were barely holding you up where you were still on your knees. He smacked your ass again, this time hard enough to pull a sob out of you.

"Try again." You felt his cock twitch inside you, and you knew it was because he had just realized you were crying. This time it took you a long time to be able to respond, your eyes blinded by tears and your throat raw as you felt your hip start to ache from his tight grip.

"Daddy, ple—" Smack. Another cry of pleasured pain, and you tried again. "Please let me cum, daddy." Smack. Your scalp was sore and your neck hurt, but you were so close and so desperate that you just keened back further into his pulling, a whimpering and whining mess as you waited for him to cease his attack on your senses.

"Wait until I do." And then, where he had been smoothly, slowly rolling his hips into you, he suddenly picked up his pace again, hips slamming into your stinging, sensitive ass as he chased his own high while pulling you more and more into a state of mind-numbing pleasure. "Fuck, sweetheart. I wish you could see how fucking red your ass is."

You couldn't see it, but you could definitely feel it.

You couldn't respond through your tears and the moans that were pulling from your lips with each ruthless slam of his cock into you, every thought in your brain completely gone as you felt your whole body start to shake. You had never been with someone that had been so hellbent on making you hold off every fucking orgasm you had before Ville, and it had taken you time to learn, but even now you felt panic rising in you with the fear of not being able to keep yourself from cumming. He was fucking you too good, and your body was already reacting too much.

So, when you heard that telltale moan above you, your brain clicked back into place as his already uneven pace went shaky as his breath caught in his throat.

"Fuuuck." He groaned before you felt him spill inside of you, hand on your hip going impossibly tight as he let his own orgasm take over him. And then, finally, the golden words: "Cum. Now."

He only needed about one more thrust before you were cumming too, relying almost completely on his grip on your hips to keep you up as you cried out and tensed while your climax pushed through your body. He fucked you through both of your orgasms, his breathing vocal and ragged as he let go of your hair to hold your hips with both hands and pulled you back on his cock again and again until you were crying out jumbled renditions of his name and feeling your eyes wet with tears all over again as you bordered on overstimulation.

Only then did he finally slow to a stop, his grip on your hips going lax as you started to try and catch your breath. Every part of you ached, but you were so fucked out that you couldn't even find it in you to care.

"You look so fucking gorgeous right now." Ville mumbled as he pulled out and helped you into laying on your side, reaching out to wipe the tears that were still spilling freely down your cheeks with his thumb as his free hand rested on your knee. "Such a crier."

"Leave me alone." You groaned, finding the strength where it felt like you had none to raise your hand and flip him off to his face. Your makeup had probably smeared and was probably all over your face, and you knew he liked that, but you weren't quite ready for his teasing yet.

"Don't be like that." He took your hand where you were flipping him off and instead pressed a kiss to the back of it, the light catching the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead when he tilted his head. If anyone looked gorgeous, it was him. His hair was pushed back and away from his face, and there was a red hint to his cheeks. If you weren't so weak, you would've jumped his bones for a second round right then and there. He then rubbed his hand over your ass, making you wince. "You want help to the bathroom, mi amor?"

"No. Get in bed." You huffed, jabbing a finger at him because that shit-eating grin on his face was only getting wider by the second. And it was only going to get worse when you stood up on your incredibly-shaky legs.

"Yes, my love." He rolled his eyes, letting go of your hand and standing back up to his full height. "Let me take a picture of your ass. My handprints are all fucking over it."

Once again, he only earned himself your middle finger as you took his hand to stand up, face going red when your legs almost gave out on you. He gave you a knowing look but chose not to comment on it, instead dipping down to give you a slow kiss before smacking your ass and stepping out of the way to let you walk out.

Someday you were going to kick his fucking ass.

Once you had cleaned up and wiped some of the mascara and eyeshadow (that was indeed all over your face) off, you came back to Ville's room, biting back a smile at seeing him basically half-asleep right in the middle of the bed under the covers.

"I thought you had emails to read." You teased as you crawled in bed after him, hand brushing against his arm as he extended it towards you. He shot you a dirty look, pulling you into him once he had his hand at your very sore hip and forcing you to basically fall into bed next to him.

"I do, but I also have a chronically horny girlfriend who can't keep herself off my cock for more than a few hours, so they'll have to wait." He said dryly, a smirk pulling back onto his lips when you groaned as he squeezed your hip. "The fuck are you whining about? You said I could do whatever I wanted to you."

"Yeah, but now everything hurts." You mumbled, playing with his fingers where his arm was wrapped around you and his hand rested loosely against your shoulder. "You always have to be so rough."

He continued to smirk, but he turned on his side so that he was facing you, gently pulling his fingers from your grasp so that he could cup the back of your head before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"It's because you're so beautiful when I make you cry." He said honestly, his eyes meeting yours before he was dipping his head to kiss you. The kiss was soft and unhurried, his hand resting just above your sore hip under the covers while your hand pushed into his hair. "And you insist on calling me 'daddy', which is fucking godawful."

"You say that every time, but if you really didn't like it, you wouldn't let me do it." You could see right through him. He was about as inconspicuous as you when you said you didn't like when he left you sore and shaking every time he fucked you. "Does 'master' sound better to you?"

"Jesus Christ. You're not my pet." He said exasperatedly, a grin pulling at his lips as you laughed at his words.

"Hey. I didn't say I'm calling you master. You could be my pet." You said airily, pulling on his hair slightly where your hand was still in it and watching as he gave you that unimpressed stare that you received so often.

"Fat fucking chance." He then pulled your hand out of his hair, pushing it down so that you were forced to rest your arm over his side before drawing you up closer to his chest. "Shut the fuck up and close your eyes."

"But I wanna make out." You tried and failed to get out of his grasp, your hand pressed against his chest over the tattoo there as he tried to essentially suffocate you into being quiet.

"Shh. I'm turning off the lights." He ignored your protests, reaching one arm back to turn off the lamp that had been illuminating the room before turning back to you and stopping your hand before you could slip it down far enough to get to his ass just to see what he would do. "Don't even think about it."

"I love you." You pouted, pulling slightly when he didn't cease his grip on your wrist and then just giving up and pressing your cheek into his shoulder. He tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you completely flush up against him before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

"I love you too. Doesn't mean I'm letting your hand go."

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Summary: an episode taking place after “Three Way Script”

Warnings: talks of still born children, suggestions of threesomes, consensual infidelity and polyamory

Notes: gosh I’ve been off here so long and yet I’m still clogged with love notes! How’d i get so lucky? This fandom truly is the sweetest, most gushing and loving imaginable and each of you are dear to me and I miss you all. Europe has seemed to swallow me as I’m over for another month I had not anticipated. That’s ok. It’s that’s great in fact but I’m whooped and tired and missing the chance to make believe with y’all. Here’s a little resurgence in that, thanks for your patience and please, please, please keep spamming me all you want in my inbox and dms as I adore it and it helps me feel included even as I’m a little preoccupied with work right now. Xoxo🌹

Cautions: this was written and not edited a bit, wahooo

Anne’s The Name

Ann-Margret was rather used to being ambushed outside her dressing room by the occasional stray autograph seeker, an entitled producer or five anticipating more, or co-stars looking for a drink after shooting to wind down the chemistry of the day.

As of yet, she’d never been met by a wife.

But there she was, Elaine. Never having met her before didn’t afford Ann even a split second of ignorance. She knew who she was. Mrs. Presley was unmistakable, even when playing at being inconspicuous. Leaning against the stage wall in a somehow more provocatively natural stance than even her husband could manage, those long legs freshly tanned against a pink shift skirt and the elegant length of her -she was slimmer than the papers showed her, what with this baby making hiatus- topped off by chocolate curls getting whipped around her like the studio’s wind tunnel was a paid employee. More deadly still was when the opened door attracted her attention and that pretty pearl adorned neck turned to face Ann, that stunner of a face entirely full of curiosity and maybe…mischief?

Ann was too startled to be certain.

Startled by her sudden appearance, startled by the prettiness of her, startled by the lack of venom anywhere to be found on that compelling face, the lips of which were quirking up in a undeniable smirk of teasing enjoyment. She was enjoying Ann’s dumbfounded, half cocked, partway out the door, frozen in place shock. Somehow this was neither the self sacrificing Saint not irate Madonna that Ann anticipated maybe one day being confronted by.

Instead she was being warmly appraised by heavily fringed eyes that glimmered gold in the late day’s sun. Like her merits for lover or playmate were being gauged. Ann wondered if the rumors were true, if Elvis had really taken a lump of clay and fashioned himself a wife in his own image, more identical and fitting than any rib shaped lady could aspire. That sense of danger and intrigue and knowing that had filled her on meeting Elvis came flooding over Ann again, unable to do more than curiously inspect Elaine as she turns towards her.

“Thumper?” Elaine’s voice is as soft and hopeful as it was coming across the telephone receiver weeks ago, “You are Ann, I believe?” she presses when Ann’s manner can’t play catch up with her overwhelming emotions and she remains frozen, halfway out her open door.

“Ela- Mrs. Presley!” she corrects, wincing at the fumble, utterly unsure now that she’s not being met with open hostility.

“I didn’t mean to startle you!” Elaine straightens up from the wall and click clacks over in her heels to stand opposite Ann, just an arms reach removed from each other and Ann thinks of what a pretty scene they’d make if this were scripted, one red and one brown, a flavor for each taste, matching in height and complimentary in build, facing off in a tunnel. “It’s just I managed to give Esposita the slip and E’s gonna be busy with the studio dubbing and I’m no use at all. I thought I’d wrestle up a friend while I was free.” Elaine’s beaming smile dims the longer Ann stalls for time and etiquette, “Or-or if you’re not free, I understand, I at least wanted to say hello. I’m going to be in the city for a little while and didn’t want to be bumping along into you some day without having sought you out.”

Ann wondered if Elvis asked her to come, if Ann and her inventive ways to have sex without having sex wasn’t quite cutting it and he had caved and called the wife. Or if Elaine had heard Ann’s voice over the telephone and gathered from the whole sleepwalking debacle that it was high time to reel him and his affairs in. Or maybe the colonel had seen the papers, Heda Hopper’s column in particular stating that Elvis was taking a shine to his red headed mirror, and sent the wife down for damage control. The only thing is, Ann was sure that the Colonel was thick as thieves with Hedda, much to Elaine’s distress no doubt, and he loved every bit of publicity that Elvis’ wayward eyes could drum up.

