#is he even wearing jeans like those are shredded like the rock

[aphrogeneias]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 — lingerie

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: dry humping. jealous!eddie (blink and you'll miss it).

"Are you gonna do that for me, one day?"

Standing at the back of the crowd while you watched a local band perform, you and Eddie shared a laugh watching what was going down on stage. The crowd whooped and hollered as a girl in the front row threw her red lace panties on stage. 

The frontman was sort of a heartthrob of the local underground metal scene, used to that sort of attention — but in your, not at all biased, opinion he had nothing on the guitarist of Corroded Coffin, the boy throwing his arm around your shoulder.

"In your dreams, pervert."

You rolled your eyes, but nothing in your tone suggested disgust. Quite the opposite, as Eddie smiled, all sharp teeth and soft dimples, the dichotomies of the Munson boy never ceasing to amuse you. He smacked a loud kiss to your cheek, and turned his attention back to the stage, still holding you to his side. You rested your head on his shoulder, and kept that scene in mind.

Later that month, Corroded Coffin played in that same venue.

They were over the moon about it, obsessing over details and rehearsals, showing up extra early for soundcheck, losing sleep over playing for a larger, unfamiliar crowd. Eddie, especially, was losing his mind on the day of, which in turn drove you crazy — the ever dutiful girlfriend of an emerging rockstar, playing your part in keeping his head in place.

You'd promised Eddie that if he got up there and not let his nerves get the best of him, you'd have a surprise ready for him.

The surprise couldn't wait for the end of the show, though.

You were right at the front row, where you usually stood even though Eddie always worried you would get hurt, or get accidentally dragged into a mosh pit, or hit by a crowdsurfer. None of those concerns were unfounded, but you wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

Not where you couldn't see him. Bare arms flexing while he shredded on his guitar, sweat flying off his damp hair as he headbanged, possessed with divine madness. Your own rock god, meeting your eyes and winking at you before entertaining the crowd who was just as mesmerized by his stage presence.

Looking around to see if you'd get caught, you found no one was really paying attention to you. Quickly, you bent down, and just as the song headed to an end, slid your panties down and out of your legs. You were wearing Eddie's favorite pair — dark green lace, leaving little to the imagination.

As soon as he looked at you, between songs, you threw them at him. He caught it in the air, wide eyes not quite believing what he's seeing — your eyes meet halfway, and all you did was smile. Sticky sweet, an offering of devotion. You blew him a kiss, and not looking back, made your way through the screaming crowd, away from the stage.

He caught you backstage, on his way to the dressing room.

You barely had time to greet him. Looking back at it, it was silly to think you'd have it. Eddie caught you by the arm and led you to the nearest empty room, pressing you against the closed door. The room was dark, but you could see his eyes glinting in the low light.

His hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Do you know how hard it is to hide a boner in these jeans?"

Despite the grip he had on you, you giggled. "Oh, I know. Been there a few times."

"You're the worst." He joked through his teeth, fondness shining through his dark eyes. He leaned in, biting your cheek, leaving a trail of spit with his tongue to soothe it. "I'm gonna fucking ruin you."

Eddie kissed you like a man starved, stealing your breath away. You clung to him as he slid his thigh between your open ones, thick denim coming in contact with your bare pussy. His large hands made their way down your waist, to your hips, his hungry kisses never faltering.

Moans leave your lips right into his, making a wet mess on his pants, arching your chest into his whilst his rhythm didn't relent, the drag of your clit on the rough fabric, over and over, bringing you to the edge way too quickly.

He nosed your cheek as you clinged to his shoulders, moving his mouth to ear. "They were all looking at you, you know?" Eddie's voice was thick with desire, "They were all staring at my baby. The most beautiful girl in this fucking place, and she had such a sweet little gift for me." His leg moved under you, and you undulated your hips, seeking your release, guided by his voice, "All for me, because you're mine. It's me you're going home with, aren't you, sweetheart?"

You nodded frantically. "Mhm. With you, baby. Always you."

Your toes curled on the floor, and your body tensed all over. You could feel yourself make a mess on his jeans, leaking more and more as you reached your peak.

"Yeah, that's right. Come for me, baby. Fucking drench me."

Eddie kissed your forehead, the top of your hair, the side of your face, as you came down from your orgasm. As you caught your breath, learning against the door, he let go of you. You didn't have the strenght to ask, all you could do was watch him kneel before you, and take your panties out of his back pocket.

He delicately helped you back in them, one leg at a time. After securing them in place, he placed a kiss on each of your still trembling thighs, and lifted himself back to his full height again.

"Keep these wet for me, okay?" A kiss to your chin, a thumb on your cheek. "Want them to keep smelling like you."

[micamicster]

Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

~

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

~

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

[4kennels]

Doc Johnson's Puppy, Part 2

Davey's next two obedience lessons with Doc Johnson went very well. It got so Davey woke up every morning, hornier than ever, waiting to hear Doc's special whistle, which was the sign for his puppy to get out of bed, put on a fresh pair of tighty whities, and scamper over the fence into the vet's yard for some more training.

One morning, with Davey happily bare-ass naked, leashed up, and on all fours, wagging his butt with pleasure and anticipating his next lesson, Doc gave him the plan for the day's training session. "You're really coming along, puppy," Doc said. "You've learned all the basic commands, and I'm pleased with how well you're learning to take my bone all the way down your throat." This mere mention of Davey's favorite treat made him yip with delight.

Doc smiled, and patted Davey's head. "The thing is though, puppy, you're still very twitchy. You need to do a better job of standing still. All the best show dogs are able to stand motionless, at perfect attention, for as long as their master commands them to. And they do it silently."

This was going to be a hard lesson for Davey. He was an excitable puppy. The touch of Doc's hand, not to mention the pleasure of taking his bone, made him shake with delight, and he could never resist moaning and barking with joy.

"Today, puppy, you need to do your best to stay perfectly still while I work on you. And NO NOISE. Not even a whimper. OK?" Davey nodded his head in agreement.

Davey watched as Doc stripped down, his puppydick growing harder as he watched the old man's muscles flex as he undressed and, finally, stood before his puppy, his tenting boxers barely concealing his rock hard cock.

Davey was mesmerized, as usual, by Doc's tool, but all of a sudden he noticed Doc's friend walking into the yard. Buck was a hard-muscled man like his pal Doc, but where Doc was dusted with salt-and-pepper hair, Buck was dark and densely furry. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his thickly matted chest hair and cut off at the sleeves, giving Davey the opportunity to gaze longingly at the wisps of armpit hair that poked out between Buck's massive pecs and biceps. Davey began panting, his tongue hanging out, dreaming of lapping those hairy pits.

"My old pal Buck is going to help with the lesson today, puppy. He'll keep his eye on you to make sure you keep still. And he'll help with some training drills."

With that, Buck walked in front of Davey, spread his legs, and gave his bulging package a few quick rubs through his faded Levi's. They were pretty much worn through at the thighs, and through the shredded denim Davey could see more of Buck's dark fur. As Buck spread his legs a bit wider, he rubbed his crotch again. Davey sniffed a bit, and then his eyes confirmed what he had scented: Buck was beginning to leak pre-cum, and a small, wet spot appeared just to the right of Doc's button fly, where Davey could clearly see a massive cockhead pressed tight beneath the thin denim.

"Puppy, keep your eyes focused on Buck's cock while I work on you. You hear me? Don't move. Don't even shift your gaze. Stay absolutely still." With that, Doc walked around behind Davey.

Davey obeyed. And as he stared at Buck's cock, the massive man began to unbutton his fly. One: Davey could now see that Buck was going commando, as he revealed his dense, dark bush. Two: Buck's mushroom cockhead emerged into view, glistening with pre-cum. Davey sniffed again, and began to drool as he panted. Three: Davey could now see some of the underside of Buck's thickly veined shaft, nestled in Buck's glistening pubes. Four: Buck's full eight inches came into view, and his meat sprung free, dropping down closer to Davey's panting mouth. A thin, silvery thread of pre-cum dripped from Buck's piss slit. Five: With the release of the final button, Buck pushed his jeans down his hips and hoisted his heavy balls into view. He then put his hands behind his head, exposing his furry pits, and began to shake his hips from side to side.

Davey yipped loudly and leaped to catch Buck's bone between his lips, but Buck stepped back, beyond the reach of Davey's leash. And as he settled back on all fours, Davey felt a sharp slap on his right butt cheek. "Stay!," ordered Doc. "I mean it, puppy. Do not move or speak."

Davey heard Doc slightly grunt as he dropped to his knees behind his puppy. And then he felt Doc put his big, rough hands on his puppy's butt, one on each cheek. He spread Davey's butt wide, and then Davey felt Doc's breath tickling his puppyhole.

"Mmmmm" he moaned. "Quiet!," Doc shouted. And he slapped Davey's right cheek again, a bit more firmly.

Davey quieted himself, feeling a slight sting on his butt, but remembering to keep his eyes focused on Buck's crotch. And then Doc parted his puppy's butt cheeks again, and resumed blowing on his tight hole. Davey's whole body tingled, from head to tail, but he remembered to obey his master. He did not move.

"Good boy," said Doc. And then he leaned into his puppy's moist, pink hole and began to tickle it with the tip of his tongue. His tongue went deeper and deeper with each stroke, and, for Davey, the sensation went from a pleasurable tickling to an electric vibration. He felt his tight pucker open up to Doc's penetrating tongue. As Doc got in deeper, Davey began to feel the delicious scratching of Doc's whiskers in his butt crack, and, soon, he could feel a wet trickling down his thighs, as Doc's saliva and his own butt juices began to flow.

Through all this, Davey remained motionless, keeping his eyes fixed on Buck's dripping cock, the only perceptible signs of his growing arousal being his deeper panting, as he took in the mingled scents of Buck's crotch and his own dripping puppy butt. And, of course, there was Davey's stiffie, which, like Buck's, had begun to drip.

Davey felt Doc remove his lips and tongue from his butthole. "Good boy," Doc said. "You're doing beautifully. Not a move or a sound. I'm very proud of you, puppy. But now Buck and me are gonna give you a bit more of a challenge. Ready, Buck?"

"Sure thing, bud." With that, Buck dropped to his knees in front of Davey, and, taking his thick meat into his right hand, guided the head of his cock to Davey's waiting lips.

"Ok, puppy, here's your final task for the day. Be a good boy and take just the head of Buck's bone between your lips. And remember to watch those teeth, puppy. Buck's gonna work a nice load of cum into your mouth while I get back to your sweet little puppyhole. Just remember: don't move. Wag your tail to show me you understand."

Davey wagged his butt. "Good boy," said Doc. "Now, open up." As Davey opened his mouth wide, Buck placed his shining cock knob between Davey's lips, and slowly began to stroke. After a few strokes, he released his cock for a moment, and spat. Twice. His meat was now slick with spit lube.

He resumed stroking, the head of his cock tenderly but firmly held by Davey's lips. And Doc resumed his deep tonguing of his puppy's butt. Davey was in heaven, and, like the good puppy he was, he never forgot his orders. Even though he was melting with pleasure, he remained motionless.

Motionless, that is, except for his puppydick, which was starting to twitch wildly. It was just about to explode, but Davey refused to lose control. He would not cum until Doc said he could. And he didn't want to cum until he had a bellyful of Buck's creamy seed. He held on. He tried not to think of his dick twitching between his legs. He tried not to think of Doc's rough hands spreading his butt cheeks wide, or of the old man's tongue ravaging his puppyhole, opening him up further and make him wetter with every thrust. And he mostly tried not to think of the taste and smell and sight of Buck's cock, drooling pre-cum into his thirsty mouth, the deep musk of Buck's bush, and the rhythmic pressure of the man's knuckles against his nose and lips, as Buck stroked his cockshaft, up and down, up and down, up and down.

Davey tried not to think of all these things, but he could only hold out for so long. Finally, everything--the cock in his mouth, the tongue in his hole, the hands spreading his cheeks, the taste of Buck's sperm, and the ache in his groin--overwhelmed him. Doc, an experienced vet, knew what was coming. So did Buck, who'd trained a few puppies of his own before. "Here you go, boy," Buck said, and he unleashed a flood of hot seed into Davey's mouth.

Buck shot and shot and shot, and Davey swallowed every drop. And then the taste of cum brought him to his own explosion, as he, like Buck, fired off a series of cum blasts. Davey felt as if every ounce of strength and self-control left his body with his jizz, and, with a groan, he dropped face down on the grass, his belly in the pool of his own puppycum.

Doc leaned over to stroke his puppy's head, back, and butt. "That's my good boy, my sweet puppy. I am so proud of you," Doc said. Davey whimpered with pleasure. "Now," Doc said," roll over like a good boy and let me scratch your belly." Davey rolled over and spread his arms and legs wide, feeling his back, now, getting wet in the remains of his cum.

Doc scratched his puppy's belly, and also rubbed his cum deep into his skin. "One final thing, puppy," Doc said, "Be a good boy and clean up Buck's bone." Davey responded simply by opening his mouth and putting out his tongue, and Buck, one knee on each side of Davey's head, dragged his wet cockhead back and forth across Davey's lips.

Davey was in puppy heaven, with a bellyful of sperm, a nice cock to nuzzle on, and Doc lovingly scratching his cum-slick belly.

"You did great today, puppy. So great that I think you are ready for the next level of leext time, then, Buck is going to come by with his new puppy. You two pups will get along just great, we think. Buck's puppy is named J.D., and we think you could learn a lot by playing with him and watching him do some tricks. Would you like that?"

Davey briefly let go of Buck's dick, erupted in three quick, happy, barks, and then settled back to cleaning Buck's bone, just like a good puppy should.

[mywifeleftme]

60: Nash the Slash // And You Thought You Were Normal

And You Thought You Were Normal Nash the Slash 1982, Shanghai (Bandcamp) If ever an artist deserved a slot in any gonzo-friendly record collection, it’s Toronto’s Nash the Slash. Nash was never seen without his trademark Invisible Man-style swaddling of bandages and black sunglasses, typically costumed in a white tuxedo and top-hat and wielding an electric violin or mandolin like a sparking angle grinder. He hollered more than sang, usually through some manner of vocal processing than gave his voice the watery snarl of a monstrous burn victim out for revenge. The music of his ’80s hey day fell somewhere between the synth-driven prog of a Mike Oldfield or a Jean-Michel Jarre and the broody synthpop of Gary Numan, though as you might gather Nash’s music was far more biting than any of those acts.

Many of his artistic peers loved him—Numan and Iggy Pop invited him to open for them, and he provided the score for early films by Canada’s great indie filmmaker Bruce McDonald (Roadkill, Highway 61). But, despite said fans and peers saying the appropriate platitudes re: their bewilderment that he didn’t become a bigger star, it seems transparently obvious why he remains a cult figure: he was a weird misanthrope from Toronto who chose to wear a horribly uncomfortable and visually unsettling costume and made weird misanthropic music. I’ve known a number of crusty, narrowly brilliant old artists who’ve felt they deserved a better shake from the world—and also would’ve burned their own work before allowing someone who seemed like a square to buy any of it.

That’s an accounting criticism, not an artistic one. And You Thought You Were Normal is Nash the Slash at his best. It eschews the snarky classic rock covers he leaned on for Children of the Night and American Band-ages, leaving more space for bent pop originals (side one) and expansive instrumental compositions (side two). As usual, Nash plays everything himself and produces all but one track, the exception being a young Daniel Lanois on the boards for robot party highlight “Dance After Curfew” (a club hit in Iron Curtain-era Poland!). Of the songier songs, “Vincent’s Crows” is the other winner, an improbably beautiful ode to the dissolution of the self featuring Nash’s most impassioned vocals and violin.

Your mileage may vary with side two, depending on your taste for the soundtracks of violent ‘80s science fiction films, but I find it to be even more fun than the flip. When I first put it on my table, I sent a series of increasingly lengthy voice memos to my friend Haakon (who’d recommended it), freaking out to them about how sick Nash’s shredding is on “Stalker,” a fleet-fingered showcase that is even cooler than I thought Joe Satriani’s “Surfing with the Alien” was when I was 14.

You’ve read enough. Time for you to fall into a live video hole. Start here, and as you do, reflect on the fact that they put this on Canadian TV in the 1980s:

60/365

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

bb / gg, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook is the lead singer in a rock band and failed his Biology class last semester, so he has to take remedial classes over the summer. You're the Biology TA, double major in Psychology and Biology, watching him freak out over his make-up exam because he had overslept. Both of you are surrounded by rumors. Does the title stand for bad boy / good girl or bad bitch / good guy? Who knows.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; not the healthiest dynamic tbh; slight angst due to perceived unrequited love; smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics, begging, scratching / marking, choking, handjob (he is still wearing underwear), multiple orgasms, cowgirl, hair pulling, edging / orgasm denial, cock ring usage, m-masturbation, cum-eating); non-idol!BTS – rock singer, sub!Jungkook x studious, dom!reader

yes, it's SOWOOZOO JK, both the first yellow tropical look and the shredded black shirt look; for those who wanted him to be dom!JK, there is a moment when he is but not in the way you think because that's how I operate

--

Jeon Jungkook was a bad boy.

Wore too much black, dyed his hair too much, had tattoos, always had girls hanging around him. Sang in a rock band on the weekends, played electric guitar, played the game of how-many-numbers-can-I-get tonight? Never gave a girl his leather jacket to wear but was happy to buy her a drink and flirt with her until she got hot with arousal.

You were a good girl.

Always wore a blazer. Crisp white dress shirt and pleated skirt underneath, usually in a dark color. Sensible heels, but always heels. Did too many units a semester because you were double majoring in psychology and biology. Always arrived to class early, always turned in your assignments on time, always turned in your tests early and aced that shit. Took physics with calculus even though you didn’t have to because it was the harder one and you wanted a challenge.

-

Against the wall, shoving a fist into the neck, lips to lips, teeth snapping, hand travelling down, whimpering pleas and harsh growls, keep crying, I like it, ecstasy and pain, nails to skin. Tearing clothes off, biting, marking, I own you, and then, yes, you do, mouth and tongue, aching pleasure, cocked eyebrow, mocking the pathetic whines and cries, stopping right before the end, no, please, I’ve been good, and, you take what you get, hand fitting onto the neck, squeezing the sides, eyes rolling back, skin to skin, bruising slaps that would be seen tomorrow in the mirror, traced with shaking fingers and pants of an open mouth, moaning at the memory of sky-high pleasure while lightheaded and thoughtless, desperate to do it again.

-

There was a rumor.

Everyone liked Jeon Jungkook. He had two smiles, an endearing one and a teasing one. Both encapsulated the kind of person he was, honest and playful. He always sang with conviction, he rapped with savagery, and his lyrics were always from the heart. He always hung out with his bandmates after their performances at bars and interacted with those that came up to him. No one ever said Jungkook was mean or rude in any way.

And yet.

There was a rumor.

A rumor that Jeon Jungkook was taken.

He was the kind of guy that always made sure a drunk girl got home safe even though he didn’t know them. Paid for their taxi and everything. He focused a lot on his music and writing lyrics he thought would connect with others while taking into account his band members. He always told the truth if a girl confessed to him, saying he wasn’t looking right now, that he was very sorry if she thought otherwise, that there was someone he was already interested in.

-

“Oi.”

You slammed a hand onto the tabletop and Jeon Jungkook jumped, the shredded black shirt he was wearing falling down his shoulder, revealing his ink black tattoos on his tan skin. He was wearing a black tank top underneath.

“What’s with you? You missed the exam for your remedial class and you’ve spent the past ten minutes spacing out at your make-up exam,” you barked, pointing to his empty exam sheet. “You haven’t even filled out you name.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “S… Sorry.”

You frowned. Why was he apologizing to you? Honestly, why did you sign up for this summer TA position again? Oh, right, money and credits. Hmph. It was really just an excuse for the professor to slack off while you did the tedious things like grading and watching over idiots that skipped class. Sorry, overslept. Hung over, probably, since this was the Jeon Jungkook. Rockstar, hottie, famous in his own way.

Whatever.

He could be Jesus Christ and you would still be scolding him for missing his remedial Biology exam.

“Fill out your name so at least I can fail you properly.”

Not that it mattered, since you knew who he was. He didn’t know you knew who he was, and you had zero incentive to inform him that you were indeed aware of the existence of black-haired, tattooed, chiseled-jaw, sparkly-eyed Jeon Jungkook, all due to the constant snide remarks that followed you in your wake.

You wouldn’t be such a bitch if a guy like Jeon Jungkook put you in your place.

Who the fuck was Jeon Jungkook?

This guy, this weirdo about to fail his fucking Biology exam in front of your face.

Impatiently, you rolled up the sleeves of your gray blazer and grabbed a chair, dragging it up to the table. You snapped the chair down and sat in it, smoothing your skirt. You liked to be neat. Even though university didn’t have a uniform, you liked to keep some sort of uniform for yourself. There was a sense of security in knowing you didn’t have to select an outfit every morning. Today, white dress shirt, gray blazer, pleated black skirt that hit slightly higher than mid-thigh. Every other outfit was some variation of this and, in the winter, you wore thick stockings.

You clicked your heels together under the table sharply.

He flinched at the sound.

Jungkook wasn’t looking at you. He was mumbling at his paper.

“I… I think I studied the wrong chapters…”

You clicked your tongue. Jeez.

His hand was shaking so bad that his pen was practically vibrating. You leaned over the table, grabbing his fist to still it.

“Stop.”

Your bare knees hit his bare knees, mostly because he was wearing black jeans with giant holes in them. Jungkook froze, head snapping up, silver earrings jangling, black hair flying, undercut visible for a second.

“You want to pass this class or what?”

He nodded quickly in response.

“Good. I want to get out of here. Keep your mouth shut. Answer to the first question is A.”

His eyes widened.

“Are you… helping me cheat?” he whispered, terrified.

You cocked your head, letting go of his hand. “You said you studied the wrong chapters. I’m not spending forty-five minutes of my life to watch you panic and then ten minutes more failing you,” you replied lowly, dangerous edge to your voice.

“I… couldn’t… I mean…”

You shoved his knees open with yours, narrowing your eyes as he yelped, pleading look in those brown doe eyes. You pressed your knees on the inside of his thighs, keeping them open.

“Answer to the second question is C.”

When Jungkook didn’t move, you reached over and cupped his chin. Felt his racing heartbeat pounding through his veins, coursing through your fingertips. Stared deep into those eyes, lowering the octave of your voice, keeping his thighs spread for you under the table.

“Listen to me,” you murmured softly. “Okay, Jungkook?”

“O… Okay…”

And he did.

-

There was a rumor.

Nobody liked you. Maybe it was because of your high scores ruining the class test average. Maybe it was the dismissive way you spoke to people, almost demeaning. Most likely it was a combination of the two. Students talked behind your back all the time, spreading rumors. Friends? What friends? You had an average of twenty class credits a semester. You didn’t have time to make friends. And besides, why try to make friends when clearly nobody wanted to be your friend?

And yet.

There was a rumor.

You ignored such things. You didn’t need such distractions.

-

“It would be too suspicious if you got full marks. This score is high enough.”

“O… Okay…”

“Get on the table.”

Jungkook scrambled on the wooden tabletop as you pushed his exam aside. You were still sitting in your chair. Your head tilted, eyebrow lifting at his speedy response to your rather suspicious request.

“You listened.”

He blinked at you. “Uh… yeah?”

Silence.

“Why?” you finally said.

Jungkook gulped. “Be�� because you asked,” he mumbled, knees on the table, hands clutching his knees.

“You can just walk out and report me.”

He shook his head quickly, black hair flying everywhere. “I don’t want to.”

Your other eyebrow raised. He chewed on his lip, a flash of pink tongue in his movement.

“Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

Well.

You decided to test his conviction.

“Edge of the table. Spread your legs for me.”

Instantly, obediently, Jeon Jungkook surprised you by doing it, putting each leg on either side of you, chunky black sneakers hanging down. Shredded black shirt open, hands behind his ass, towering over you, and yet his eyes were watching you, waiting for more, begging for instruction.

“Hm.”

You raised your chin, seeing his impressively muscular thighs and body displayed for you to take. He was so close you could smell his clean, dreamy scent, like a meadow in summer dusk, surrounded by peeking stars and blinking fireflies. Interesting.

But you didn’t need the distraction.

“That’s it. You can go now,” you said dismissively, about to push your chair back.

His legs closed in, pressing firmly into your upper arms. Your eyes flickered up to him.

Jungkook shook his head very slowly.

“Do what you want.”

You saw his chest rise and fall, his silvery voice deepening, pupils expanding.

“I know you want to do something to me.”

His erection was bulging against the zipper of his black jeans. Your eyes went back to his face. He shivered at your sharp stare. All of this was happening in an otherwise empty lecture hall, with you and Jungkook at the very bottom.

Just you and him.

You placed your hands on his thighs. He jumped a little, but scooted closer to you. You slid your hands up. You undid the button of his jeans, scrutinizing those brown eyes. He raised his hips to help you as you pulled the zipper down.

“You don’t know me,” you finally said, no inflection in your voice.

He didn’t look away. “I don’t care.”

“Hmm.” You smirked. “Bad boy, aren’t you?”

Jungkook shook his head slightly, but didn’t break eye contact as you pulled his pants to his knees and reached for his black boxer briefs. “No. I’m a good guy. I want to give you what you want.” You hooked your fingers over the waistband and nicked his skin with your nails, making him gasp, the pleasure evident in his tone. He did not try to hide it from you. “I want to be good for you.”

“Why is that?”