Family men didn’t sell, after all. Ann had certainly played her part in his playboy reconstruction with convincing aplomb.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Elaine’s voice cuts through the fog of Ann’s concerns and suddenly she’s able to find her voice as she starts to tip over,

“No, I-I’m a little dizzy.” Ann admits, just as Elaine’s arms and a wall barely manage to keep her from face planting on the cement.

-I’m a little dizzy and I love your husband and you’re here to distract him and I’m awful aren't I?! but I couldn’t help it, if you love him as much as you say you’ll understand I couldn’t help it, I can’t help loving him-

“Woah, woah, have you eaten?” Elaine asks solicitously as she keeps Ann standing upright against the wall by an iron grip around her waist and under her arm. Anne winces at what she knows is the tacky feel of her sticky underarm pit cradled by Elaine Presley’s perfectly manicured hand. Why did she have to wear a yellow shift dress today of all days? She can feel Elaine’s fingers rubbing at the tassel on the waist, soothing her the same way Elvis does. By touch, gentle in a way that belies the ease with which she holds her upright. The woman is terribly strong for looking so delicate and there’s suddenly a great deal of logic to Elvis’ starry eyed submissiveness regarding his doll faced wife -Elaine is imposing when she gets her hands on you.

Embarrassment floods Ann next, blushing hot and dewy at being caught so weak in front of a woman the world would say she’s wronged. Heat replaces the cold and clammy dizziness of before and she struggles upright against the wall, getting her feet to work for her, stamping the heels a little to get a strong footing. Elaine doesn't budge in her grip on her, still looking concerned and gentle -god, she’s as comfortable with closeness as he is.

“Matter of fact I have neglected eating.” Ann chuckles weakly, puffing at the hair that’s fallen over her forehead and into her eyes, Elaine swipes it away when the directed huff proves ineffective against hairspray laden locks. “It’s been so hot and -and we had a dance scene, kept having to repeat it and -and so many takes. I got a little nauseous from the heat. I forgot to have lunch.”

“You’re probably dehydrated, poor thing.” Elaine tsks, “Makes folks sick and then they don’t want what they actually need. Happens to the kids on the beach all the time, it’s like bargaining with Castro trying to get Jesse out of the ocean to hydrate.” Ann finds herself chuckling at the mental image of this familial anecdote before she realizes she is chuckling at stories about Elvis’ kids. Should she say her condolences for Joe now? Should she even admit she knows as much as she does? “We should get some meat in you. Water, too.” Elaine decides her course for her, “Do you wanna go back in there to rest for a minute?” she points at the dressing room Ann just exited, “Or we can make a dash for my car and find ourselves a bite?”

What either of these options unspokenly state is that Ann will be spending her evening with Elaine, one way or another. If she’s gonna get throttled for being an adulteress she'd rather it be in a drive-in-diner and not some stuffy back-lot dressing room.

“I think I can manage the dash.” she answers agreeably because that’s what Elaine seems to illicit in her -agreeableness.

And as she finds herself tugged by the hand across the mostly empty parking lot, Ann wonders where that ornery streak she’s made her fame on has gone to. Maybe it’s the dehydration that has tuckered her out. Maybe it’s how Elaine acts like she’s her mother in a way that not even her own mother could make so charming.

Elaine is going to get her burgers and water and make her head less fuzzy. It’s been such a while since anyone met her needs so eagerly that Ann finds herself giggling as they race across the wavering hot asphalt, their heels echoing like clopping tattletales and Ann thinks it’s such a lark right as she tips over the convertible caddy’s door into the plush leather passenger seat.

The convertible is pink, because Elvis bought it for his wife and didn’t bother to ask her what her favored color would be, it was just understood that Mrs. Presley would like a pink Cadillac.

Ann is positive that’s how it went, she doesn’t even need to ask Elaine for the story as Elaine cranks the engine up while flipping the visor forward to tip out a pair of cat-eye shades in what strikes Ann as a strangely masculine getsure of proficiency. It makes Ann want to fan herself at the subtext of this woman having hung around Elvis Presley long enough to have picked up his impossibly cool mannerisms by osmosis.

That right there is intimacy. That right there is bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. That’s a wife.

Ann doesn't know what to do with the rush of appreciation she feels towards what ought to be a nemesis as this cool gal who shields her knowing brown eyes behind tortoise rimmed glasses and flicks on the radios right as a crowd of studio workers begins to swamp the strange duo in their flashy ride.

The song choice by the DJ is downright unfortunate. Surrounded as they are by photographing fans and coworkers, there is nothing for them to do after Elaine’s manicured finger flicks the switch and the mournful rockabilly of Runaround Sue blasts as a ironically perfect soundtrack for the missus taking the side chick out for burgers.

Elaine’s gutsy laugh of recognition at the intro wailing “woaaaah woaaaah woaaaah” tells Ann she appreciates the irony just as much but the woman just waves at the crowd and revs the motor in a fake threat of running over a few studio heartthrobs who are draped over her caddy front trying to get a closer shot.

“If I change it now they’ll read into it more.” Elaine remarks to Ann out the side of her unwavering smile and Ann thinks that’s a talent she wants to learn, damned useful looking like you’re grinning while making conversation.

-‘ask any man that she ever knew, he’ll say keep away from a runaround sue, oh yeah, woaaaaaah”-

Elaine’s french tipped fingers thump out a corresponding rhythm on the pink lacquered steering wheel while surveying the mess of attraction they’ve brought down on themselves in the sweltering parking lot before playfully reaching for the wipers and flicking on the spray with bemused cruelty.

It’s strangely attractive, this distanced bemusement of hers and it fills Ann with notions of thanking Elaine for being a little nasty, something she never felt before for another soul. Suddenly those idiots who degrade themselves and get off in it make a little more sense as she watches the young bucks scramble off of Elaine’s shiny hood with soaked shirts and tented trousers.

“Sorry fellas, y’all were lookin’ overheated.” Elaine quips before the rest of the verbal sparring gets lost in the revv of the engine and they’re peeling out of the studio lot in a move that even Elvis would have found satisfyingly risky.

As it is, Ann lays her burning head back on the white leather seat and enjoys the feeling of the wind whipping her hair off her forehead as Elaine speeds them down Las Vegas roads that don’t tolerate a 75 mile an hour pace most times.

-“well I shoulda known it from the very start, that girl would leave me with a broken heart-“

The strip is truly lovely in the daylight and there’s a charm to it when viewed in the blur of a fast car and the veil of chocolate curls whipping around red painted lips.

“Was- that- did- did Robert Redford just wave you through his red light?” Ann splutters in disbelief at a lightning fast interaction at a four way stop that has Elaine’s head swiveling dangerously and a shark-like grin taking over her face.

“I think he did.” she replies with a guilty giggle and Ann wonders when the last time this woman got to be naughty without it being smothered right out of her the next second by a unfathomably possessive husband.

“A real good looking fella in the bright of day.” she ventures.

“He’s very blonde.” Elaine rejoins and Ann can’t help but laugh at that, at her partiality for dark haired men.

“Yes of course, you like yours so black they’re nearly blue.”

Elaine manages to swivel into their parking space in the drive-in diner with easy grace, the same sorta slide and swivel Ann imagines she’d use to scoot her body into a restaurant booth. “You’re forgetting who applies his hair dye.” she says with faux gravity that has Ann faltering for a moment until she sees her smirking, “And Jack’s not darkening up despite everyone’s predictions. I’m only saying that Redford is -“ Elaine doesn’t finish, she just shrugs and pulls the gear to park.

Noticing a star’s ride at first glance, an eager young waitress in her short skirt and rollerblades flys over and Elaine handles her and the order of five cheeseburgers and as many shakes with the same cooing authority she handled Ann with against the wall.

It sends Ann back to fidgeting, even more so when the girl takes off to plug in the order and Elaine turns the full weight of those perfectly lined eyes back at her and flicks up her sun glasses into her hair to study her closer. It lasts long enough that a blush burns Ann’s face and Elaine herself wonders if Elvis enjoys this girl’s charming unawareness of her own appeal.

Seemingly satisfied with her inspection for now, Elaine turns back in her seat and tilts the rear view mirror downwards to inspect the damage the wind did to her curls and upon catching sight of her face mutters,

“That man…” in a resigned drawl while dabbing away at a smudge of red lipstick out of her lip lines that could’ve only come about by a rather impassioned smooch. Ann figures Redford is not the man in question this time.

It makes Ann feel funny, the thought of having woken up in Elvis’ bed this morning and between then and seeing him again he’s already necked his wife. Necked her thoroughly by the looks of that finger fluffed hair. Anne recalls reading an article in the Whisper about Elaine’s perpetual state of tousled hair and bitten lips, a constant innuendo to what happens to the woman the minute the curtain drops on her picture perfect, wholesome and southern, utterly above reproach little family life. Elaine gets mauled by Elvis Presley, that’s what happens. Elvis who can play the gentleman all he wants during the mating dance but in the act itself promises nothing less than a full, thorough, beastly claiming of his woman.

“Wanna go in?” His wife is asking and it shouldn’t jar Ann as much as it does but she’s so lost in her head that it spooks her all the same and she ends up nodding mindlessly, trying to think about optics and failing to see how this could be anything but tragic for herself. “Alright but use the door handle this time, it’s got one.” Elaine snarks with a pretty little snarl of those red lips and Ann bashfully opens the caddy door properly this time instead of spilling over the side like a tomboy.

She’s still learning how to be what Hollywood wants her to be. Shedding her wholesome girl next door image for a sex kitten verve that hasn’t been entirely unnatural. But it takes a bit of balance as even sex kittens need some glamor, some poise and grace, even as they’re promisingly feral. It’s like tousled curls that hint at obscene amounts of public fuckery without being remotely indecent in itself. She watches Elaine swing open the diner door and wait with charming annoyance at Ann’s preoccupied dawdling. Being billed the “female Elvis” brought about the challenge of having to figure out what Elvis’ appeal even consisted of.

Getting to know the man…intimately…hadn’t made that any clearer. There was a mystique about him that she feared her own shy and frank nature could never manage to do more than a cheap imitation of. Now she was beginning to fear half of his appeal was the promise of his capability that was shown in Elaine Presley’s every move and smirk.

Asking his exquisitely poised and deliciously no-nonsense wife about it didn’t seem a smart move. Recovering from tripping over the curb like an awkward preteen, Ann ducks her head appreciatively for Elaine still holding the damn door open and slips inside the checkered diner.

It was teeth chattering cold in the leather booths after the heat of the ride and both Ann and Elaine found themselves shrinking from settling back into their seats, leaned forward instead with elbows on the table in a cozy pose but no topic of conversation to break the ice as they hovered in such close proximity.