He hung his head a little.

“Something about… how you make me feel…” he muttered. His gaze finally faltered. You reached up and righted his chin, forcing him to look at you. Saw that Jungkook had a mole under his mouth, perfectly in the center. He had a nice shape to his pink lips. You tapped his cheek, nudging him to elaborate. “You… You’re so pretty… and smart… Everyone looks up to you because you have such good grades…”

You doubted that.

Jungkook probably had no idea that most of the school hated your guts.

You didn’t have classes with Jungkook, but you were sure he knew your name because your name was posted on the Dean’s List of the highest-ranking students of the university every semester. Also, you weren’t hard to miss. Every student moved out of your way when you walked through the halls, whispering behind their hands.

Jungkook brought you back to the present.

“I feel,” he whispered, voice trembling, gaze locking with yours. “I feel like I want to be on my knees for you.”

His skin was warm under your nails.

“Like this is where I belong, in your hands.”

You stood up.

Jungkook started, turning into a tight squeak as you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him down.

“Lift up your shirt with both hands.”

He did was he was told, revealing his toned abs and the lower half of his pecs, biting his lip, clutching onto his tank top, ears turning red as he craned his head to look down at you. You didn’t give him any satisfying response. His tan skin seemed to glow under the overhead lights. You studied his face.

Reached up and began to rub his erection through his underwear.

“A… ah…”

“Gonna make you cum like this.”

He shook his head quickly. “P… Please, no…”

You felt him swell and twitch under your hand. He was pretty big. Thick. Pretty boy with a pretty dick, probably. You rubbed the head with your palm, feeling his pre-cum leaking through the thin fabric. He wasn’t kidding when he said you made him feel some kind of way.

“Why not? Make you cum in your underwear and then you have to go all the way home covered in it. All dirty, just for me.”

His handsome face twisted with sinful pleasure at your suggestion, whimpers in his throat. His cock jerked with need, wanting it.

“O… Okay. Whatever you want.”

So obedient.

“So obedient, Jungkook,” you purred, rubbing faster.

He nodded. “For you. Only for you. Just for you.”

Was it just saying those things because he thought that was what you wanted to hear? Or was that how he actually felt? Surely not the latter, considering he didn’t really know you. You leaned over him, placing your free elbow on the table to stabilize yourself. You hadn’t even kissed him.

“You’re so hard for me,” your drawled, lowering your head, letting your warm breath float down onto his skin. “You want to cum for me, don’t you?”

“Y… yes, please…”

“You want to be my toy?”

You pressed your lips to his bellybutton, feeling the smoothness of his skin, tasting it. He moaned at your kiss, your swift tongue flickering out to that delicious skin, whining when your teeth nipped at the softness. Fuck, he tasted so good that you wanted to mark him. Looked so fucking good that you wanted to mess him up, mar him with temporary imperfections on the perfection that was Jeon Jungkook.

“Yes…”

With breathless, lustful conviction.

You licked up his abs, increasing the intensity and speed of rubbing the engorged head of his cock, the pre-cum already soaked through and creating a slippery surface, turning Jungkook’s pitched whines to deep moans, a melody that filled up the entire lecture hall until was the only thing you could hear, Jungkook’s moans as you bit his skin, his moans as you sucked on his skin, moans as you kissed the hard muscle, cries for more at you left marks, pleading for you, sweet and beautiful, clutching his shirt so tight that his knuckles were white, the black tattoos of his right hand standing out, his cock throbbing in your hand, his hips rising to hump your palm, your name on his lips, over and over and over.

“Gonna… gonna cum…” he panted, sniffing slightly, cheeks flushing pink. “Gonna cum like how you want me to, all over my underwear…”

Your fingertips touched his side, seeing him stiffen and then shudder at your gentle caress.

“Do it,” you murmured. “Show me how good you are at listening, Jungkook.”

He bit his lower lip, jaw clenching, squeezing his eyes shut, tipping his head back into the tabletop, whining your name in his chest, your palm working him, slick and hot and hard, pulsating under your roughness. With a sharp moan, his lower lip popped out of his teeth, dark red and swollen, small mole quivering.

“F-Fuck…!”

You felt it and heard it, the unmistakable jolt and squelch as his orgasm splattered inside his boxer briefs, drenching the fabric, drenching your hand, his embarrassed whines as he realized what he had done but still humping your hand, forcing out every last twitch of dribbling cum, causing you to smear it everywhere, coating the sensitive head and adding to the pleasure, his cheeks flushed red, eyes squeezed shut to savor the pleasure and avoid looking at you.

“Shh…”

You crawled onto the table, still holding his cock through his soiled underwear, squeezing it, free hand slipping under his head and lifting him, his eyes weakly opening, scared and anxious, but all you did was lean down and kiss him, pressing your lips to that pure softness, exhaling his name into his mouth, his scent staining your hand, his cologne filling your nose, your whisper in his throat.

“Time for you to go home.”

-

Jungkook thought you would tell everyone.

You did no such thing.

Instead, you ignored him.

He would see you three times a week and, three times a week, you arrived with the professor and left with the professor. Jungkook tried much harder to attend classes, but you seemed not to care either way. He would come to the front and collect his assignment and find that you had marked it up exactly like everyone else, red marks all over his incorrect answers. You didn’t even look in his direction.

The next exam was coming up quickly.

Part of him considered skipping exam day to have one-on-one time with you again.

“Jungkook.”

He jumped, jerking his head towards the hall, confused. Somehow, he had heard your voice. Or rather, did he imagine it? His teeth sunk into his lip, placing a hand on his forehead, confused. His head was confused. He couldn’t think straight. Why had he done such an embarrassing thing with you? Even you had told him to leave and report you. But Jungkook just couldn’t. Not then and not now. He had asked for it.

He still wanted it.

Nobody knew. Everybody thought he was a cocky, womanizing playboy. And he was, but not because of the sex. It was only because he was bored and that was all he could get. There was power in being on top.

And there was power in letting go.

You were bad for him.

He was a good guy.

You were a bad bitch.

And nobody knew.

A hand slapped down on his shoulder and yanked him around, the loose short sleeves of his yellow tropical shirt flaring out, making his sunglasses rattle on his face. You narrowed your eyes at him. Instant shivers down his spine at your stern gaze.

“Are you deaf?” you snapped. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute.”

“I… S-Sor–”

You waved a hand dismissively, grabbing his right hand and slapping down a post-it into it.

“Chapters for the exam, including the date and time. Do not miss it this time. I will not let you make it up and fail you on the spot.”

You turned on your heel, letting go of his hand.

His left one shot out and circled around your arm, his rings pressing into your skin.

“Wait.”

You jerked your head towards him, glaring sharply. “Don’t touch me.”

And you yanked your arm out of his grasp, but his legs made the choice for him, following your swift strides, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, clutching the post-it and his last strands of sanity.

“Please, wait.”

“What?” was your curt response, not looking back at him.

“Please do it again,” he gasped breathlessly, unable to stop himself.

“Do what?”

“Have your way with me.”

You stopped walking.

Jungkook walked straight into your back and banged his nose on your head. He winced, stepping back and rubbing it gingerly. He didn’t register you turning around until it was too late and you were right in his face. You raised your chin and eyebrow simultaneously.

“No.”

He blinked rapidly, his tinted sunglasses halfway down the bridge of his nose.

“W… Why? Did you not like it? Was… was I bad?”

You let out an amused scoff.

The side of your lips curved upwards.

He had made you smile, even if only a little bit. Just that small thing was enough to feed his courage.

“I…” Jungkook coughed, clearing his throat before he spoke again, voice still a soft whisper in his embarrassment even though no one was around to eavesdrop. “I can be better. I can do better.”

Silence.

He thought you were going to walk away again.

You reached up and plucked his glasses off his nose. Folded them neatly and tucked them in his tropical shirt pocket. Then your eyes found his again and he knew something was different. He could see you clearly now, his vision no longer clouded by sienna.

Now, Jungkook could no longer stop it.

He could feel it all over him, coursing through his veins, arousal like fire. Something about you and something about him. Jungkook could sense the danger, but he didn’t want to run even though he knew he should. He had heard the rumors surrounding you. They could be true.

And yet.

“I want it,” Jungkook breathed, inviting himself into the danger. “I want you. I want to be your toy.”

Your discerning expression didn’t change.

You reached up and gripped his chin, digging your nails into his soft skin.

He whimpered in his chest, moving closer to you.

“What’s my name?”

His brows furrowed, saying your name hesitantly.

You pulled his chin down so he was eye-level.

“Next time you say my name, I will be choking it out of you.”

-

Everyone thought Jeon Jungkook was the kind of guy to grip your wrist with his left hand and your throat in his right, his lips against your ear and his sweaty chest against your back as you slapped your ass into his crotch and fucked yourself with his rock-hard cock, his smirk in your ear as he provided you with a certain type of encouragement.

“That’s right, you want this dick, don’t you? Show me. Prove to me you want it.”

His fingertips tightening against the sides of your neck, listening to your pathetic cries and moans as you tried to squirm against him, brain running out of oxygen due to lack of blood, running out of thoughts, running out of pleas as Jungkook gripped your wrist, deep snarl against your hair as he roughly finished himself off using your body because that’s all you were, someone to be used by him and nothing more, neck suddenly released with a breathless gasp and shoved face first into the sheets with his right hand splayed on your back, his tattoos and your orgasm crashing down on you, his growls staining the air and a fierce jerk of his hips to spill into your tight hole and leave you moments after, nothing but a discarded toy in his eyes.

You thought.

That was what everyone thought when Jeon Jungkook stood on stage, flipping his dark violet microphone between verses and smirking like a devil, truly in command of every thought and every pair of eyes on him, surrounded by a heavy bass line and deafening drums, guitar solo tearing through the moment to emphasize the next of his lips nearing the mic again, entrancing the crowd with his beautiful lips and talented tongue.

No one knew.

-

You were riding him hard and fast, torn condom wrappers and used condoms littering his bed, back-to-back orgasms, his head pressed into his pillows, your hand around his neck, the other leaving long lines down his chest, scratching him so hard that it dotted red, blooming lines of pain.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, f-fuck…”

Jungkook was hoarsely whispering, clutching his sheets, black hair soaked with sweat, raising his chest to your nails, whimpering, punish me, punish me, punish me, and you muttered plainly with a sharp edge, you talk too much, your grip tightening again, pressing onto the sides of his neck, cutting off the blood flow, and Jungkook moaned gratefully, eyelids fluttering, the slap of your hips to his louder and louder, filling up his whole bedroom, rattling his bedframe, fucking him so hard he was slowly sliding up to his headboard.

Your name fell from his lips in pure ecstasy, back arching to shove his whole length fully into you, thick and hard and twitching with need, your slick walls clamping down on him, fitting to him with a hiss. He began to match you, breathless, lightheaded, world hazy, moaning from deep in his chest, I love you, and your reply was only tightening your grip, your hand and your pussy, harder, harder, harder.

“Aren’t you such a good guy?” you scoffed sarcastically, letting up for only a second to let him reply, blood rocketing back into his brain, flooding him with oxygen, and Jungkook sucked in a lungful of air, reeling.

“N-No…” he panted. “You’re the good girl… you’re always s-so… so good to me…”

His eyes locked with yours hazy with lust and love. You almost looked away out of instinct.

“You a-always remember… what I like…” he managed to choke out.

-

You left him when you were done using him.

You pretended he didn’t say those words to you. There was no point in acknowledging the nonsense that he said in the middle of being choked and barely functioning. You tapped your pencil against your textbook.

You caught yourself thinking about him.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes flickered to the clock. Late at night on a Friday. He was probably at a bar. You watched the second hand of your plain silver clock tick, tick away. You never asked to watch him and his band perform even though Jungkook always made it a point to text you the address and the time.

It was obvious Jungkook didn’t want you to be his secret.

He wasn’t really your secret either. You just saw no benefit to letting anyone know there was a connection between you and Jeon Jungkook. After all, you were just using him.

You stopped tapping your pencil.

Stared at the second hand.

Tick.

Heard the voices of the rumors poisoning you, saying the things they said.

She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else because she’s a nerd.

The only reason she has good grades is because she fucked that one professor.

I heard she dated him.

I mean, there’s a reason he left in the middle of the semester, right?

He had a wife!

Snap.

Your eyes flickered down.

The tip of your pencil lead rolled across the page, leaving tiny pinpricks of granite.

There was never any evidence because nothing happened. Nothing happened between you and said psychology professor. He left in the middle of the semester because his wife had a miscarriage and he wanted to be with her. It had nothing to do with you. You had long discussions with him about life and existentialism, hanging out during his office hours.

Sometimes, you felt bad.

Had you kept him from his wife? Would it have not happened if he just skipped his office hours and didn’t spend them talking to you? These were irrational, foolish thoughts. They made you guilty even when there was nothing to be guilty about.

He was a nice guy, mid-thirties. Everyone liked this professor.

They blamed you because they didn’t know.

Only you knew, because he told you with tears in his eyes and thanked you for being his student.

You didn’t tell anyone, because he did not owe you an explanation and you were not going to divulge someone’s personal business that they had shared with you in confidence. You watched your reputation crumble and fall apart, watched friends ostracize you, because you didn’t tell them anything and they didn’t believe you. You watched yourself turn bitter and hateful.

Just tell the truth.

There was no truth to be told.

You put your pencil down.

Closed your eyes.

Remembered Jungkook’s face.

-

Your hands were in his hair, pulling hard. His hot breath was in your face, arms shaking as he held himself up, fucking you into his mattress with whines in his chest, begging you, begging you, begging you.

“P-Please… let me cum, please…”

You liked to watch the sweat clinging to his high cheekbones and neck, jaw glistening with tension, feeling his strong body between your legs, his twitching hardness sliding into you repeatedly in rough, hard smacks, squeezing him every time he was fully sheathed inside you, vibrations coursing through you every time he came down.

“Not until I’m done,” you growled and he whimpered, pleading look in those brown doe eyes, black pupils expanded, unable to cum because a vibrating cock ring was restricting his orgasm, keeping him hard but unable to climax, sending thundering pleasure through him and into you. He watched helplessly as you gripped his hair, hissing sharply as another wave of pleasure overtook you, closing your eyes to savor it, savor his swollen cock twitching inside you as he felt the intense massage of your pussy walls closing around him, throbbing around the head and driving him insane, moaning pathetically because he couldn’t follow suit no matter how desperate he was.

Jungkook didn’t ask if you were done.

He just kept going because you told him he couldn’t cum until you were done.

And you didn’t say you were done.

You stared into those brown orbs, hazy with lust and full of conviction to be good for you.

Desperate to be the best and the only one, not knowing there was no one else because no one else wanted you like the way Jeon Jungkook wanted you.

“Pull out.”

“B-But…”

“You heard me,” you exhaled, throbs of pleasure still trembling through you. Your hands slid down, cupping his chin, nails digging into his sweaty cheeks. “Obey.”

With a pained whine, Jungkook obeyed, pulling out of you, his cock covered in your juices, wearing a condom and the black cock ring. You reached over with one hand to press the button on the remote to turn in off.

“Take it all off. Let me see your cock.”

He reached down and slowly pulled the cock ring off, taking the condom with it, whimpering at the sensitivity, his tone hitting a lovely pitched groan as the silicone squeezed the base of the head. His whole body was shaking as it fell from his hands, the veins on his length standing out, head purple-red and angry, white pre-cum slowly beading at the tip, and his face, looking down at you, waiting for your next move.

Cock waiting to be used.

You tapped your chest.

“Cum on my tits.”

“B-But–”

You cut him off.

“You’re going to cum on my tits and then you’re going to lick it off while I watch.”

-

He listened.

Jungkook straddled your waist with his thighs, muscular and defined, right hand wrapping around his cock, sweat making the tattoos on his forearm and shoulder glow in the low light, smelling like sex and musk, his core tightening as he touched his overstimulated length, using the lube of the condom and his own pre-cum to add to the pleasure as he began to stroke himself, moaning as you lifted your hands and cupped your breasts, pushing them together, his eyes on the curve of your cleavage and points of your hard nipples sticking out, and then your face, an indifferent look with a cocked eyebrow, taunting him, unimpressed by his timid grip on his cock, so he squeezed harder, tighter, embarrassing cries falling from his mouth, living for the smirk that slowly began to form on your lips.

It empowered him somehow, that smirk, the little inkling of satisfaction that Jungkook wanted, needed, craved, knowing he was doing well, being good, furiously pumping his aching cock over your pressed-together tits and he couldn’t last, couldn’t help it, too overstimulated and too turned on, too in love with this to prevent himself from tipping over with a hot gasp, spilling streams of sticky white lines over your breasts, spreading them everywhere, making a huge mess because he wanted a huge mess to clean up, shoving the head into your cleavage and shuddering at the sensation of warmth to his scorching heat, able to feel the pulse of the engorged tip dripping out what was left, shivers up and down his spine, the words falling from his mouth that he never stopped saying even though you never acknowledged them.

“I... l-love you…”

He stayed like that for nearly a full minute, but you didn’t tell him to get off.

His eyes were closed, savoring the feeling.

Slowly, Jungkook gingerly removed himself, lowering his body over yours, tongue sliding out, touching your skin covered in his cum, his taste, mine, no one else’s, him on you, lapping it up, salty and bitter and yet he loved it, loved that you told him to do it, loved that you let him paint your skin with his orgasm and now his saliva. He didn’t care that you never said anything to his I love you, didn’t care that you seemed to pretend he never said it, because he would continue saying it when he was with you, hopeless as it was.

It was the small things that kept him going, sucking his own cum off your nipple and wrapping his lips around it, hearing your soft sigh of pleasure, feeling the tap on his thigh that instructed him to scoot up, the small thing of your hand closing in on his spent cock, sending sparks of pain but also pleasure, moaning into your skin as you massaged his balls with your fingers, knowing that he could take more pressure and roughness because he had just came, the small thing of your thumb rubbing the sensitive slit, his face pressing into your breasts, smearing his cheek with his cum and saliva, sliding across your slick skin because of the intensity of the high it gave him, the pleasure and the pain, his right arm coming up to wrap around you, tattoos cradling your torso.

“I love you…” he whispered to your racing heart under his ear, lost in the rhythm of your heartbeat and the firmness of your touch. Jungkook did not care if you hated him saying it.

He would continue saying it as long as he was with you.

-

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing…?”

“Hmm.”

He placed his hand over the bottom of his phone and smiled at the cute girl that was talking to him at the bar.

“Sorry. I have to take this call. It’s important to me.”

He didn’t hear her response, because he backed away, bowing lightly, pressing his phone back to his ear.

“Ah, never mind, Jungkook.”

“No, no. What is it? Tell me.”

“You’re at a noisy place. It’s Saturday night.”

Jungkook pushed through the people, mumbling his apologies and straining to hear your voice over the thundering bass. “I finished. Well, we finished. We’re only drinking. I can leave at any time. I’ll just text the guys to bring my equipment back for me. Where are you?”

“Forget it.”

He opened the door of the club as the dial tone rang in his ear.

Looked up.

Your hand dropped to your side. You were still in your white dress shirt and navy skirt, dressed exactly like you were when at school minus the blazer. Jungkook’s eyes widened. He was in a torn-up long-sleeve shirt with the right sleeve removed, showing off his tattoos. His black hair was wild and half-wet, and he was wearing tight leather pants.

You clicked your tongue.

“I said forget it,” you repeated hollowly.

You sighed and turned around, skirt swishing in your wake.

“Wait, I’ll come with you–”

“Go back to where you belong, Jungkook.”

His hand closed around your forearm, holding tight.

“I belong with you.”

You stopped walking, silent.

“What is it? Tell me.”

You scowled. “It’s dumb.”

“So am I, remember?” he chuckled, his hand slipping down, squeezing yours. “I’m not very good at school.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Cars and people brushed past, but Jungkook was focused onto on your stillness, watching your eyes seemed to be thinking about many things. You hadn’t pulled your hand out of his yet. By now, Jungkook knew that if you didn’t want something, you wouldn’t be shy about telling him right away.

You started walking again. Jungkook was still holding your hand.

“It was just a moment of weakness,” you mumbled under your breath.

“A guy…?”

You didn’t answer.

Jungkook squeezed your hand. “It’s okay,” he murmured tightly. “I understand.”

He did not. He wanted to cry.

Your eyes shot to him, pinning him in place. “You don’t understand, Jeon Jungkook. You understand nothing.” You pulled your hand out of his and Jungkook let go, trying to hold his pain, trying not to breathe because he was preparing himself for the inevitable, the moment you were going to break his heart and, if it was right here and right now, then so be it, because he had said how he felt repeatedly and there was nothing more he could do than that.

He loved you so, so bad.

Jungkook knew he shouldn’t, that it was madness, but he did anyway.

But you surprised him.

Your sharp gaze softened.

“You know what they say about me. You have to know,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “You must know the rumors.”

Good girl gone bad.

Jungkook frowned. “About you and the professor?”

He watched your jaw clench.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Your eyes shifted, not quite looking at him.

“Whether something did or didn’t happen, what does that have to do with me?”

And now you looked at him, guarded, not letting him know your thoughts.

“You…” He swallowed, trying to press the lump down in his throat. “You’re just using me, right? It doesn’t… doesn’t really matter, because in the end I don’t matter to you anyway… right?”

He did not want to cry and yet he did, because he knew he loved you. It was the small things, the way you never let up on him even in class, the way you picked days that were never the weekend and never before exams, the way you would brush your fingertips on his knuckles before leaving when you thought he was asleep, the way on the last time, the last time you were together, that you pressed your lips to his forehead when you thought he was asleep, running your fingers through his hair.

Jungkook was standing outside this bar and there were people he knew walking past, seeing you and him, but he kept his eyes on you, because the only one that mattered was you.

The one he belonged to was you.

He had decided that when he climbed onto the table that day.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and let out a heavy breath. “If people say things about you, then they say things about you. Whether it’s the truth or not doesn’t change the fact I love you. It doesn’t make me love you less,” Jungkook said, speaking at his usual volume, because there was no reason to whisper the truth. “Even if it’s pointless and crazy, I want to be with you until the day you don’t want to be with me.”

His smiled and blinked back tears.

“Even if that day is today, I will never regret it.”

In this cruel summer, you could have ruined his reputation. You could have told everyone the kind of person he really was and you didn’t. You could have spread embarrassing stories of the things you made him do and you didn’t.

Even if he didn’t matter to you, Jungkook was confident that you weren’t a malicious person.

You rubbed your forehead. “The rumors will come to you.”

Jungkook laughed. “So what? I heard a rumor that I removed two ribs so I could suck my own dick. I admit, I considered doing it after hearing that.”

You scowled, but Jungkook only smiled in return. He could see the tension falling from your face with his comment. You clicked your tongue and tilted your head, as if to say, can’t be helped.

“There’s no other guy,” you muttered. “There’s just you and you’re dumb.”

Jungkook blinked rapidly, confused.

“You say it over and over and make me think about it all the time.” You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not a good girl. People pushed me away and I stayed there instead of trying to repair the burned bridges. I don’t even think I want to repair them. Who knows what will happen next? I don’t think it would be a good idea to put you through that shit.”

You sucked on the inside of your cheek, looking at him apologetically.

“You’re not the bad boy everyone says you are. You’re a good guy. You should find a good girl.”

Is that what you think? Jungkook chuckled, taking out his hand and rubbing his nose thoughtfully.

“I don’t want a good girl.”

He stepped toward you, lowering his hand and his head so that he was eye level with you.

“I love a bad bitch who can push me around and makes me their toy.”

He tilted his head, small curve on those beautiful lips, tiny mole underneath appearing with every smile.

“Which can only be you, you know.”

Jungkook didn’t try to kiss you. He only wanted to look into your eyes so you knew his conviction.

“I love you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you say it.”

He nodded. “And I’m going to keep saying it until the day you leave me.”

Silence.

Ah.

Your eyebrow lowered and you gave him an indifferent look.

“Hm. I wonder when that will be, Jungkook.”

You leaned in, but before you kissed him, he heard the whisper against his lips, felt the shape of yours as they brushed against his, words he prepared himself to never hear from you, words that he thought you would never say, and that was fine with him, because you showed it, and that was enough.

He thought.

“I love you.”

And then your lips on his and his tears fell onto your cheeks because Jungkook wanted to cry all this time and he could not stop now, knowing that he was so, so in love with you and you finally, finally said it back to him.

--

masterpost

[whump-a-la-mode]

Would it be possible to get the aftermath of a heroic whumpee who went up against someone incredibly far out of their league? Kind of along the lines of that one time Dazzler went up against the Juggernaut on her own (A heroine with light projection powers vs a villain with the power of unstoppable force) and ended up being beaten to the point where she was too weak to move. The other heroes become her caretakers for a little while. I loved that arc and could really use something similar.

I can hardly describe how much I love this prompt. I absolutely adore it, and I can only hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I think I’m somewhat familiar with Dazzler, though when I looked through the wiki, I couldn’t find anything about this story? The wiki may just be incomplete, though. It reminds me of a story arc of the original ms. marvel, too!

This is absolutely one of my favorite kinds of whump, and I really hope that I did it justice. Thank you so much for the ask!

CW//Medical settings, poison, therapy, paralysis, inability to speak, self-hatred, low self-esteem, hair-pulling

The metal doors at the entrance to the Metropolis General Emergency Room swung upon with the force of a thunder clap. And, just as thunder, they too heralded lightning.

Or, at the very least, light.