“I thought this would be easier.” Elaine finally let out with a little huff and Ann couldn’t be sure if she was annoyed at her or the situation. “I thought we'd have a lot to talk about.” she explained with a hint of sadness that bewilders Ann. In response to her nonplussed face Elaine went on, “Why, you know…about…lord, our interests! Which as I hear of it consist of many of mine, motorcycles and dancing, my husband of course, and thumb sucking -to name a few.”

Ann inhaled her shake at the mention of that particular sex act, utterly unmoored at the notion he’d told his wife the actual detail. The fact the wife would tell it back.

Elaine was smiling at her coughing fit.

“He’s got such pretty fingers.” she commiserates without pausing in the assault as Ann wheezes

in a vanilla tinged breath, “It’s ingenious really, he said it worked a little too well.”

It had, that’s true, though Ann had never expected Elvis to leave her flat and call his wife up and tell her about how his young costar had cajoled him into rubbing himself to completion as she sucked his thumb in a pantomime of both fallatio and abstinence. Ann had never felt so filthy as she had when she’d watched a married man spew over his knuckles as he hooked his other thumb into her cheek at the same time, leaving her with a knowing smile, happy to keep her revved up and hungry for him for days after until he finally caved and-

“Makes me wanna try it.” Elaine’s voice cuts through the fog and Ann is faced yet again with the fact that this woman seems to wanna chat about her husband's technical infidelity like two girls at a sleepover. She’s still waiting for the seething possessiveness and or vicious cutting down to size.

“Thank you for the flowers, that was -that was much too kind.” Ann gets it out, burdened in a way she hadn’t been before the bizarre need to be liked by Elaine Presley had taken root.

“Thanks for being good to him.” Elaine replies without missing a beat but in so low and earnest a tone it seems to warm the entire diner and the leather feels cozy.

“I’m so sorry about Joe.” Ann blurts with hoarse earnestness because the grief of it is choking her as she watches this woman dazzle and smile her way through a cataclysmic tragedy, the size of which has Elvis Presley himself trying to sleep walk to his death to end the pain of it.

An emotion, something very cold initially and then frighteningly intense, almost a little ugly in its horrifying struggle flits across, then threatens to crumple, Elaine’s poised features and Ann suddenly wishes her tongue had been cut out, she oughta be locked up and never let out in polite society again. She watches helplessly as Elaine’s mouth firms into a hard line even as her eyes grow wide and wild and begin glittering madly with what Ann realizes, almost too late, are unshed tears -and then those perfectly manicured hands fly up to hide a deluge of grief that melts that serene facade.

“I-I’m so sorry, I just -I just had to say it.” Ann hears herself whimpering out condolences and excuses and her hands fumble over the linoleum table top in a helpless gesture as Elaine’s hands are too busy shielding her famous face from the entire diner’s occupants as her shoulders shake in a terrible rhythm that is peculiar to stifled sobbing. “I’m just so horribly sorry for you, for both of you, all of you. And everybody goes on like it didn’t happen but I- I can’t imagine how awful that is, the ignoring of it. I-I didn’t think before I said anything I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Elaine.”

Ann watches as the sobs seem to slow, and then they still, and eventually, this young woman leans forward again and rests her elbows on the table, face still hidden by her hands, one of which boasts that stupendously gaudy wedding band. Realizing there’s one thing she can mend, Ann reaches into her purse and digs out a hanky before pressing it against Elaine’s knuckles in a silent plea for her to use it.

It’s like witchcraft the way her face is entirely composed once those hands drop and the damp and smudged hanky is balled into her dainty fist. She’s looking straight past Ann at her surroundings, clocking her audience and even twisting a little in her seat to make certain no one’s overly enthralled by her lapse in perfection, it’s exhausting watching this haunted look of hunted excellence by, Ann can’t even imagine what it’s like living it. Suddenly Ann’s hands are being gripped and the woman’s fingers are burning hot and clammy and her eyes are boring into her own, seemingly satisfied that they are still anonymous enough for a little show of emotion and Elaine is murmuring in a husky whisper,

“Thank you, Thumper -you see, nobody talks about her. I-I -there’s no one I can talk to…about her.”

The fact that her own husband can’t even manage it but had to find a stranger to spill to instead strikes Ann with a fathomless guilt for taking that from Elaine, but it’s not as if she had elicited it! He came to Ann himself and what he spoke of she couldn't control. Still, actually getting to see the cracks in his wife’s soul from the loneliness of her grief is a different thing entirely and she is moved to make amends.

“You can always talk to me -if it helps.” she whispers and Elaine gives her a wincing smile.

“I don’t think anything will help.” Elaine replies with a moodiness that is both entirely understandable, if a little off putting in just how severe it is. And, forever the barometer of moods, as if sensing Ann’s unease with her glumness, Elaine perks up in a nauseatingly convincing display of cheer. “It’s just -I think that after Mrs. Kennedy lost her baby and all that sadness, the people just don’t have it in them to find much -interest, in the sad parts. They need happiness and, and courage from us.”

Elaine’s biting her lip in a vain attempt to make it stop wobbling and Ann wishes she could smack the American public for insisting these women, one the wife of the President and the other of the King, hold up a perfect little Camelot for them to read about every Sunday. It’s real lives, real lives grieving and straining and trying their best, real infants dying and golden couples struggling to regain intimacy beyond the midnight sobbing cuddle sessions that have taken the place of making love.

No money in the world is worth such a forced display of perfection in the face of such aloneness.

“You should worry about what you need right now.” Ann tells her what she told her husband the other night.

“Ah.” Elaine clicks her tongue doubtfully, “That’s all real well but I dunno what I need. But you -are you what Elvis needs? Hmm?”

Suddenly Ann wants to bolt again, throat tight and heart skipping a beat, “I-I don’t know.”

“How old are ya?” she asks like that is a natural progression in the conversation, as if Elaine is going to be the judge of wether it is beneficial for her husband to 69 his co-star in order to forget about his dead child.

“I’m twenty two.” It feels like a confession under that earnest eyed review.

“Lord.” Elaine bites off the head of a fry and Ann wishes she was a lil soaked potato crisp herself, that bemused meanness simmering to Elaine’s smooth surface again and turning Ann into a hot mess under her nylons. “And do you wanna get married, Miss Margret? You want kids and all that? Or is it the stage life for you?”

“No, I-I’d like kids, and I’d like to marry.” she insists, “Just not now -and not Elvis, of course not Elvis!”

“Well that’s good.” Elaine drawls sardonically, “Cause he’s taken and happy to be so.”

“Yes! Yes he loves you so much.” it’s a sort of masochism for Ann to admit that yet somehow she finds she doesn’t mind it.

“I know.” is all Elaine replies with, utterly unimpressed.

“So,” Ann finds this ordeal unbearable enough she might as well ask what’s been burdening her, “why did you wanna meet with me? Is- is he through with me?” The full scale of her own unease finally surfaces and she realizes she’s got cause to suspect Elaine of more than just being jealous. “Did he send you to do it? To break it off me with me?” she can’t help the way her voice raises in outrage, it may be misplaced but her love is not false and she doesn’t deserve this, he oughta man up and do his own dirty work.

Elaine doesn’t reply for a few beats that have Ann wringing her hands around her sweaty milk shake in suspense, curious as to why the woman doesn't take the easy route and admit it, crow over her -once again the straying husband has returned to her.

“This film has only got a couple of weeks left.” Elaine says instead in so measured a tone it slices Ann to the heart quicker than any boast, “But no, no he hasn’t sent me to do anything. I’m no one’s errand boy.”

“Of course not.” Ann mumbles in apology.

“But he has-“ Elaine’s mouth twists in distress over wording and every delay hurts Ann just a little more from suspense, “-Elvis has recommenced his interest in me.” that’s a positively hilarious way to say he banged his wife and not the side piece this afternoon and Ann hates her for her delicacy, and all the pain and complications it hides, “And the thing of it is, I’ve already noticed a waning of his preoccupation with you and -I’m just an observer. It’s what I do, I watch him and then I act on what he’s gonna do or what he’s gonna want. And, Ann, can I call ya Ann? Ann, I -I think he’s gonna try to move on from ya, when the movie wraps, like he’s moved on from the others.”

Ann bites at her straw and prays her jimmying leg beneath the table isn’t painfully obvious.

“I don’t want that.” Elaine states suddenly and Ann lets go of the poor, abused straw.

“What?”

“You’re not just some other gal, Thumper.” she rolls her eyes -fondly, unless Ann is greatly mistaken. “But I think he’d treat ya like one for me. I do think it’s what he intends to do. It’s -he said as much this afternoon…during.”

Ann’s cheeks flame hot from mortification and anger, but from something else too. An electric shock zapping through her at the unintended imagining of Elvis talking about her while buried inside of Elaine. To be thought of, spoken of, made a part of that dynamic…Ann is going to hell for the way it makes her clench and breath in like a panting racehorse.

“Well that’s all -settled for you, isn’t it.” she can’t help but try her hand at being a little mean herself. It comes out petulant and she winces at the pettiness of it.

“Yes.” Elaine doesn't bother with false remorse over her surety in her husband’s return, “Which means all that’s left is to help sort you.”

“Sort me?“ Ann isn’t above mud wrestling a fellow gal on the diner floor.

“Thumper, darling,” Elaine sighs gently while her eyes stray behind Ann’s head at some gathering fans behind them, “this industry crafts an image for its stars like suits for models. What they’ve got for ya right now sure is flattering, but make no mistake, they’ll be happy to discard you and your new suit whenever it no longer makes folks gossip. I’d like us to last a lot longer than all that.” her eyes focus back on Ann’s and a sad smile lights up her face, “I think we’ve got it in us to.”

“Who’s us?”

Elaine seems to take time to consider that before answering, “The trio of us.”

Ann remains wary, it’s altogether too easy to want her to mean what she can’t possibly have intended. “Us?”

“Yeah, us.” Elaine grins, “Or at least, I think that Thumper and Naughty and Tink could manage something. Even if the adults can’t.”

It’s wicked that smile of hers and awfully persuasive, like she’s figured something out. And maybe she has, that throat closing fear that Ann was a replacement suddenly allayed by the jimmying legged beauty who acts so brave while having the ill luck of having a soulmate in a married man.

Ann’s no replacement for Elaine.

She’s Elvis’ mirror and his double and a fondness blooms in Elaine’s heart for her at that realization, along with a healthy dose of exasperation that always seems to linger when in Elvis’ presence.

“So, will you let me sort you?” she presses the young woman and doesn’t miss the way she swallows hard in the same way Elvis does when Elaine starts bossing.

Interesting.

“Arrange a little something for us that’ll outlast those hooligans at MGM? You gotta think about what you want, Ann, they’ll get ya on the treadmill and never turn the damn thing down when you burn out unless ya make them. I’d have thought you’d have learnt that these past few weeks.”

Ann knows she’s referring to Elvis and his insomnia, his hollow eyed spouting of the newest script and his mechanical jiving while his soul atrophies from grief suppressed. Ann knows there’s a damned dead end at the end of loving him too thoroughly. Too exclusively. But God! -he made her feel important. That’s all a little silly now that she’s looking at his wife with those love kiss abrasions adorning her throat and a diamond weighing down her finger.

Ann wants Elvis. Ann also wants whatever it is Elaine’s got and if she ever wants to really get that, she's gonna have to let Elaine’s husband go and find herself one of her own. “Alright.” she whispers, smudging the linoleum table top with her wrist, “I mean -I would like to remain friends. Very much.”

“We can do better than just that. But it’s a start.” Elaine clicks her tongue in a strangely cocksure way that has Ann melting as she watches as if in slow motion as Elaine’s hand comes up to her face, a manicured finger swiping at the corner of Ann’s lip before bringing the vanilla frosted finger to her own mouth and sucking nonchalantly.

Already sorting her out and Ann complies with rapt attention and a shudder. “I had the good sense to leave Jack behind for this little visit.” she admits cheerily, as if making breezy conversation and Ann realizes the crowd behind her shoulder have moved in closer, “Which means we could have a dinner party, us three, and there’d be no chaperone to set a curfew.”

Mrs. Presley wiggles her eyebrows in a way that suggests they won’t be watching movies late into the night and Ann’s heart threatens to gallop away from her at the thought of it.

Someone from the crowd asks for an autograph.

Preoccupied, Ann accidentally writes “thumper” on the bottom of a fresh Polaroid depicting her and Elaine peeling out of the studio lot.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

I hope y’all enjoyed, after such a long pause I’d be astounded if any of y’all were still invested in this but I swear that while I may not be as prolific in the next few months, my gargantuan plot for this universe and others are still alive in my brain. Love y’all 😘 if you wanna be added to the taglist please comment below

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[duchesskatriel]

I came up with this AU a couple of months ago, and since a moot encouraged me to share with the class I might as well (plus I also wanna draw this AU lol)

I'll call this au Be Born as a placeholder rn lol

SO this au starts right after HMS managed to find a way to end the loop, and they harmonise permanently. Whole basically gains the courage to confess to his crush (still don't have a name for her) and she also confesses her mutual feelings, Blah Blah Blah, they date, yada yada yada, they get married and have a pair of twins.

I also have to say that Whole, whom I will call CJ from this point forward (Does NOT mean Chonny Jash, its a diff name, same acronym) is aware and remembers HMS quite a bit. Most of his memories/knowledge of them has faded since the harmonising was over 6 years ago, but he still remembers a few key details like their roles, some of their names and a blurry image of what they look like.

Soo like the VERY FUNCTIONAL human being CJ is, decides to name his twin sons after two of the voices in his head. Wow, clap for the man everyone whoooo-. The names he uses are Artemis and Apollo. A year later, they have another child whom he names, say it with me! ATLAS WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED AHH. Atlas was born on the same day as Artemis and Apollo so you'd argue their triplets lol.

OHHH this is a normal au there couldn't possibl- SIKE THIS SHET HAS ✨️MAGIC✨️ BECAUSE PLAIN HIGH SCHOOL AUS ARE OVERRATED /J /SILLY /LH

And this is where I ruin the au🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

OK SO during the time the twins still weren't born, Heart began to wonder what it must be like to live life as your own person, to have a childhood, go school- etc etc (HMS split up into existence when CJ was 18 not too long before he dropped out of college) he starts rambling to Mind and Soul about this, Mind tries to shrug it off as a plain "What if" sanario or daydream but also ends up thinking the same.

This is also fueled by the fact that they spent majority of their existence fighting each other never living an even remotely normal day in their life.

Soul wants both of them to be happy, plus he also starts to get infected with this desire and curiosity. SO he somehow finds out he can cut off a prong of the trident and make it a dagger which he can link Heart or Mind to making them particularly function as a soul.

Soul also wants to be with his halves so he asks for Heart's blindfold and Mind's crown to create a puppet that can serve thr roles of all three of them. Which he names Harmonia (AYO OMORIHMS AU FORSHADOWING?!?!?!)

Harmonia is basically a perfect copy of CJ lol. Soul leaves Harmonia alone to look after CJ with his trident(now pretty much a spear) a crown of a ruler who has stepped down from his throne and a blindfold used to protect its previous wearer from the blinding lights of the Sun.

You can kinda just ignore that part if you want (still on the fence with it but I'll most likely go with it) cus it doesn't really effect the story if you were to erase it. All that happens mostly is Deju Vu

I don't really need to explain which HMS is which kid hah.

I'm now gonna explain the three kids.

First is Artemis, who is TECHNICALLY the older twin (he came out first). Artemis is based on the right brain being not only the emotional side but also the creative and artistic side. So yes... he is an artist. Quite extroverted, still likes his peace and quiet, yeahhhh

Second is Apollo, the "younger" twin (funny because he's the tallest out of the three). Ehh, you know the drill, straight A's student... hot nerd even (JOKE. DONT KILL ME. NO. NUH UH. I WAS JOKING EH) the classic "grades over mental health because" guy. Monotone and deep voice but is surprisingly approachable (unless he put you on his "No likey" list based on first impressions lol).

Last but not least, Atlas, the poor younger sibling who keeps getting caught in the crossfire between his two older siblings. He's more on the athletic side, being hockey team (suggested by randa). The most energetic of the three, as a kid, he often asked his brothers to play with him, which is why the trio grew up to be really close.

Uhhhh some trivia/fun facts to maybe explain their characters a bit more:

• Apollo and Artemis "fight" from time to time but its mostly "YOU FATASS, YOU ATE ALL MY KITKATS" then dramatic pause then "Dad made waffles."

• Apollo's favourite book is No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai.

• Artemis is the shortest of the three and gets flamed by Apollo about it

• CJ doesn't have a favourite child

• Apollo is the one that sits on the front passenger seat of the car, and will die fighting for it.

• Apollo is a cat person while Artemis is a dog person.

• Sexualities

Apollo: Bi

Artemis: Gay

Atlas: AroAce

• Ages:

Apollo and Artemis: 16

Atlas: 15

• Aollo's fashion taste is dark academia

• Atlas and Apollo did karate for 8 years

• Despite this, Artemis poses the most threat to the average bypasser

• CJ's wife works abroad on a cruise. She only sees her family atleast once a year

• Atlas used to have a childhood dog named....wait for it..... DARREL

• Atlas has more then one occasion, forced Apollo to dance Rasputin on just dance.

•Apollo's sleep schedule is so bad he's immune system is absolute trash

• Artemis once forgot to lock his room during a family gathering and came back to one of his younger cousins scribbling on one of his paintings.

• Artemis dislikes the idea of having kids for that reason

• Artemis was struggling on a question so hard his tutor had to ask Apollo for help because neither could they figure it out.

Yeah that's all for now, CYA

[taintedpompom]

Your New Forever

"Is that your girl?" Colonel Redglare said, adjusting her ruby glasses as she watched the gothic couple huddle past the flowery fields of the courtyard. Up in the seventh floor of the hall was the perfect place to overlook all the new students dimly making their way to their first days in the school, gawking at the prestigious upperclassmen, whispering nervously to each other.... It was tradition to watch over their first days, appreciate the new futures the school now were wards over... And last minute bickering of course. The military woman stared at the scowling goth glaring at the very window she was staring at her in. "She's cute."

"Course she's fucking cute." Meenah said, too distracted with one of the seniors sitting on her lap to watch the freshman. "She's a Shape girl isn't she." She grinned, lifting the chin of a buxom pigtailed tart Redglare assumed was in Cheerleading. Redglare didnt bother to remember all the names of Meenah's girls, she doubted Meenah did either. "Just like you."

The cheerleader swooned, draping herself against the coaches muscular body. Redglare tapped her cane on the floor. Coughing with irritation.

"Miss Meenah Peixes, I understand your profession warrants a certain... physical appreciation, but must you slake your thirsts in the middle of our CONFIDENTIAL Meetings?"

"What?" Meenah kissed her prey. "She won't talk, will you... Mary?"

Mary, who's name was Chasity up until 20 seconds ago, nodded eagerly, grabbing Meenah's head before diving in for a deeper kiss. Chasity was a stupid name anyway, Mary thought as her tongue dueled the Coach's, and lost of course.

Mary quivered in Meenah's arms, feeling a lump in Meenah's sweat pants fill and fatten. The bulge pressed against her hips and she ground herself against it, her body heating in anticipation for the inevitable. To be pierced, to be split, to be broken like a wave upon the rocks of her goddess. Mary came soley in anticipation and she heard Meenahs snickers down her throat at her shameless behavior.

So she came again. After all, it pleased her Coach. She wanted to please her coach. Thats why she was here. Thats why she was born.

A polite cough cut through the squealing. "Really dear I understand your excitement," Mrs Egbert said, the wheel chair boundhome ec teacher said smiling warmly. "But please, manners."

Meenah let go of Mary and she slumped over her mountain, the senior silent except a few shuddering tremors as she swelled and dreamed, her panties drenched with the odd orgasm from her fantasies. Mrs. Egbert nodded, "Thank you darling." The Home ec teacher smiled, leaning back into her wheelchair.

Redglare scoffed, "Now that Miss Peixes has had her fun." The woman stiffly ignored the naked, throbbing, thoroughly unsatisfied cock jutting from Meenah's crotch. Next too Meenah, Mary moaned, her hips rolling in unconscious jerks that were mirrored by each twitch of Meenah's shaft. Bounce and bob, twitch and throb, Redglare clicked her tongue, how brutish, Meenah barely touched her and now could barely resist finishing her.

Honestly, Redglare's cock stiffened, tenting her own skirt, Meenah was hardly presenting the proper image of a teacher. And what was worse was how rewarded she was for it... granted she wasn't OFFICIALLY being rewarded, or even unofficially. In fact last she recalled the Headmistresses last confiscated Meenah's precious car collection, the Coach being forced to pedal to work on a bicycle for the last 2 months.

The issue was that Meenah kept DOING it... and her students! Apparrently rearranging the insides of their well reared slut-to-bes was its own reward, a ride far more valuable then any 4 wheeler. And she flaunted it, honestly it made her head ache... both of them!