A pair of lab-coats pushed forth a gurney on ratta-tatta-tattling caster wheels, footsteps crashing on the floor in even rhythm. Close behind, an entourage of two sprinted in close pursuit: A pair of heroes in civilian clothes.

“Lux!”

To the person laid upon the gurney, the voice felt to be emanating from a thousand miles away. Or more. Maybe a couple thousand, or a million... It was hard to think about numbers when their mind was stuffed with cotton, and their vision was dominated by blurry white ceiling tiles.

“What in the world happened to them?” The doctor that spoke had had all sense of clinical professionalism drained from their tongue.

“We don’t know.” A hero, outfitted in jeans and sweater, replied in a single, slurred sound. “We just found them, and-”

It was too loud. Far, far too loud-- Lux felt as though the full force of the ocean had made the sudden decision to crash into their eardrums. And, beneath at all, the caster wheels refused to stop their clitter-clatter. Spikes piercing their temples, they let out the tiniest of cries.

A tiny sound, and all eyes were on them.

“Lux!”

“Lux, what in the world happened to you?”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Talk to us!”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up.”

“Lux. Lux, what did you do?”

Lux, what did you do?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

The support beam shook against the force of the body, hurled at it. Shudders rocked from the base to the top, threatening for the thousandth time the structural stability of the building.

And the structural stability of Lux’s ribs.

With several hoarse coughs, the hero struggled to hands and knees, joints wobbling as though the ground they were braced against were the epicenter of an earthquake.

They could taste it.

They could taste what they had been inflicted with, more than they could feel it. The wound upon their side had long since gone numb-- at the very least, the poison had that benefit to it. Now, the sensation had migrated to Lux’s tongue. A bitter flavor of burnt coffee.

Even if they had the chance, they had no desire at all to examine the gash that had been torn across their side. They’d heard the stories, seen the headlines.

Lux knew what happened to Mercury’s victims.

That was why they were here, after all.

“Had enough yet, kid?”

The voice was booming, sounding from the other side of the half-toppled warehouse. In their weakened state, Lux could barely raise their head high enough to meet the eyes of their foe.

Mercury’s height was unimportant, as was their general stature. After all, it was hard to focus on his body. It was hard to focus on anything but the claws-- terrible, wicked things curling outwards from his knuckles.

A single slash from them, and flesh would begin to curl away, to rot. To necrose.

The wound they had been inflicted with was already a death sentence. But, not an immediate one-- Lux had a bit of time left on death row.

A bit of time to make this right.

Shivering, the hero stood to their feet, facing their opponent from a hundred foot’s distance. It was the most ridiculous of match-ups. A chihuahua against a pit bull. A garden snake against a cobra.

That didn’t mean that Lux couldn’t try.

“Firefly wants another round, then?” The villain’s voice curled, almost as venomous as their blades. “Try me, kid.”

And try they did.

Hands balled to fists at their side, Lux took one, single step forth, stomping onto the warehouse’s concrete floor with a decisive strike.

It was as though a bomb had gone off.

The world was swallowed, all at once, by white. Light engulfed each shadow, each color, until the universe was as blank as unexposed photo paper.

It was merely a distraction, a smokescreen. But they needed time to recover. Time to catch their breath.

Time to remember why they were doing this.

In the world of heroes, Mercury had a particular nickname-- “The Untouchable.” He was the lion in the zoo. No one dared get near him, much less touch him. It was a death sentence, to be slashed by his claws. The heroes were terrified of him, and that gave him a free license to tear the world to shreds.

It was from one of their villainous informants that Lux had heard of the plan initially. The water supply. Mercury had found a way to distill the poison held within their claws, and they intended to release it into the city water supply.

To kill every last citizen of Metropolis.

But the others turned merely a blind eye. No one would touch the villain. They had resigned themselves to dealing with the aftermath.

That would mean deaths. That would mean ‘acceptable causalities.’

To Lux, there was no such thing as an acceptable causality. Only a problem that needed to be solved.

Their teammates had insisted, begged, nearly, that they not be so careless. But, when had Lux even been known as the careful one?

Not once in their life.

“Stop this, Mercury!” The hero snapped into the expanse of white. “Just-”

Lux did not so much as see the fist before it connected. Did not so much as feel the claws, raking their neck.

Not before the world went from black to white.

Lux, what did you do?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did it.”

Those were the first words that Lux heard clearly, after escaping from their haze. Consciousness teased them as the world above turned from colors to shapes to vision.

White tiles, spotless and all in a row. Their perfect nature was threatened only by an out-of-place beeping that nearly forced the hero to once more fall to sleep.

But, they managed to cling to consciousness as they turned their head to the side, revealing a figure, interrupting their view of the tiles overhead.

A figure. A person. A-

“You did it, Lux.”

Nora. Nora, their friend, their teammate, their comrade. Not Mercury. Not a villain. If Nora was here, then they were safe. The hero had an almost supernaturally calming way about herself, located somewhere between her wispy tangle of black hair and the way her movements imitated the performance of a dancer.

But, wait- Why wasn’t she in uniform? No, now she bore only the clothes of a civilian.

No. No, of course she wasn’t wearing a uniform. Lux had gone on a mission, yes. But it hadn’t been with their team.

They’d tried to stop Mercury, and-

“The water’s safe.” Nora’s voice was only just as smooth as her movements. “Mercury’s been contained. You did it.”

“And by god, what were you thinking?!”

The shout sent a stabbing agony through the side of Lux’s skull. That was more so the reaction they had expected.

Nickel. The most paranoid superhero on planet Earth.

Lux struggled to open their lips, to bring forth an explanation. To state that they had been doing what was right. That they had been doing what a hero should have done.

And yet...

And yet, their lips refused to so much as twitch. Too, their tongue sat dead in their mouth, numb and useless.

The only muscle in their body that functioned was their heart, which in that moment began to race.

“You could’ve died!” Nickel’s tirade continued, despite the fact that the target was showing not a single reaction. “Or worse! You could’ve died, or worse, or both! That was so stupid.

Don’t give me the silent treatment, dammit. Explain yourself!”

Lux wanted so desperately to do so. Their heartbeat turned, now, to a pounding tattoo within their skull, the pedal of a bass drum, slamming against the inside of their cranium.

They couldn’t move.

A twitch of the head. A blink, maybe. That was all. That was all they had left.

Lux had saved the world.

Their vision began to swirl.

Lux had saved the world, but what had they given up in exchange?

Telling when the hero fell unconscious was nearly impossible. Yet, when their eyes at last drifted closed, it became clear that whatever wakefulness they had had was now extinguished.

That left two heroes, one proud and one paranoid, leaning over a hospital bed. Shivering both in their own rights, Nickel and Nora stood. It was with great care that the room’s entrance was pushed open. The doctor that did so walked backwards-- their hands were quite thoroughly occupied by a clipboard.

Nickel and Nora said not a word, as speechless as their teammate. They both knew that this was the bringing of news.

This doctor was the bearer of their friends fate.

“They’re going to live.”

That was what they started with. 

“With medical care, Lux will survive this ordeal. However, they will need to stay under intensive care until their immediate symptoms subside.”

Nora stared blankly for a long moment, before whispering:

“They aren’t moving. They aren’t talking.”

The doctor could manage only the more sympathetic of nods. Again, they repeated themself, but, this time, with an addition:

“Lux is going to live. But, most likely, they will never be the same. The poison has taken its toll on their system. There’s no cure. No antidote.

One day, they may be able to move, or speak. But, they have a very, very long road ahead of them.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Very, very long was an understatement.

No, the doctor would have been better have describing Lux’s journey as a highway from Moscow to Las Vegas.

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Da ra’zz spa- ff mm a pla.”

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Za ree z’pa fa ma- play.”

“One more try. The rains in Spain-”

“Nnn- oh! No!”

The lab-coated doctor sitting before Lux set down their clipboard with a heavy sigh, sending only another bubble of rage rising in the hero’s chest. They balled their hands into fists, shaking them furiously before placing their open palms upon their temples.

Lux hated this. Lux hated every last minute, every last instant of this. They hated the doctor. They hated the doctor’s office they had to sit in, walls covered from floor to ceiling with charts of vowels and consonants. More than anything, they hated their exercises.

It should have been simple! Eight words. Eight simple words. If they could repeat them properly, then they would never have to go to one of these stupid appointments ever again.

But, they couldn’t. They couldn’t say eight simple words. In fact, they couldn’t even say one.

A month in the hospital, and Lux could not so much as speak. It made them want to tear their hair out! In fact, they would do that, had they had the motor control for it.

But, they didn’t. They didn’t have anything.

The last month had been the longest of the hero’s existence. Hell, those thirty days had felt to be longer than the rest of their entire life, put together! Thirty days and thirty nights of utter hell.

When they had gone off to face Mercury on their own, Lux had been very well prepared to die. They had not been prepared for this.

From the outside, the progress that the hero was making was undeniable. They had begun in a state of complete and utter paralysis, able to move their head, their eyes, and not a thing else. It was only with thrice-a-day physical therapy that they had begun to move. First, it was only moving their head. Then, their arms. Their legs. By the end, they could even sit up, with the help of a helping hand.

Every day, Lux’s teammates visited. And, every day, they congratulated their friend on their progress.

But, as far as Lux was concerned, it had been a month, and they hadn’t made an inch of progress. As hard as they tried, they were still laid up in a hospital. Still broken. Still useless.

They knew that their friends were trying. They knew-- it was evident on their expressions. Those constant, stupid looks of pity. They would never speak about their own lives, about their missions. The villainous plots they’d stopped, the battles they’d won. No. They focused only on the mundane: Where they’d gone for lunch, how they’d spent their evening.

It was out of pity. Lux knew that. It was all pity. But, in all truth, those were the only moments during which they ever felt, truly, like themself. Like Lux.

Like a hero.

So they’d heard, the media had praised them, lauded them for their victory. But they never spoke of the sacrifice it had taken.

Their friends’ visits were the only parts of the day that Lux had to get forward to. The rest of their life was filled with... this.

“Lux.” The doctor coaxed. “You need to do your exercises. You’re already getting so much better! But you won’t make any progress if you don’t try.”

“Don’ thwaa ex- thwaa ta.”

“Don’t want exercises, want talk?”

Lux narrowed their eyes. But, that had been what they were trying to say. The fact that it needed to be repeated, interpreted, however, made them feel sick.

“You need your exercises, Lux. How about we just try one more time? I know you can do it. You’re already doing so well!”

Eight simple words. Eight simple words, and Lux could be a hero again. Eight words, and they could be a person again.

“Okay, Lux. Repeat after me: The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Tha ran-”

Yet, that was all they could make out. Lux’s throat ran dry of words, void of syllables. They couldn’t speak before, and now, they couldn’t so much as make a sound.

They never cried in front of others. Never. Yet, that rule had been broken in the hospital already a dozen times. And, so it seems, this would make thirteen.

Lux’s chest was wracked with heavy sobs as they buried their face in their hands. Soon, tears leaked from beneath their shaking fingers.

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“I’m right here for you, Lux. Lean on me all you need.”

Nora’s voice carried the same cadence as water, meandering through a stream. Too, of course, did her gestures. A gentle, yet firm hand took Lux by the wrist, wrapping their arm around their comrade’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be hard, okay? It’s going to be hard. It’s okay to get tired. And you don’t have to get it on your first try. Or your fifth. Or your hundredth.”

Lux stopped listening on the last part.

This was it. The final gauntlet. Nearly an entire season spent within hospital walls-- now came their test. Everything counted on it. As far as they were concerned, it was a matter of life or death.

If they succeeded, they were home free. They could be brought home by their teammates-- of course, while still attending outpatient physical therapy, but still! They would be home.

And, yet, if they failed? They would be placed back in their hospital room. They would continue to be useless, a burden on both doctor and friend alike.

Everything was riding on this. Lux took a deep breath, and opened their eyes to face their challenge:

A hallway.

They had studied it extensively. Seven feet in width, and perhaps twenty in length. A tiny little thing, used only to get between two particular rooms. It was in the very depths of the hospital; that was why they were using it. There was no chance of distraction, of interruption.

“Are you ready, Lux?”

“Yesthh.”

“Okay.”

Their weight was leaned, nearly entirely, upon Nora. But, that didn’t matter. It wasn’t a test of standing on their own. If that was the test, they’d never get out of this hellish place. All they had to do was make it to the end of the hallway, with help. They could go slowly. They could lean. They could rest.

They only had to make it to the end.

Nora placed one foot forward, waiting for Lux to do the same, which they did, slowly and shakily. It was in this manner that they moved. One foot, one foot, staying always in the slowest of locksteps.

For Nora, it was simple.

For Lux, it was agony. Their knees felt mere milliseconds away from buckling, legs straining under the weight of the rest of them, even as the vast majority of it was leaned onto their friend.

Five feet. Five tiny, minuscule steps. That was how far Lux made it.

And then they were falling.

They did not remember the fall, not really. One moment, their knees had given out. And, the next, they were on their side, on the carpet.

Shaking.

This had been it. This had been their chance. All they had to do was walk down a hallway, that was it! Then, they could have gone home. Then, they could have been with their friends.

Then, they could have finally been a hero again.

And they’d failed. They’d failed the simplest of tasks.

In that moment, a certainty struck Lux like a dagger to the chest: They were never going to get better. Never. It didn’t matter how many exercises they did, how many doctors they saw. This whole thing was pointless! They were going to be worthless until the end of time.

On the floor, Lux screamed. It was a babbling, incoherent thing, as most sounds they made were. Too, they began to thrash, slamming their fists into the floor as they howled in anguish.

Then, they weren’t thrashing anymore. They couldn’t.

Lux had no need to open their eyes to tell what was happening. They knew Nora’s footsteps, knew the sound of her racing over. The feeling of her, hauling them into her arms. Holding them close.

They knew, also, the sounds of doors opening. Of more footsteps, familiar footsteps. Of chattering voices. Their friends’ voices.

Their whole-

Lux’s breath caught in their throat.

In order to avoid distraction, it had only been them and Nora in the room. They had assumed that it was only Nora who had visited that day. And, yet, they knew these voices.

Their whole...

Their whole team. Their whole team had come to watch. They counted every voice, every pair of footsteps. Every last one of their friends had come to watch them succeed.

But, they’d only watched them fail. Lux expected heckling, expected to be berated.

They did not expect the half-dozen pairs of arms, wrapped around them. They didn’t expect to be the center of a group hug.

“You’re doing so well.”

“You got so far!”

“Just a little more practice, and you’ll be back out there fighting crime in no time.”

“You’re almost there!”

“That’s the furthest you’ve been able to walk yet!”

“We’re proud of you.”

Lux’s tears did not stop.

And, yet, they realized something:

They were no longer tears of sorrow.

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

What You Needed (Severen x Fem!reader)*** fic

Warnings: smut, hard dom/sub themes (dom Severen, sub reader), impact play, degrading (cumdump, slut, fuckdoll), choking/asphyxiation, breeding kink, titles (sir), hair pulling, bondage

Word Count: 2095

Probably the most self-indulgent sub-reader fic I've ever written so hope you guys enjoy :) btw it ends with aftercare because aftercare is important!!!

It had been a hard time at work. A long night. A long day, as your shift had started at noon. You worked in a restaurant, at a diner down the road. You'd worked from noon until midnight, and everything was killing you. Your back, your feet, even your knees. You couldn't wait to get home, to tug off your work clothes that smelled just a little bit too much like the food you'd been around all day.

Tonight had been particularly rough. You swore that the only thing preventing you from stress-crying in the bathroom was the makeup you'd decided to wear on your lids. Yeah, mascara streaks were just a little too much to deal with on top of everything else that had happened that night. So, after you began stuffing your face to make up for the meals you missed that day, Severen wasn't totally surprised by your response to his,

"Anything I can do for you, doll?"

You'd looked up at him, from where he was holding you. You were standing in your kitchen, as you hadn't even bothered to grab a plate. You chewed slowly, knowing exactly what you wanted, what you needed, after a day like today. 

Severen tied your hands above your head with his belt, your back on your bed. You just didn't want to think for awhile, didn't want to be expected to do anything. Not to remember orders or laugh at people's stupid jokes. Not have to run food or roll silverware. You wanted someone else to take control for awhile, and, from the grin on his face, you knew Severen had absolutely no problem taking over.

He was straddling one of your legs, kneeling on the bed. He was only in his flannel, tank, and jeans, and he leaned down so his face was right besides yours. He leaned his weight onto his arms, balancing himself above you as he ran a finger down your lips. His words ghosted your ear as he said,

"Now, you tell me if you need me to stop, alright?" You nodded. "You ready, baby?" He asked, and you gave him another nod. His lips spread out into a devilish grin, his finger trailing down your lips to your chin, until he was wrapping his hand around your throat. "Do I need to repeat myself?" And a bubble of excitement was already floating around in your stomach by the tone of his voice.

"Yes- Yes, sir." You replied, knowing what he wanted. He wanted to hear you say it, and his smile lost its malicious edge. He gave your throat a squeeze, replying,

"There's my polite girl." Before he was pulling his hand from your throat and pulling away almost completely. He sat back, moving to straddle your hips as he looked you over. "So pretty too." He commented, his hands moving to fondle your chest. You were still in your work clothes, and Severens eyes glinted with something you knew meant trouble. "Though, you must be hot in all those clothes." You'd had to bite back a remark, as you were only in your work shirt and pants. You didn't know where he was getting at, but that was barely a thought in your mind before you watched him, without a moment of hesitation, begin to rip your shirt right up the middle. You gasped, watching as he shredded the clothes you hated so much. But you didn't argue. You couldn't find a single cell in your body that truly wanted to. He was ripping it with his bare hands, until it was tattered and open completely down the middle. He looked far too pleased when he saw the material of your bra, and he said, "That's better, ain't it?" And he finished it off by simply reaching under you to undo the clasps before he was pushing the garment up your chest. He teased your nipples, and shimmied down so he could latch onto one of them while he twisted the other. Your back arched, an almost strangled whine leaving your lips. 

Severen was hardly kind during times like these, but that's what you wanted. A gasp left your lips and your eyes closed on instinct when you felt the slap hit your face, but you could barely process it with the harshness of his thrusts. Your legs were hugging his hips, your hands still tied and placed around his shoulders. He was tugging you by your hair, yanking your head back to steal another noise right out of your mouth. Another slap hit your face, and the harsh words were right in your ear as he said,

"Speak up, slut. I can't hear you over all your moaning." His voice was teasing and cruel, but it made the coil inside of you twist tighter and tighter. You tried to get your mouth to move, but your brain was short-circuiting. Severen had moved one of your legs, bent it back to give him a new angle to drive home into. He was brushing that spot inside you with each thrust, his cockhead hitting it so hard that it made you see stars. It made a stream of cries leave your lips, and tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you moved your wrists. You reached for his hair, to have something to ground you, and you knew the next slap was coming before he even moved his hand. It was a jolt, surprisingly controlled given the nature of the man fucking you to pieces. He knew exactly how hard to hit, exactly how hard he could push you. He rutted against you, fully sheathed inside you and grinding against you in a way that nearly made you twitch from the friction against your clit. He asked, "What, did I fuck you dumb? You forgettin' the rules already? Break the rules and touch me again and I'll just have to finish myself off of your chest." The last words were biting, practically spat in your face. You let out a cry, and you didn't even have to think for the words to fall from your lips.

"Please, please don't. I'll be good, I'll be good, I'll be good," You begged him to keep going, even as he pulled your hands off from around his shoulders and pinned them back to the bed. He slowly began pulling back his hips, pulling back more and more with each thrust until your cries has the company of the sound of slaps against skin. Severen pulled your leg against his chest, holding it there as he buried himself inside you. The tears were flowing freely from your eyes, your back arching into the new angle. You were so close. You were gasping for air, having forgotten what question he'd even asked you only a minute before. You could barely hear the words he was saying, even as he said them right in your ear,

"You're such a pretty little cumdump for me, huh? My own personal fuckdoll. So, wet and messy for me," He trailed off, licking a stripe up your face to collect the tears that had fallen before he was mouthing at your jaw and neck instead. But the only thing you could think about was the feeling of him inside you, the bursts of pleasure, the growing tightening in your belly. You nearly sobbed when Severen started playing with your clit, hooking his arm around your leg and circling it with his thumb. You felt his grip tighten around your wrists, before it was tightening around your throat instead. His grip was tight, his fingers pressing against the sides of your neck until you tapped your hand against the bed. He loosened his hand, letting you take a gasp of air, before it was his lips that were kissing you breathless. 

The kiss was sloppy and wet, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You tightened your leg around his waist, whining into the kiss as your orgasm drew closer and closer. As if to answer the whine, you felt a harsh slap down below. It made you jump, jolt, but you were moaning and sucking on his lips the next second. Your words were muffled by his lips as you said,

"I'm gonna cum." And Severen barely answered you with a grunt. His hand didn't stop, and neither did his thrusts. The only thing that stopped was the kiss. He pulled away, pressing your leg back against your chest and drilling into you until your eyes rolled back into your head. You came with a cry of his name, your nails digging into the leather of his belt. You clenched around him, making him moan as he pumped himself through it. He pushed you through your orgasm, only neglecting your sensitive clit when you begged him to. He crawled back closer, letting your legs settle around his hips as he went to clamp his mouth over yours in a kiss. His hips moved slowly, barely more than a slow rock of his against yours. He reached up, managing to untie the belt, and your hands instantly went to find skin. You smoothed them over his shoulders, ran them through his hair. It made a small noise slip from his lips and into the kiss, and you gave the strands a soft tug. It made him groan, and he pulled away from the kiss to leave sloppy, open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your neck. His hips picked up pace, spearing you harder and faster until your cries picked up just the same. Severen had dug one of his hands into your hair, the other holding your thigh.

"Beg for me." It was a simple command, but you knew he meant it. You knew exactly what to say, exactly what he needed to hear in order to reach his release.

"Cum inside me, Sev. Please, please, please. I want it so bad, fuck-" You paused and cried after a particularly hard thrust. "I want it so bad, please. Fill me up," His hand moved to cup your throat, holding it as he pushed himself closer and closer. He thrust faster and faster, letting breathy groans fill your ears. His hand travelled down, leaving your throat in favor of your clit. He circled the abused, overstimulated bud as your whines filled his ears. You could barely bite the words out as he made the heat in your stomach flare up, tightened the coil in your stomach all over again. It was too soon, but you revelled in the slight pain. You gripped his hair tight, trying to ground yourself as you pushed the words out. "Fill me up. Make me your little cumdump. Please, Severen, please-" You couldn't see his face, but you could feel the way his hips stuttered. How his pace faltered. 

"Fuck. I'm gonna breed this little cunt. I'm gonna-" He leaned up to kiss you, muffling both of your noises as he pushed you over the edge once again. Your hips bucked against his, your thighs twitching and hands reaching down his back for something to grip onto. As you clenched around him, he came with a grunt of your name. He traded his fast hard thrusts for slow and deep as he milked himself of all he was worth, until he buried himself to the hilt and let himself rest in the crook of your neck for a moment with a sigh.

You wrapped your arms around him, panting as you came down and running your finger-tips over the exposed expanse of his back. Feeling the muscle underneath his skin, until Severen moved to pull himself out and move further down your chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you giggled even if he was crushing your lower half with his weight. He'd placed his ear right over your heart, listening to the steady and racing drum.

It took Severen a moment, but he went to pull away to find something to clean you off. He laid at your side, kissing your cheeks, your neck, and replacing his previous hard slaps with gentle caresses. He found something for you to drink, and laid at your side ready to steal your lips back into a kiss the second you were done. The pair of you laid there for a moment, not quite ready to get up and shower. Tiredness was pulling at your eyes, and Severen kissed you awake the moment you started to drift.

"C'mon." He said, and he moved to help you stand.

[draganasimpsforjeff]

Hello! May I please have a creepypasta romantic match-up with some nsfw if your comfortable with it? Tysm in advance and I'm in love with your writing, like how is it so good?! Anyways I hope you have a great day/night and tysm once again!

Zodiac sign: Leo sun, Aries moon, Leo rising

Personality Type: ENTP

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Straight (For now might be bi but i'm going with straight)

I'm 5'4 and I have a very tiny body frame so i'm extremely petite and pretty small. I'm not very curvy and I literally have the body of a cereal box...lol but its fine because I have nice hips and thighs. I have thick brown hair that goes down to my back and it gets tangled pretty easily but its kinda fluffy. I have brown eyes and tiny freckles all over my face and body. I also have a very strong grunge style, like Flannels, band t-shirts, combat boots, leather jackets etc. But i'd also always enjoy a nice oversized sweatshirt or hoodie with a pair of skinny, ripped jeans and some converses or something along those lines.

For my personality.....this is where things get interesting. At first people find me very intimidating due to my resting bitch face and cold exterior but I promise i'm not like that ALL the time. When you get to know me, i'm goofy and about everything that comes out of my mouth is sarcasm or some dry humored joke. I'm also that one friend in a group where they literally will do the stupidest shit ever like for an example one time it was super dark outside and my other friend was there, while I was trying to climb a tree and I failed and fell out of the tree, and landed on my back. I got straight up after that somehow it didn't hurt.....like at all? But yeah i'm super reckless and sometimes people have to save me from myself if you get what I mean. I also have a very strong "I don't give a fuck" attitude and I will not hesitate to stick up for myself or my friends....like i'm the type of person where if someone glares at me, i'll glare right back.