Though speaking of the students. "Now that Miss Peixes had her FUN." Redglare repeated, as if she could order the celeb-stud's libido into submission. "We have curriculums to draft out. Including your future junior trying to burn a hole into my window."

There was a cough from the corner, several books shutting closed as Mindglare looked up from her reading material. "Yes about that. Meenah interrupted my protests last meeting, is she REALLY cheerleader material. She wants to be a psychologist and a guitarist. Both of these things are MY curriculum."

Meenah scoffed. "Since when have we ever let the students decide their OWN curriculums. Who cares what Rose wants, we want for them. They don't have a future anymore Aranea, you took care of that when they signed up." Meenah pulled off her sunglasses, placing them on Mary's head, gently. "What you forgot your own score."

Mindfang huffed, adjusting her glasses with one hand as two more arms crossed themselves. "Well if we are just advocating selfishness now, I want her, and its a good deal easier for me to be happy then you are. You take the choosiest girls every year and then flaunt them in front of us. I want this one."

Meenah grabbed the table, preparing to lift herself up. "Gurl, MY job is to train the choosiest ones, I ain't hoarding shit. Sports are where the shine is, people dont show up to art expos, they dont show up to science fairs, and I ain't saying that shit aint important, but they dont show up to them. They show up to watch hot people perform to the peak of their ability, and they show up for the pros, and the would be pros. And this school does its best work in the spotlight, so they give me all the showmodels. I ain't saying the nerds and prudes and actresses ain't shit, but it ain't fast like my shit. If the top gals were your bitches I'd still be fuckin em, and I wouldn't care a lick about having ta wait till afterschool for it. But Rose is different, that one is mine. Not just my territory, not my next fuck, just mine. " Meenah flashed her teeth. "I'd trade any one of my girls for her."

Mindfang leaned back, crossing her arms. "Feferi."

The other teachers, Redglare excluded of course, glanced at each other nervously. Feferi was Meenah's own daughter, the eldest no less, and while there was no RULE about messing with each others family... the stakes were too high for anyone to roll those dice. Anyone it seemed, except Mindfang.

Redglare expeced the hotheaded celebrity coach to splutter, to take it back, even to hit Mindfang. Instead Meenah... shrugged? Dismissed without narey a tremor, just a few pleasent jiggles from the motion, and even that was entirely located in Meenah's softer, friendlier parts of her anatomy... well if such a beastly cock could be called friendly. "Done, my sis never really had much of a killer instinct anyway, she'd probably prefer your classes." Meenah sighed. "We done?"

Redglare sighed, leaning against the wall, staring at Rose through the window, the future student moaning in despair at the class list she was assigned. It was heavy, even for the school, and a masterclass of human resources. Not only her curriculum, but the students within the classes, the location of her dorm, and especially her club activities, all were planned out. It was meticulous, even for Meenah. "You must have big things planned for her." Redglare said, glancing at the woman out the window.

Meenah smiled. "Redglare, by the time she graduates, she's going to be bigger then all of us." She smirked, pulling Mary back onto her lap. "Now then, next on the schedule."

Redglare sighed. "We have the opening ceremony in a week to induct the freshmen into school."

Mindglare flipped a page of her second book. "We can always enter the auditorium skirtless. Start the semester with a bang, then bury it in enough noise they won't know what they are yearning for. It won't give much time for anything high minded, but it'll speed the work along."

"And the sex is just a bonus isn't it." Meenah said leering at Mindfang who nodded as if the coach was actually asking.

"A nice bonus to be sure." Mindfang said. "I have, students I want to more personally know before things start off."

Redglare thought about it, that DID sound like fun.

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2024: Halcyon

Prompt #6, Entry #4 Masterpost so far

((This thing fought me SO HARD. However, the prompt was to spot-on to ignore considering Fal's father's last name, and the fact that I wrote about names for my last prompt as well. This bit comes directly after this bit, by the way. Which I wrote... too many years ago.))

Uther was already talking about arcanima and what sorts of things his son could do with it, oblivious to the fact that he wasn't listening.

Falerin had managed to still the shaking in his hands, although a pair of sharp blue eyes still seemed to peer at him from the darkened corners of the room. It had been months since he'd had the dream about those eyes, and now, thanks to what his father had just said, he could put them to a person. His grandmother. The Duskwight witch, ever preoccupied with herbs and charms and fortune-telling.

"What was her name?" he asked.

"Didn't you hear me before? I brought you here to show you the possibilities of someone with a unique talent like… yours, not reminisce for what never was and never will be."

When he had said the word "yours," Uther's gaze had lingered on the tiny red glow emanating from just behind Fal's head where Ruby was hiding. Unfortunately the soft reflection of her light against a backdrop of dark hair made her easy to spot in Uther's dimly lit house. Her wings quivered softly against the nape of his neck. She had always had a tendency to hide herself from prying eyes, but that tendency seemed especially prominent around Uther. Fal casually moved a bit of his hair over his shoulder to block her.

"Look. The way I see it, you have a lot to answer for here… I haven't even touched on the fact that you had a kid with a married woman and left him to rot halfway across the world."

Uther sighed. "Her name was Laragenie Alcyone. Its a name that appears nowhere in the annals of Gelmorra, or in the Ul'Dahn citizen's registry. From all I can tell, its just a name for a fish-eating bird. Utterly worthless."

He said it with the callous contempt of a spoiled child given an inadequate birthday gift, even down to the way he crossed his arms after he was done speaking. But the distant look on his face betrayed his real sentiment.

"Honestly, I don't understand why the sudden preoccupation. Of all the things we could be talking about right now, you choose this nonsense?"

Falerin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, studying his father's face carefully to gauge his reaction to what he was going to say next.

"Its because I saw her in a dream."

Uther's eyes widened for a split second as he made a nasal sound somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. Fal wouldn't have even had to be looking directly at him to see that the revelation had caught him off-guard.

"Ah. That would be just like her to still be spreading nonsense even after her own death. She fancied herself an oneiromancer… One who can read the future through dreams. Junk science and parlor tricks, all of it."

Falerin froze. That certainly wasn't the answer he was expecting. Uther picked up the nearest book and shufffled the pages.

"…And did I not tell you that you inherited her eyes? They're practically a mirror image of hers. It's... strange. Your mind was probably reconstructing what you saw when you last saw yourself in a mirror. Not everything has to be a melodrama."

"I see." Falerin mumbled. His father's use of the word "mirror" sent a sort of hollow chill through Falerin's body as he recalled the unfamiliar female voice that had spoken to him in that dream.

…We see one another from opposite sides of a mirror of blood…

Falerin clasped his hands in front of his mouth and resting his elbows on the table to disguise the renewed shaking in his hands.

((Also, kingfisher birds are in the family Alcedinidae, a name that shares the same mythological root as "Halycon," and here's a picture of my personal favorite species because I just love birds so much you guys.))

Photo by whistling wings photography.

[incorrectoverthehedge]

Why I got back into Over the Hedge.

So I can't sleep, why not write.

Over the Hedge was for a while a movie that, up until a few months ago, has been relatively unimportant to me. I remember seeing it once when I was a kid, and I do remember playing the hell out of the video game (I even beat it once in an entire day one summer), and that's about it.

It was always a movie that I found good as a kid, and for a while I never went back to it because I didn't want my childhood ruined. Granted I usually grew up with a lot of Disney and Pixar movies, so bad childhood movies were going to be hard to come by. I guess the closest was I think Snow Buddies, but even then it's more generic than anything.

Okay, getting off topic, Over the Hedge I didn't go back to for a long time because I didn't want to think the movie was lame nowadays. Granted I thought about it a few times, mainly because I liked the names RJ and Ozzie, and I used them whenever I wanted to make a neat OC that I would inevitably forget about in less than two weeks, but aside from that, nothing really prompted me to go back, which eventually resulted in me pretty much forgetting about it.

That was until a few months ago...and it involved a certain fan-favorite Opossum.

You see, on Left 4 Dead, there's a workshop where you can play as other characters. They can range from meme characters, to anime characters, to video game characters, and of course, animated movie characters. That of course is where this starts.

I had to find a model that would replace either Francis or Louis since my friends were sick of the model I was using. In case you were wondering, I was using this model:

Terrifying, I know.

It was funny to me at the same time. However, the biggest problem with it was that it was way too big and pretty much took up half their screens whenever they looked at me. So I had to find another model that would fit…I decided to use Louis this time, and then I found…this.

I decided why not, got it, realized that it had the exact same issue with Thumper the Monster Bunny, yet ignored it for some reason, and with the model, we beat the challenge, and everything was fine. That was until I really started thinking about it.

Why did Heather of all characters get a model in this game? In fact, while doing research for this video, it turns out she's the SECOND DreamWorks character to have a Left 4 Dead 2 character model, and the first was Shrek. Speaking of which, she now has TWO character models for survivors, and she's only second to Shrek who has only three.

LET ME REPEAT, SHE IS SECOND TO SHREK.

Anyways, this really got me thinking about what was the whole appeal of her, because I recently rewatched the movie and let me tell you, she probably has the least amount of screen-time in the film. Yet, she's the only one of the cast to have a model in Left 4 Dead 2 (at least until Ozzie was also ported), that was also ported to GMod?

That's when I started to look at the fandom more, and I realized that last year the subreddit had a bit of a resurgence when it came what I like to call "Heather-posting".

Posts about Heather were all over the subreddit, and not only that, they were some of the highest upvoted there. The image I'm providing is only the second highest, with 265. Granted that doesn't seem like much compared to others, but it's still noticeable. In fact, Heather is the main focus of nearly half of the highest upvoted posts.

Not only that, she's also fairly popular on DeviantArt, and even more surprisingly (and also thankfully), there's no...weird stuff involved there I've seen.

Have you ever heard the term "Ensemble Darkhorse" in TV Tropes? It's when a character who is rather minor or unimportant to the main plot get a massive following. Heather pretty much ticks all those boxes, and it's probably one of the most surprising ones I've seen.

How powerful is it overall? Well, I actually decided to make a character based on Heather and put her in a Hell's Kitchen roleplay. I didn't exactly expect to get far, or even really be that noticed.

Heather actually won.

She won.

Not only that, she actually had two people have a crush on her, one male, one female. That's actually wild.

In the midst of all that however, it resulted in me taking another look at the movie itself, finally looking to see if it lived up to the vindication it had been receiving recently.

Turns out that yeah, it's still a great movie. It's not going to be better than something like The Last Wish or Shrek 2, but it's a film that, in my opinion, has no real flaws. Maybe the cast could be a bit smaller, like remove the porcupine family so there could be some more screentime for Heather and Ozzie, since they're the two more popular characters compared to them. Despite this, the cast itself is likable, the story is easy to follow, the satire and visual humor is really funny, and man for Dreamworks film the movie looks absolutely GORGEOUS.

Of course, there's also the banger music, with Heist and Family of Me being my two favorite songs in the film, and it always inspires me to write about the gang and their wacky hijinks.

Oh yeah, the writing stuff. Yeah, I never actually wrote a lot of Fanfiction in my life, I usually kept it original for the most part. I think the only thing Fanfiction-y I've ever wrote was some absolutely hot dog water, dumpster fire trash about...

Sonic OCS.

I'm shivering just thinking about it.

Regardless, my writing has improved a ton, so at the very least I could do the gang justice by not looking like I just half-assed my writing whilst working on writing comedy, which is a style I've never tried before.

And let me tell you, it is really fun to do.

So yeah, what started as a simple dive into a character that I didn't expect to be popular, soon turned into a genuine appreciation for a movie that had at one point been treated as merely an afterthought, as well as a new love for writing comedy detailing the wacky misadventures of some fun characters.

That is why I got back into Over the Hedge.

Speaking of which, I've also been collecting some old merchandise from Over The Hedge, and let me tell you, some of that is real interesting...

[maifandom]

Fifteen Years Later...

15 years ago today, ATLA's finale aired. In commemoration, I dredged up my initial reaction to the finale, which I posted in the shipping thread of ye olde AvatarSpirit.net's forum. Consequently it's very shipping-focused and includes a billion portmanteaus. But it's the closest thing I have to a liveblog for ATLA, and I love nostalgia.

A little context, first. I found Avatar through Zutara fanart at the end of 2007 and caught up on all the existing episodes in probably January 2008? Disappointed that Kataang was so obvious, I turned to Sokka ships and decided I liked Tokka best. I lurked in the fandom for a few months, joined the forum shortly before everyone found out that the Boiling Rock was going to get a DVD release on May 6, two months before it actually aired on TV. I spent a lot of downtime debating the merits of Tokka and making predictions about the show based on random commercials and then the finale trailer. On the shipping side of things, my reaction was kinda negative. I was increasingly disappointed leading up to the finale. Don't worry, it gets better.

Brackets indicate present day edits or comments.

[Begin finale reaction]

OH MAN, WHERE TO START? [...] I guess I'll start from the beginning.

Zumo! ♥

Harutara, ahahahaha.

Nylappa! ♥♥♥ (Ahahaha.)

Irko reunion! ;_; Oh man, I cried. xD

Maiko reunion. xD Seriously, Zuko's eyes. Zudorko. ♥

Okay, I guess it's time for Sutokka stuff, right?

Sukka... were practically glued together. Seriously. And I'm sorry, much as I try to be unbiased, I just really didn't like it. D: There were moments. Mere moments, like back before I had a particular bias. I don't truly dislike it, but when it's so constant and final it's hard to ignore.

It made Tokka moments hard to come by. Or in fact, many other character interactions. Sokka was seriously obsessed. @_@

Did anyone else notice the only time we got Tokka moments was when they were separated from Suki? Dx Aside from the Tokka hand-leading seconds previous. I dunno. I suppose I should be thankful that they made a point of including Tokka. But much as I ADORE this scene:

[Image - probably Sokka covering Toph from debris]

*Insert fangirl scream that gets cut off*

...well it didn't really lead to anything else. ;_;

See, I wanted angst! And drama! And depth! And at least someone acknowledging it. ANYONE.

Frankly, I hated the apparent Toph x everyone-ness. [Zuko, The Duke, and...?] I'm fine with those ships. In fact, I ship more than one of them. But when they're all there? That just says Toph is fickle or childish, to me. D:

I would have liked it better if Tokka was never a romantic ship. Or if we were shown Toph was boy-crazy from the beginning -- with Taang, or some random one-shot character. Why did they save it all for the finale?

But I don't think that's necessarily what's happening. (Reminder to self: don't listen to every conclusion the fandom comes to. >.>) In which case, we still have Tokka disappearing as if it never happened, and Toph doesn't care one iota.

Apparently I came in at just the right time to stew in all the Tokkaness, come to all these conclusions, and then have pretty much everything I ever thought about Tokka or Sutokka be completely undermined. :P

I get the sense that M & B were looking over my shoulder at the things I listed that I didn't want to happen with Tokka, and thought it was a recommendation. :P

However, much as I must seem to be ranting, I'm far more apathetic than angry. Some of that fan depression I had after I watched EIP -- I got this sense I lost my favorite characters, because what I thought was there no longer was. D: [Particularly the way Sokka is characterized, since he's my favorite.]

So, oddly enough, the Sutokka plotline was probably the one I was least interested in, except in with glimmers of hope that those characters I loved might come back. (And they did. Some.)

But, oh man, you should have heard my breathing when Toph got in her metal armor. :P Sutokka got some of the best action EVER.

Wait a second. Pretty much EVERY moment in the finale that had action in it was better than everything else in the whole series. Where can I begin?

[I rambled about staying on topic.]

Except... Crazula? Seriously, I can't say enough how astdirl,dtbmortsnehjAMAZING Crazula was. AZULA, where did you GO? ;_;

And the Kazuko [platonic Zutara] was better. :D

Okay, I'm still not done.

Kataang?

Yeah, it's okay. (Best in EIP.) [Eh???]

Remember the Kataang commercial?

"I won't let him fight alone?" :P

I find it highly ironic that Katara was on ANOTHER CONTINENT THE WHOLE TIME.

Heh. Oh, well. I'll just pretend there's a little extra Kataang in there more along the lines of EIP. ^_^ And then I might be able to say I officially like Kataang, or something.

[End finale reaction]

Years later, I'm rather bemused by some of my thoughts. My disappointment in Tokka makes sense, since they would be so awesome. :P During ATLA, I assumed that shipping details were done very purposefully and would lead somewhere, even if it was just a character arc. After watching LOK, I came to understand better how the writers used shipping more for fun, especially with secondary characters. Part of the magic of shipping or just being in a fandom in general is the fans' imagination. I've been (more or less) happy to continue Tokka using my imagination. I can even imagine contradictory scenarios - angsty, happily ever after, silly, serious - so it really doesn't matter what happened in canon after ATLA.

I don't think Toph was boy crazy, but I do think Sokka will forever care about her well-being. Nowadays Sokka, Suki, and Toph's side plot might be my favorite plotline in the last two episodes, but it's really hard to choose. The Agni Kai is beautiful, the Old Masters are powerful, and Aang's battle against Ozai is intense and important.

My original thoughts on Kataang are really weird to me now. I think I finally warmed up to them a couple years later. I'm not sure what I thought was so good about them in EIP - maybe the fact they actually talked a bit about their relationship? But watching Aang kiss her prematurely is so cringy to me now, and like many I would have liked some sort of interaction before they kissed in the final moments. But I can enjoy it now!

I might dredge up more old posts from the days of great debates, or try to find my first impressions of a few more episodes. (I know I've always loved the Boiling Rock.) Let me know if that's of interest!

In other news, Kataang week is next week, and I am plotting to participate for once.

Now... back to drawing!

[insertsickusername13]

Hoping, praying, crying, trembling, please no one read this please it's so bad please. you're going to have to ignore all the typos literally couldn't bring myself to reread this

Richjake Week prompt 1: Rain!!

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Rich and Jake have a very important conversation. In the rain.

Rich decided a month ago that he’s going to tell Jake when it’s raining. 

He has the image clearly in his head: the sky opening up, mourning for his soon-to-be lost relationship with raindrops Rich decides to see as metaphorical tears. There’s of course an atmosphere of catastrophe in his mind, upheld by the fire in the background and the SQUIP standing behind him, seething out acids that only marred Rich’s body further.

It’s raining now- a harbinger of his doom- and his body feels like it's on fire again. The world is on fire, all the while it's being simultaneously doused and reinvigorated. Jake’s shadow on the concrete in front of Rich only makes it worse.

“I can’t tell if you want me to cuddle you or go away,” Jake says. He tries to take on a joking edge to his tone, the lilt in his voice alight despite the fact the sun isn’t, and Rich offers up a skeleton of a laugh in response. Jake frowns as he sits, tense and hesitant, on the other end of the bench.

Rich pulls his knees up to his chest. They’re outside in the summer rain (though it’s really only a drizzle), Rich having decided to face his reality head-on rather than hide from it among the walls of their apartment. Their apartment (he doesn't deserve that).

He’s curled up on a small, cushioned bench, his side pressed against the armrests as he tries to broaden the space between him and Jake as much as humanly possible.

“I still can’t tell,” Jake whispers and this time around it’s almost soft, his hesitance audible in the small, shaky breath he takes afterward. Rich watches the rain. 

“I want you to stay," he says as if it's simple.

Jake doesn’t seem reassured in the slightest. He remains in the same position as before: back straight, hands on his knees, eyes following Rich’s every movement with a starved type of desperation that echoes. 

“Okay,” he says, “But what do you want me to do?”

Rich shrugs, the words he knows he needs to say so close to physically manifesting them as a fatal blockage in his throat he has to choose between opening his mouth and having vomit spill out or leaving Jake in pained silence. 

“Can I…fuck, Rich, you’re not giving me much to work with here. I—I want to help. Tell me how.”

Rich watches the rain. He watches and decides he hates it. He hates that it has to ruin what he’s so carefully cultivated. He fought like hell to keep Jake. He’d watched Jake try to leave—he’d watched his expressions as he found out about the SQUIP, about the full extent of Rich’s lies and all the ways Jake had been ruined by them. He’d almost left. Rich fought to keep him, begged and promised, and struggled to keep those promises but succeeded nonetheless. He won. It isn’t fair that now he has to fight all over again, has to pick back up his metaphorical sword, and argue until his tongue is bleeding and his lungs are on the verge of collapse just to convince Jake he’s worth a second chance. A third. 

Though there’s some invisible hand on his throat, squeezing his vocal cords and chest with a borderline sociopathic effervescence, he whispers, “I have a secret.”

He watches the rain and doesn’t watch Jake’s innate radiance dim to barely an ember. Jake's nails dig into his knees, the image of Chloe with another man, Chloe with a girl, flashing in his head. He can't lose Rich too.

“You…" he tries, "Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’m listening.”

Jake shifts closer. Rich almost falls off the bench in his attempts to get farther away, to stretch the distance, to not let Jake touch him or see him or know him or get angry. He pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt from his wrists to his knuckles, hiding as much skin from Jake’s view as possible.

“You’re gonna be angry at me.”