I have bad anxiety and I can be very self destructive. This is where my feisty, stubborn, hardheaded side comes in. If I want something then i'll fight for it even if it hurts me and i'll get into a bad cycle of putting myself down and trying to do better even if I did great the first time but I always push myself too far and other people have to stop me because I usually can't see it when its happening. I also cover my emotions up and I have a lot of trouble talking about whats bothering me or what problems i'm having emotionally so I put up a wall and I act tough, or happy and sometimes i'll be the exact opposite but I try to hide it.

Weird things about me: I've grown up in the south all my life so sometimes when I talk a few words they'll come out sounding WAYYY more country and southern then I wanted, I don't have an accent but sometimes my words just come out that way. I also love the smell of cigarette smoke....let me explain. When I was a kid my parents smoked a lot and I was used to smelling it and now it reminds me of home and is sort of comforting. Sometimes in the middle of the night you can find me just staring at a wall or something because I can't go to sleep.....I have trouble sleeping.....

Things I like: I love swimming (I was on a swim team for about 9 years), I love horror movies, I like rain and the sounds of thunderstorms because its calming to me, I also love the smell of rain, I like cloudy days, cooking, listening to 80's and 90's rock but mainly 90's because 90's is the best, My favorite bands are Bush, Audioslave, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Linkoln Park, Pearl jam but i'm pretty open to anything.

Things I dislike: Spiders.......I will scream if I see a spider.

So for the nsfw part (Feel free to ignore this if you don't want to write for it!)....I'm very shy and i'd like it if someone guided me. But i'm 100% a Bottom and I love praise and maybe a tiny bit of degradation. I also have a big ownership kink like if someone tells me that i'm their's....then I might die. I'm also a sucker for marking like lovebites and hickies? Yes please. But please tease me and edge me because I prefer not having control so someone else being in control is just...lovely. Also pet names! Like Sunshine, Babygirl, Doll....AHHhh I might melt.

-From 🎇Sparkle Anon🎇

Ah thank you so much! LOL I feel like we would be good friends bc of so much similarities, hope.you like this!

But anyways I match you up with-

🥁🥁🥁

Hoodie/Brian

SFW

This man ain't gonna lie you sometimes remind him a female version of his best friend Tim/ Masky but like in a good way (bc of your style and music choice)

Your foolishness is the ultimate thing he loves about you

He is scared to leave you by yourself sometimes since you are a klutz

But luckily he knows just enough about first aid so if you have a deep enough cut or something to that measure he's got you 😉😊

At first he would be scared to initiate conversation bc of your very beautiful but deadly looking "resting bitch face"

But once you started talking to him more he would feel a lot more comfortable coming around and just knew that's your cover around new people

Definitely teases you about your height 🤭 (he's 5'11 in my hc)

Is that type of cliche dude to rest his arm on you or would purchase a step ladder for you

Something could be an inch off your reach and he'll feel the need to tease you about it (all in good fun tho)

Hunny, he definitely gets the whole having difficulties talking about whats bothering as he does it too, he'll just try to figure out other ways to make you express what you're feeling. (Through healthy ways ofc)

He has anxiety too so yeah babe he gets it 😌

Sorry love but he kind of likes spiders soooo he would be that asshole that would pick one up and put it in your hair or shoulder without you noticing. (And now I have to do this don't kill me)

NSFW

Oooo darling ♥

He would love to mark you up

He love to be called his? Good cuz he was going to call you that either way even if you were friends or friends with benefits

What you got between your legs belongs to him

He loves how small you are since he's kind of toned and tall and you're like this little petite thing he can just throw around 😊

He understands if you're shy or don't feel comfortable being in control, he'll take over

Will say though, he'll probably suggest taking some sort of drug or anything to influence your senses so you feel more comfortable in your skin at some point or another

Especially since it's a very rare thing for him to see but he won't push too much

WILL 👏 FUCKING 👏 CALL 👏 YOU 👏 PET NAMES IN FRONT OF ANYONE

He doesn't care who hears or sees it since he would love to be caught ngl.

"I don't know why you're all dressed, doll, those clothes are gonna be in shreds and uses as gags or restraints"

Will take pics of you with his phone and has no shame having a very naked you in some angle displayed as his lock screen

Cockwarms you a lot especially when he's cleaning his guns

You just seem him there all busy taking care of something else and not you while his big ol dick stretches you

🥴🥴🥴 this man would choose to be suffocated between your thighs babe

Often squeezes them and ohohoh if you wear skirts or something showing them be prepared to be teased anywhere anytime

Hell even do it in front of others fuuuck he'd even eat you out while others are in the room.

"You're so tasty babygirl, I could eat you out all day and night"

[copias-thrall]

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his  casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

[sweetestlamb]

All I Want for Christmas is You- Part 2

Summary: Mun-yeong realizes somethings about herself and gets an unforgettable Christmas. . 

Author's note: Thanks for all the love for part one, part two made my heart ache a lot while writing and there’s only one more part to come! Once you finish this part it will be pretty obvious what the next part will be LOL but thanks for joining me on this Christmas journey y’all. HAPPY READING. 

Trigger warning: mentions of child neglect, domestic abuse. Don’t read if those are triggering to you, do what’s best for you. 

It's her fault, she knows that entirely, she was the one to get her hopes up. When she came home and saw the suitcases on the ground, her heart beat skyrocketed thundering through her brittle ribcage babum babum it thumped as she dropped her backpack on the ground and ventured further into the lavish space. Fingers lightly caressed the matte black case as her eyes darted around looking for any signs of humanity.

Glasses.

On the pristine clear center table sat her father's reading glasses. The ones he would perch on the edge of his nose while he would look over his blueprints, nudging them up with a single digit when they slid down the bridge of his nose.

"Father?" The foreign word left her tongue, a word she hadn't uttered for months. She spun around desperately longing to catch even a glimpse of the elusive figure.

There was a distant sound of a door opening and then her father stood there in the hallway. Her lungs almost collapsed as she struggled to complete a simple bodily function she'd mastered since birth.

"Mun-yeong."

That was all he said. And it was the sweetest sound, suddenly flashbacks washed over her of running to meet her father by the door when he would arrive home. He would lift her up and spin her around, her gleeful squeals bouncing off the mansion walls. He would ask her about her day and tickle her little belly before she could answer.

Once upon a time they'd been happy. Too happy. She'd spent so much of her life laughing, maybe that was why the universe was balancing it out now. Before Gang-tae crashed into her world she had no reason to smile.

Flashes of her huddled under her blankets listening to the screams of her parents in the kitchen below, her mother's manic screech as she accused her father of cheating. Her father's adamant denials and then the metal crashes, her mother always became physical, bruises would litter her father's body. Then one day her mother was just gone. Without a single goodbye suddenly she was motherless. But she still clung to the idea of having her father, his love would be the balm on her wounds.

Then he moved them to the city, busy and bustling with life and movement and her eyes widened with wonder and she thought this would be their new beginning.

Her father took countless business trips, so much so that she never saw him, would glare at the other girls at the father daughter events. Remembered shoving a group of girls who called her an orphan, the rage singing through her blood.

Sang-in was hired soon after and she was a demon, she knew it and reveled in making his life a living life. She was demanding and bratty, crying and screaming in equal terms but he was persistent, disgustingly patient. He would smile at her antics fondly and never rise to her bait. Without her permission he was the first one that came to her mind when something good happened in her life.

When she'd written her first story, a morbid thing about consuming the things you loved, it had gone missing temporarily and then popped up in the visor of his car. When she demanded to know why he took her story his only response was, "It deserved to be shown off." She'd scoffed at the sentimental response twisting away to wipe at moisture that escaped.

So all in all it was her own fault for expecting something from someone who had given up on her a long time ago. Who she should have given up on too.

So she'd stood there silently with her father, deep wrinkles marring his skin.

Waiting.

"I didn't think you'd be home, I should have called first. I just came to get some important things, I have another business trip. Switzerland."

Important things. She took in the ties and pens in his hands, carefully folded clothes and sketches. Those were the objects he'd considered important here, she was discarded and left behind but those objects they were essential.

She wanted to scream, to hurl words at him like knives, slicing him up into shreds just like his words had done to her heart.

"Okay."

She collected her bag off the floor, walking past the stranger in the room without a second glance. It wasn't until she heard the front door close that she finally allowed the emotions simmering below the surface to erupt.

The decorations had been the final straw. It was salt on her festering wound.

She didn't expect Gang-tae to show up, thought that he too would forget about her existence. But instead he had tilted her world off axis, uttering words that her ears hadn't heard for years.

Love.

She didn't know what she felt for him exactly, she needed him that much she knew. She knew her jealousy and possessiveness wasn't healthy, knew that he wasn't hers, he wasn't an object or something she could own. But she wanted to. Wanted to lock him away and keep him to herself, there would be other Ju-Ri's- pestering ants- ready to steal him away and she wanted to smash them all to pieces. But did that translate to love, was she even capable of such a fragile emotion?

She falls asleep in his arms, rocked into a fitful sleep as he strokes her head whispering sweet nothings into her starved ears. She wakes up bewildered in her plush bed, thick blanket tightly tucked around her frame. When she ventures out into the living room after brushing her teeth and brushing her tangled hair, the sight of her boyfriend with an apron around his broad chest is enough to knock away some of the ice around her heart.

"What are you doing? You didn't go home?" Her voice is sleep laden and raspy even to her ears and she watches with feminine satisfaction as a chill runs down his body.

Twisting to meet her eyes, he locks eyes with her. The warmth in his deep orbs could rival that of the sun. It's almost painful to look at.

"Good morning. I didn't want to leave you. I called my mom last night, told her I was staying with Jae-su. How are you feeling?"

Like shit. Her eyes are sore and her throat is scratchy like she swallowed a bucket of sand.

He nods as if she spoke words, reading her face like an open book.

"Here." He hands her a cup of tea. "The soup will be ready soon and the rice is finished. Can you get us some plates and chopsticks?"

She absently listens to his requests, getting what they need on autopilot before sitting at the table and watching him move comfortably in her kitchen. After a minute of stirring and tasting he deigns the soup perfect and he brings the hot pot over to the table, before going back to scoop fluffy white rice into a deep round bowl.

The aroma perfumes the space with smells of spice and warmth, and she watches as he serves the food, handing it to her first.

"I hope you enjoy the meal."

She can't remember the last time someone made food for her, the closest thing she has is room service and one time Sang-in made a grilled cheese for her, too burnt around the edges and the cheese not all the way melted but she'd seen the treat on an American drama and demanded it.

"Thank you." She replies barely a whisper feeling vulnerable before him, he's seen her at her worst so many times but for some unfathomable reason he hasn't left. Unlike Sang-in he's not getting paid so she truly doesn't understand.

The first sip of soup is delicious, salty and thick with chunks of fish, potatoes and soft tofu. She hums at the flavor eagerly going back in for more, stuffing giant spoonful's of rice into her mouth until her cheeks puff out.

His airy chuckle breaks her single minded focus and she peers up at him inquisitively.

"What?"

"You're cute." He shrugs, looking her right in the eyes as if he isn't the same boy who blushes when she holds his hands.

"Cute? I'm not cute. And why are you so brave lately?" His confession replays in her mind, her traitorous heart thumping away frantically in recollection.

This time he does pause, putting down his spoon and looking at her over the  table with a serene little smile on his achingly handsome face.

"Love makes you brave."

She chokes on air, sputtering and coughing at his boldness again.

His laugh is loud and booming this time, rattling her bones and then he dives back into his soup with a happy chuckle.

"We're leaving after we eat. Wear something warm."

"Don't tell me what to do." She fires back. But she walks off to her room to change after slurping the last bits of the soup, ignoring his amused brows and knowing smile. Annoying.

He's changed too when she comes back out and she looks at him confused.

"I had Sang-tae meet me with a change of clothes earlier."

She wonders what time he woke up to do all these errands and why he's even going through all this trouble for her, she's not worth it.

But he looks gorgeous as ever in an emerald green turtleneck and dark wash jeans, his eyes are positively gleaming as he looks at her. She's swaddled in a cashmere cream sweater that hangs over her thick plaid skirt and tights. The way his eyes graze over her form makes her warm and she escapes before he can burn her up.

As she bends to tug on her winter boots she feels his presence behind her, he tugs her backwards into his hold. She immediately stiffens at the affection, unprepared for it.

"You look pretty."

Her heart flutters at the soft words whispered directly into her ears and she scoffs, leaning back further into his embrace.

"Why are you so mushy today?"

He hums instead of replying, suddenly spinning her around and she almost falls at the rapid move. He catches her with a strong grip on her waist.

"I really want to kiss you."

Her breath hitches as she gazes up at him, taking in his hungry stare and red lips. She reaches out to latch onto his sides, tugging him closer until their faces are inches apart.

"Do what you want."