Lies. Jake doesn’t get angry. He gets defensive, sure. He’ll build up every possible barrier within a moment, isolating himself from Rich and everyone else before Rich can even finish whatever incriminating sentence he’s trying to say, but he doesn’t get angry. Not like Rich’s dad does.

Jake doesn’t seem as aware of this rule as Rich is. He hesitates before he responds, and when he does, he doesn’t deny Rich. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and the words are so carefully chosen—cherry-picked from a stockpile, organized just so Rich would be assured without being condoned---that Rich almost falls for the pretty picture Jake paints. He's knocked out of the delusion as he remembers hearing that exact sentence in a romance movie two weeks earlier.

“Yeah, well," Rich says.

Jake inches closer again, this time just close enough so he can brush his knuckles up against Rich's elbow. Rich thinks he might faint, but he keeps his body so completely unresponsive that even someone as clairvoyant as Jake doesn’t notice the deep-rooted discomfort twisting in his stomach. Without a sign to stop, Jake’s touch solidifies into something precious, something golden and rare. He doesn't let go.

“Talk to me, baby, please.”

Baby. He’s so casual with it, so confident in his relationship with Rich that he can slip in pet names and touch Rich without feeling like the entirety of him is imploding.

Rich hates it. Rich hates that he can’t kiss Jake. He hates that he can’t go out to dinner with him without worrying about what the waiter thinks, what the people next to them think, what his father would think if he ever looked at Rich long enough to know what’s going in in the rest of his life. He hates the rain. He hates that every time Jake tries to reach out—to bridge the gap Rich has been meticulously building ever since Jake first whispered I love you—Rich wants to puke. Because if Jake gets too close, if he touches Rich for too long, he’ll be able to feel the femininity in Rich’s hips, in the build of his hands, in the spaces between the cracks in his body. He’ll know and he’ll never look at Rich the same. He’ll know and he’ll treat Rich like the rain. 

Rich clenches his jaw.

“I’m trans.”

Jake’s still holding Rich’s elbow. He’s completely silent, completely still, barely existent beyond the persistent heat of being alive. Then, the words slurring together with quiet confusion, “So… so you’re a girl?”

Rich is going to die. Rich is going to die. Rich is going to die. Rich is going to die. Rich—

“No! No, I mean you’re—you’re a boy? Which… which direction?”

Rich is too disoriented, too scared, to respond. He practically falls off the bench in his attempt to stand—to escape—an action that Jake mimics as he scrambles after him, hands fumbling to grab on again, to touch him, to know him—

Jake’s fingers tangle in Rich’s sweatshirt, gripping onto that rather than his actual forearms. 

“Hey,” he says, louder than the rain. Then, more reassuring, “Hey, baby, I’m sorry, stop, I’m—”

Jake doesn’t get angry. Jake will get defensive and, as Rich learns the moment he finally manages to open his eyes and face the consequences of his prevaricate lifestyle, Jake gets scared. Utterly, simply, wholly, scared. 

“I’m sorry,” Jake says, eyes so wide and desperate Rich is sure he’ll cut himself on Jake’s gaze. The finality of his apology is either the inevitable breakup Rich has been anticipating for the past weeks or a confirmation of every hope he hasn’t dared dream. 

“It’s okay.” It’s not.

“I—I don’t know what to—you—of course, I—I’m not upset.”

Rich’s response comes on instinct. 

“I’m not a girl.”

Jake nods like he’s accepted a command rather than told a fact—determined, focused, ready to die on the words he’d just been told.

“Okay. So your name’s still Rich?”

“Yes.”

“You’re still my boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“So… so nothing’s really gonna change?”

Rich wants to laugh. Nothing’s really gonna change? Does Jake not feel like lightning just struck their home and left the entire thing in ashes? Can he not see how hyper-aware Rich is of every fiber of his being, from the curves he’d skillfully hidden with Jake’s hoodie—too big, purposefully chosen for this conversation so Jake won’t search for the signs he’d missed for so long—to the place where Jake’s thigh presses against his own, so close and warm and knowing?

He swallows either a smile or a sob and whispers, “Not if you don’t want it to.”

Jake makes a sound of frustration. 

“But what do you want? I—I don’t know what I’m supposed to be saying right now, Richie, I’m—I don’t—”

Rich guesses Jake has never seen a movie to base his personality off of for this scenario. 

“Just—” Jake tries, gripping harder to Rich’s arm, this time his fingers pressing into Rich’s veins and muscles. “Just tell me what to say. Or do. I love you. I want you happy. With me. I want you to know I support you and you’re still my boyfriend and this doesn't change anything but you’re kind of looking at me like I’m insane or going to hurt you and I don’t know what to say to prove that isn’t true, and this is clearly important to you, and I honestly don’t know why I’m the one freaking out when you just fucking came out to me but please—”

Rich gets on his tippy toes and kisses the rest of Jake’s panicked rant off of his lips. Jake plunges into it, and Rich isn’t sure if it’s because he’s grateful to be back in familiar territory (Jake can do kissing, Jake can do physical) or if he’s glad to have confirmation that Rich isn’t angry with him. Between the feeling of Jake’s arms creeping around his waist with a careful certainty to squeeze the life out of him and the rain, picking up now that Rich had gotten the hard part over with, he doesn’t get the chance to figure it out.

“That was good enough,” Rich says, lips coated with a disgustingly perfect mix of Jake’s spit and rainwater.

“Oh, thank fucking god. Thank you.”

He wraps himself around Rich, closer than he’s ever been before, pressed into Rich’s space like he’s trying to taste it all before he drowns. Nuzzled against Rich’s shoulder, either shaking from anticipation or shivering through his now soaking-wet clothes, he whispers, “So proud of you baby, really—but did this have to happen in the rain?”

“Yes. You have no fucking idea, Jake. Yes, it did.”

[evil-ontheinside]

Byler Week Day 4: Summer Love

Mike knows stargazing is supposed to be romantic.

Everyone says it! Movies, songs, people, ask anyone and they’d tell you: Oh, you want to do something romantic with your boyfriend? Have you tried stargazing, perhaps?

Well, maybe Mike hasn’t actually talked to anyone about it. It’s not like he can actually go up to people and ask for date activities for him and his boyfriend. Not to mention that it would feel like cheating anyway.

Now that he had prepared everything and they’re actually doing the stargazing and all---including midnight snacks and blankets and everything, he watched a lot of movies in preparation for this---Mike can’t help but think that there should be more to this.

Lying outside in the dark while it’s still fairly warm is all nice and well but Mike is ready to fall asleep at this point and Will sounds like he’s already halfway there. And if they fall asleep now, they’re going to wake up outside to old Patrick yelling at them to get off his lawn, ignoring the fact that this hill is not in fact his property and the severe lack of lawn.

And if they don’t, the sun will probably scorch their skin off before they get woken up by literally being burned alive. And how is Mike supposed to explain to anyone that he managed to give Will severe burns without looking like the biggest asshole ever if he can’t mention that this was supposed to be a very romantic date that he planned for literally two weeks every day and practically drove himself crazy with? Not that he wants Will to get sunburned to begin with! Will got burned more than enough for a lifetime, and he wouldn’t want Will hurting in any way, shape, or form if he can prevent it.

But he can hardly wake Will up now, not when he looked really tired earlier and told him that he didn’t sleep well last night. Even if Mike is getting a little cold after he gave all the blankets to Will who looked cold earlier and Mike can’t have Will be cold on a date that he planned, Mike would rather die than see Will shiver next to him.

Also, Will looks really comfortable, which is unusual because, for some reason, Will always sleeps in very strange positions when Mike is around. They haven’t had too many opportunities to sleep in the same room since they got rid of all the supernatural bullshit they had to deal with but every time it did happen, it looked like Will might break his neck any second. One time, he even managed to slide halfway off the bed they were sharing---which was a whole different kind of nerve wrecking---and Mike had to hold onto his arm and drag him back up so he wouldn’t hit his head on the floor. And then Will gave him a black eye with his elbow and started freaking out when he woke up the next morning (that part was actually kind of funny but Mike still couldn’t open his left eye for two whole days).

Though Mike’s arm started to go numb a good ten minutes ago with Will’s head lying on his shoulder and upper arm and also kind of crushing the rest of it with his weight. But if Mike had the choice between letting Will sleep and losing his arm he wouldn’t even have to think about it. He’d cut his arm off if Will needed to hug it to get some decent sleep.

…

Mike can’t help but scrunch up his nose in disgust at the image. Why on earth is he thinking of Will cuddling his cut-off arm?

“Mike.” Huh. Maybe Will isn’t as asleep as Mike had thought. “I can hear you think.”

“Sorry.” Mike tries to clear his head and fails miserably. The image just won’t leave his head and also drags some other images out of the debts of his memory that he would like to forget about now if possible. Will squeezes his hand a few times and suddenly his thoughts are back to Will. For the first time in two months, their hands together don’t feel sweaty and he doesn’t hate the warmth that transfers from Will’s skin to his.

Summer is the worst.

“Don’t apologize,” Will says and shifts onto his stomach and off Mike’s arm to take a look at Mike’s face. He must see something he doesn’t like---is it the freckles? It’s probably the freckles. They’re so much worse in summer and they’re everywhere. Mike remembers trying to scrub them off his face in second grade and wishes he had tried harder---because he frowns and drags Mike’s arm up from beside him to squeeze his hand again. “What’s wrong?”

For some reason, Mike’s eyes tear up at the question. He stares determinedly up at the sky and threatens them in his head for a few seconds before he takes a quick look at Will and looks back to the stars.

“Summer is horrible for relationships,” he says, which isn’t quite what he meant to say but decides is true enough. Summer sucks because it’s hot and sweaty and even sitting close together is too much most days and even at night, Mike finds things to complain about.

Will smirks, amusement in his eyes, and Mike is ninety percent sure he knows what he’s going to say next. “Are you sure? Your face told a different story when we went to the pool two weeks ago.”

Yep, he knew it.

“Shut up.” Mike mumbles and threatens the heat on his face just like the tears from earlier. He’s less successful this time and Will grins at him with glee. Mike could point out that Will had reacted much the same when Mike had let himself be dragged toward the water and out of the protective shadow of a tree but he already ruined the day enough, Will can tease him all he wants.

But Will’s face sobers up too soon and he pokes Mike’s cheek two times, prompting him to talk.

“This date sucks.” Mike wants to take his words back when he sees Will frown again.

“Why? I think you did a great job.” Will drags some of the blankets over Mike while he talks and shoots Mike a look when he tries to drape it back over Will’s shoulder. He folds one arm over Mike’s chest and rests his elbow right next to Mike’s ribs on the blanket. Mike wants to poke at Will’s cheek when he rests it on his hand, so he does.

Will smiles and bats Mike’s hand away.

“It’s too hot or we’re too tired or we’re not alone and this date could’ve been so much better and now I’m making it even worse by complaining.” Mike takes a deep breath and watches Will’s arm rise with his chest. Will smiles, eyes fixed on the skin just underneath Mike’s eyes before he starts to trace a finger over Mike’s cheeks. His smile grows a little, maybe it wasn’t the freckles after all.

“Remember date number seven?” Mike does but Will doesn’t give him time to answer. “We got soaked in the rain and you got almost hit by a tree during the storm and I started crying because I thought I ruined the whole day after I almost poked your eye out with a spoon.”

Mike tries not to grin too wide at the memory because looking back at it, and even in the moment itself if he’s being entirely honest, Will’s face in the moment had been hilarious. Until he started crying of course, because Mike hates when Will cries.

“You had to comfort me for ten minutes and you said that I couldn’t ruin anything no matter how hard I try. I don’t think a little heat is going to ruin a whole date for us.”

Will’s face looks calm and happy, even though the only thing that separates them and the hard ground is a thin blanket and he’s still brushing a finger over Mike’s face and his wrist must hurt a little where his head rests on his hand.

“You sure?” Will nods and brushes his fingers over Mike’s eyelids.

“Yep. Now go to sleep. I got us covered.”

Mike opens his eyes again when he feels Will shift and chokes on a laugh when Will pulls a whole alarm clock, batteries and all, out of his bag and places it above their heads.

“You brought an alarm?” Mike almost can’t get the question out between the mixture of laughs and coughs and Will grins his widest grin yet.

“I knew it would come in handy,” Will says and Mike calls bullshit immediately.

“Of course, you did.”

“You think I’m lying?” Will challenges and raises his head to look down at Mike from above.

“I think you’re full of shit.”

Will laughs, loud and unrestraint and maybe they should keep a little quiet if they don’t want to invoke Patrick’s wrath in the middle of the night but Mike couldn’t care less.

If he gets Will laughing like this, can the day really have been that bad?

Mike watches as Will buries his face in Mike’s shirt to smother his laugh and not wake up the whole of Hawkins.

He watches as Will’s shoulders shake and he rubs a hand over his eyes to wipe away tears of laughter.

He watches as Will gifts him his biggest smile and decides that the day could’ve been a lot worse.

@bylerweek2023 thank you for organizing this event and week and you put so much work into it! And your tags were so nice to read, so thank you so much for doing all this! <3

[acourtofthought]

That gwynriel artwork the last anon was talking about was made by AI and I'm so goddamn pissed that every artwork the AI artist posted have over thousands of likes. Real artists barely get any attention and I can't believe the comments. Ignoring the fact that el/riel are rude again and shooting down any gwynriels, all those people in the comments want is another AI piece? You mean you want another stolen artwork that got changed a little by a robot?

AI isn't hard to recognize and I'm surprised so many people are falling for it. Maybe it's because my mom is an artist so I can see the differences that real artist and art thiefs have? AI art is mostly realistic and you can see small mistakes that an real artist would never ever do such as: Hair strands mixing with the skin, clothes or in the backound in a weird way. AI can't do hands and turns it into 6- 10 fingered hand instead. AI turns anything that AI can't recognize into something very weird- for example: If it can't recognise a button on a clothing it makes it into a small guy holding onto something. Real artist would either nor draw buttons or try their best to make it look like a button, they would never turn it into a weird looking mini demon guy or a creepy smiling thing that certainly doesn't look like a button. You see all those mistakes in this artwork from someone else:

https://pin.it/qRcUtpR

3 months ago the same artist posted an artwork of Nyx and... something that is suppose to be a little snowman I'm guessing? Because AI couldn't recognise what it is it decided to turn it into a... bird looking creature? See it for yourself -> artworks_by_rokii

You can also compare those artworks to all the other AI creators and you see how similar they are. Look out mostly for the hair mistakes because those are shown more often.

Maybe all I'm saying is... if you're arguing about art.. at least argue about real art 💀

It actually blows my mind that anyone creating AI can argue that it's entirely their work. Unless you started with a blank canvas, used a digital pen or brush or pencil or chalk or whatever to create every single stroke, then it's NOT YOUR ART! Sure, people use photoshop but they're editing lines they created. Sure people use drawing tools in programs but again, they are the ones who hand select each and every single thing that exists on that photo. They make every single decision and use tools to achieve the effect they want. It's no different than personally using a ruler to create a straight line versus asking someone else to draw you a straight line. The second you have used the assistance of another person is the second that work is no longer truly your own. An AI artist can manipulate the results all they want but if the initial canvas did not start out blank and was instead auto populated with work that multiple others created, the work can not be claimed as their own. I really don't understand what's so difficult for people to understand about that concept. Yes, artists take inspiration from other works of art. Van Gogh painted Starry Night. If I were to recreate starry night, no one is arguing that I'm using his work as a template. But, if my hand creates every single brush stroke, it is still my work though I can't necessarily claim it as my idea and I'd have to give credit to Van Gogh for where I got the inspiration from. But it was still my own talent that made it so I could paint something that looked like the thing he painted. AI is not someone having any real talent recreating an image. It's someone using others talent and an algorithm to jump them forward to the 80% mark and they just adjust it from there.

[cameronslaw]

But for now I'm only people watching

TIME: October 7th, 2024 PLACE: The Dark Night Club BETWEEN: Cameron & Rose (NPC) & Anthony (NPC) NOTES: Mentions of NSFW.

It had been a hard day, Cameron wasn't happy, to say the least. He had lost one of his cases and he had just gotten word that the vampire he was trying to absolve in another one has just killed two people. They were the reason why his kind had looked themselves in a different plane of existence, and now here Cam was, trying to absolve vampires of their crimes for money. So before he could realize it, Cameron was inside the club, making his way downstairs to the fight club.

The fae was in the elevator when he remembered the promise he had made Trevor, the request from Freddie still fresh in his mind. So with a sigh, when the doors opened downstairs, he clicked them closed again, pressing the button to the foyer.

Fine. No fights. Drinking it is then.

Cam'd like to say he didn't look around for Freddie in the main floor, but he'd be lying. Which was stupid, he was supposed to be out of town anyway, but still. He was taken aback when he walked by the VIP session and the bouncer smiled at him, pulling the divider open for him to walk in.

That's right, Freddie had put his name in for his whitelist, Cameron had forgotten. The bar looked a bit too crowded for his liking, so why not, right?

And if there was a satisfied rumble in his chest when he walked in, he ignored it.

So that's how Cameron ended up in Freddie's usual spot, sitting at the couch with a spiked mimosa with a colorful umbrella, people watching as his nerves did their best to calm down.

By the second drink something picked up his interest though.

At first glance they were just two people talking over drinks, standing by the entrance of the VIP area, but the way his skin crawled at the sight of them made Cameron do a double take. There, the merman that had been by Freddie's feet that night and the sex shop witch- no, Freddie had told him she wasn't the same person, but still. That slutty witch was there, playing with her hair as she looked bored around.

They talked almost conspirationaly, and Cam had nothing better to do anyway, so he ordered a third drink and by the time it arrived he was able to focus his hearing enough to pick up their conversation.

"…you have no idea, Rose. I couldn't walk the next day. Like, literally." The guy said laughing, she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, I know. That fucker knows how to fuck, that's for sure."

"You should just be happy it happened-"

"Yeah, but what about the threesome, huh? No offense, you're old news, but after that first time I've been trying to get Freddie's attention again for A MONTH and-"

Cameron's brain short circuited and he stopped listening for a moment when he realized who they were talking about.

When he tuned back in the guy was laughing. "That's your fault! Everybody knows Freddie never comes back for seconds. He even said that himself the other night, didn't he?"

Wait. What?

"He has so many fucking rules, I swear to god!"

"They're worth it though"

Cameron snickered, hiding his smirk behind his next mimosa.

"Of course they're worth it, but still! Everything always has to be how he wants it- I know he must have some controlling kink but, come on!" She whined and Cameron's smirk faded.

His mind was flooded with images of Freddie asking him what he wanted, asking him what he needed. Being annoyed because Freddie failed to communicate his wishes.

"I'm not complaining, I really am not" the guy said looking around, as if Freddie could hear him "But if he wasn't so good and bed I'd have been super pissed. Like, did I tell you he didn't let me bite him?" Cameron frowned "He said I couldn't leave marks, but like, doesn't he heal super fast?"

"I know right?!"

That couldn't be the same person they had been talking about. He had fucking drawn blood from biting Freddie a few nights ago and the horseman had assured him several times it was okay. He didn't complain once. In fact, he seemed to like it when Cam bit him. Did he not like being bitten? Maybe he should ask.

"And like" the merman continued after slurping loudly his drink "He made me feel like a slut-"

"You are a slut, Antony" the girl teased with a laugh, the merman- Antony laughed back.

"Fair point, but like- I asked him out for dinner before hand and he refused, said he'd meet me here instead. Then we made out for .5 seconds and we were leaving for my place-"

"It's never his place"

"I don't even know if he HAS a place" Anthony joked, making Cameron even more confused. They always ended up in Freddie's room, so much he even got an Alexa because of his complaining about the lights.

"Did he leave when you were asleep?" Rose asked.

"Yup" was the answer the witch got and she groaned as Cameron's frown got deeper. He never left when Cameron was asleep, in fact the only time he didn't have breakfast with him was that day with Warren. "I doubt he even sleeps. He just- poofs."

"Stupid horsemen" Rose complained, finishing her drink with a grimace.

"Great cock though."

"Great cock" she agreed snorting a laugh and taking the merman back to the bar for refills.

Cameron had his drink still full in hand when they left him alone, too shocked to finish it. Was this how Freddie was with other people? He knew the horseman still slept around, that wasn't a problem. Cameron was only possessive of the things they shared, like the submitting, but he hadn't considered if Freddie was close to the people he hooked up with. Would he break into the witch's house to change her fire alarm? Would he being chocolate ice cream to the merman's place if he said he was sad in a text? It didn't seem like it.

He had been so worried he was creating a story in his head that Cameron hadn't considered that maybe Freddie treated him differently.

And then it made sense, Warren's shock when he saw Cameron leaving the next morning, and being a recurrent figure so often he got the copy of his brother's room key card. Or Gilmore's worry over him being close to Freddie, where their relationship came from.

Before he could stop it, Cameron found himself smiling stupidly into his glass, his face warm.

Okay, so maybe he was special then.

The smile fell.

Then what?