He doesn't need to be told twice and almost instantly he's devouring her, licking at the remnants of soup on her tongue. She rises on her tiptoes to fully meet his passionate embrace, his love driving out all the cold that still stubbornly remained. His hands slide into her soft tresses as he bites at her plump bottom lip, sucking the sore flesh into his hungry mouth. A moan escapes her throat and she can feel how his fingers tighten on her scalp. When they break apart, he looks dazed running his tongue across his lips as if chasing her taste. It lights a fire in her belly.

"Okay now we can go."

"What the hell is this place?" She sneers looking around in contempt at the beaming families.

"A tree farm. I come here every year to pick out a tree with my family. I wanted to pick one with you."

She turns around walking away, skin crawling from being in such a place. He must have lost his mind. But he catches her hand in a large clasp and when she looks back vehemently, she meets his puppy dog eyes and pleading bottom lip.

"Please?"

She's not going to fall for that, he's not even that cute. No, she's definitely leaving and locking her door and telling security but to let anyone up.

"What about that one?" He inquires dragging her to another tree, identical to the one before it.

"They all look the same, I don't care. You pick." She whines for the hundredth time about ready to stomp and throw a tantrum like a child they'd walked past earlier.

He shakes his head and walks away again spewing some crap about finding the perfect tree for her. And then she spots a crooked tree in the corner, far away from the other trees. It's a decent size but it leans slightly to the right and the pines aren't as full as the other trees they've seen. It looks discarded and abandoned as a family walks past it, "Definitely not this one. Who would want an ugly tree like this? They all snigger. Something like sympathy swirls in her belly and she catches Gang-tae's eyes.

"I want that one."

He nods asking no questions, "It's perfect. I'll go get someone to pack it up for us."

It's not until they have the tree wrapped and tied that she remembers that they took a cab here.

"How are we going to carry this thing home?"

Gang-tae looks up from his phone with a smile before a car horn sounds behind them.

"With help." He points behind her and when she turns around she meets the grinning face of one Lee Sang-in, waving from the front seat. He hops out and immediately picks up the tree going back to strap it to the hood of the car.

Then he opens the car door for her with a bow, "Young mistress. It's good to see you."

She rolls her eyes at the title, he hasn't called her that since she was young and wanted to pretend she was a princess.

She hears Gang-tae thank him quietly before sliding into the car right after her, their thighs pressed closely together.

"Where to now? Sang-in asks adjusting his mirror

"Hom--"

"The mall." Gang-tae interrupts and she looks at him in surprise. "It's part of your experience, trust me?"

She doesn't respond but it scares her that her heart immediately says "yes", she does trust him.

When they reach the mall he grabs her hand again, pulling her out with a quick "See you later" directed at her driver, who nods in response driving off to find parking.

"Why are we here? I don't need anything."

He looks at her mysteriously before speaking, "You're going to buy gifts for the important people in your life."

Her father's voice echoes in her head and bile collects in her throat. He must notice the shift in her mood because he pulls her close.

"Shhhh. Not them. The important people in your life. The people who you love."

"Who....who I love?"

He drags her away from his hold and looks into her eyes softly brushing her cheeks.

"Yes. The people who make you happy. Only think about that."

Nodding she finally breaks from his embrace and steps into the mall, it's busy and crowded but Gang-tae uses his body as a shield and the shopping begins. By the time they leave the sun has began it's descend, vivid yellows and pinks painting the sky.

As if summoned the car pulls up by their feet, Sang-in hopping out to open her door once again.

This time when they both get in he doesn't ask them for directions and starts the familiar route back to her place. Head too heavy with ideas she stares aimlessly out the window, too overwhelmed to converse to Gang-tae.

When they reach her apartment she is unprepared for the sight that greets her.

On the sidewalk standing in the blistering cold are Sang-tae, Seung-jae, Jae-su, and Gang-tae's mother. They all begin to wildly wave when they see the car pull up.

"What?" She barely gets out before Gang-tae is tugging her from the car. Bounding over to the small group.

His mother is the first to speak, "Interesting how you slept at Jae-su's house but here you are at Mun-yeong's apartment." Her face is hard as ice while looking at her son but it melts to the warmest smile when she sees Mun-yeong. She ignores her son's breathless excuses and his older brother's mischievous sniggers at his little brother's discomfort.

"Oh Mun-yeong don't you look pretty? You must be cold, let's head up." The woman links their elbows and begins to tug her into the building. Seung-jae skips along with them happily linking arms from the other side and introducing herself to Gang-tae's mother.

Behind her she misses Sang-in trying to leave only for her boyfriend to block him, dragging him along with the group.

"So fancy." Gang-tae's mom whispers looking around, clutching at her threadbare sweater looking self-conscious and Mun-yeong tightens her hold.

"I like your house better." She says honestly, thinking about how much love is soaked in every surface of the small home. The smile she receives is better than all the riches in the world.

It's not until she reaches her front door that she remembers the mess she left behind, turning to Gang-tae with terrified eyes she looks for help.

He smiles at her, shaking his head and waving her in.

With trembling fingers she pushes the key into the hole and opens the door.

It looks at neat as ever, not a decoration in sight but all the broken glass and tinsel is gone. It looks reborn.

Breathing out a breathe she didn't release she was holding she steps inside, there aren't enough slippers for everyone- she's never had this many people over- and Sang-in rushes off to get extras from the front desk.

"Well, let's get started." Gang-tae's mom says, opening a large box she was clutching in her hand. Inside are the prettiest ornaments she's ever seen, homemade ones and lopsided ones that look like they were created by a child's hand.

As if reading her mind the woman lifts one bringing it closer to Mun-yeong before leaning in as if sharing a secret, "Gang-tae made this for me when he was six. He was so proud to show it off. Every year we put it on the tree, it deserves to be shown off."

The motherly pride bursting from her eyes steals Mun-yeong's voice and she remembers when someone said those very same words to her. Finding his eyes in the room, the urge to hug him washes over her but too frightened by her own emotions she hugs herself tightly instead.

"It's pretty."

And then it's a whirlwind of movement, Gang-tae's mother putting everyone to work- the men are setting the tree up in a corner by the window, while Seung-jae is on decorating duty leaving her on chopping duty in the kitchen.

"I'm not very good with a knife." She admits, embarrassed by her uselessness, it's clear that Gang-tae and Sang-tae were taught to be self-sufficient, both comfortable in the kitchen.

Instead of chastising her the woman takes the knife she was holding awkwardly in her hands.

"You need to hold it like this unless you'll chop those dainty little fingers off, I hear you're a writer so be extra careful. Just hold it like this and let the knife do the work." She models as she instructs Mun-yeong slicing the carrots into perfect rounds, before handing the utensil back to her.

"Try."

And so she does and they're nowhere near as perfect, not as even but they aren't too bad and pride sears under her skin.

"I did it."

"They look great. Keep going just like that." The praise makes her light-headed and she keeps chopping, wide smile spread across her lips.

"Hey Mun-yeong-ah, do you like this here?" Seung-jae calls from her spot on the couch, standing on it to put a sparkling string of snowflakes draping from the curtains.

She nods in reply. Too choked up to find her voice.

Her friend looks at her with warm knowing eyes before turning back to her decorations.

"We should let Mun-yeong put the star on top. Hey, Mun-yeong we're done over here, you wanna put the finishing touch?" Jae-su calls out to her, bits of tinsel lost in his hair as he waves her over to the almost completely decorated tree. The lights are twinkling, reflecting beautifully in the glass and she steps forward with her heart firmly lodged in her throat.

She stands in front of the tree, staring up at the empty spot for the star.

Gang-tae places it in her hand, his thumb gently swiping across her trembling skin.

"Here I'll help." Sang-in whispers, stepping behind her and lifting her off her feet so she can reach the top of the tree. Tears glisten in her eyes as she finally places the star on top.

"It's perfect." Her voice is too soft, she doubts anyone heard it.

But then they all explode in a small applause.

"It looks great Mun-yeongie! Nice job!" Sang-tae calls out, clapping the loudest before meandering off to try to steal food from the kitchen.

They all snigger at his pained "ow!" as he's thwarted once again by his watchful mother.

By the time they're sitting down to enjoy the feast her mind is going a mile a minute, listening to the rambunctious conversations around her as her world collides with Gang-tae's. She's never sat at this dining table before, opting to eat her meals in the safety of her room. But now she understands why others do this, eat together. It makes her fuller than the food she's shoveling into her mouth.

"One more minute." Sang-tae says loudly checking his watch.

When the clock strikes twelve, all is moving and she's passed from arm to arm until she's finally in familiar arms, Moon Gang-tae. He rocks her side to side as he tucks his head into her hair.

"Merry Christmas Mun-yeong, I love you."

She clings to him, emotions bubbling up as she fights back her tears. I love you. She thinks it loudly in her mind, this must be what love is. The way that she feels about him has to be love, it's too big to be anything else. She's certain.

"You don't need to say anything. Just know that I'm not going anywhere. That's love. It doesn't ever leave."

All these damn confessions. He'll be the death of her.

"Annoying."

He giggles before pulling away to hug his mom and Seung-jae fills his void, lifting her off her feet and she can't stop the cheerful laugh that explodes out of her.

She's happy.

They all clean up, pushing her on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate with large marshmallows. And then she realizes they're all going to leave, she's going to be alone again.

Cold icy dread fills her gut until the inevitable moment comes.

"We're all done. It's pretty late. We should start heading out." That's Gang-tae's mother as she packs away her things neatly and Mun-yeong wants to get down on her knees and beg them all to stay.

She's pulled into a warm embrace again.

"You make sure to come over often okay? We need to practice your chopping skills and fatten you up, you’re too skinny.” 

It's not a question but she still nods letting the woman hug her and Sang-tae ruffles her hair, punching at her chin and asking her to keep Gang-tae in line, she smirks in response nodding.

Seung-jae hugs her and promises to text when she gets home, skipping out the door to catch her taxi.

Gang-tae kisses her head and she presses her face into his neck, "Thank you."

He hugs her closely, breathing her in before twin coughs cause them to break apart.

He rubs his neck bashfully under the hard looks from his mother and Sang-in.

With a final bow, Gang-tae leaves with his family. But not before promising to come over tomorrow. Love never leaves, it always comes back.

Then it's just her and her driver.

"He's a good kid. Did you have fun today?"

She turns to look at him with wet eyes, tears finally falling after all the kindness she was shown today.

"Sang-in," she chokes out, "Why didn't you ever quit?"

He looks at her curiously before walking to sit on the couch, patting the cushion next to him in invitation. After a moment she sits down beside him melting into his arm around her shoulder.

"You were such a demon." He finally speaks and she turns to stare at him, his eyes are filled with fondness. "You were demanding and I was scared to come to work sometimes honestly, I did think about quitting once. Just once. But then I read that story you wrote, do you remember?"

She sniffles, "Yeah. The girl who ate everything."

He nods in agreement, "The girl in that story was so lonely that whenever she made a friend she would swallow them whole. Or they would run away. I knew that girl just needed someone to show her that you don't need to own everything you love. They can just live beside you, loving you too."

"I bought you a gift." She pulls away, brushing away her tears to collect the gift that Gang-tae helped her wrap in her room when everyone was busy.

She runs off to get the gift and brings it back to Sang-in, thrusting it at his chest. He looks at her with wide eyes before grabbing the shiny red square.

He opens it gently, peeling away the tape instead of ripping the paper, reverence in his very move.

He stares at the black box before prying it open.

Two buttery soft leather gloves stare back at him.

The gift feels stupid and too little in the wake of the words he just said to her and she's about to tell him that she'll get him something better and this isn't his real gift, she's never done this Christmas thing before she needs practice and--

"I love them."

He slips the driving gloves out of the box, sliding them over his calloused hands.

"Thank you Mun-yeong."

His reaction forces her to be honest with him, "I want you to be my driver for a long time. So you need to take care of your hands."

He nods softly, "Yes. I'll make sure that I do."

"I also got you this. If it's too weird you don't have to use it."

It had caught her eye at the mall, seeing it on others before but knowing she would never get to give it to anyone. But then Gang-tae had been there telling her to get it, she looked at him like he was insane but he insisted, "You know who you want to give it to. Stop hesitating, your heart knows best."

So she shoves another box at him, looking away in embarrassment, not emotionally ready to watch him open it.

He gasps when he does. A loud gasp that bursts out of his chest, he leans back into the couch as if sitting is too difficult.

"I.. Mun-yeong... I don't....thank you."

#1 dad.

Those are the words on the tie that hangs from his finger, the tie is silky smooth a deep hue of blue that has bits of silver when it catches the light.

In every sense of the word he's been like a father to her. More than her own father ever has.

"He's really rubbing off on you isn't he?"

She can't argue. Without his guidance she would have never done any of this, wouldn't have looked into her own heart to find these hidden dormant emotions. 

"I think I love him."

Sang-in stills before brushing her hair behind her ears, "Then I'm not the one you should be telling. Love should be expressed. “ 

“I will. I’m going to tell him.” 

Tomorrow can't come soon enough. She has to tell him how she feels.

I'm in love with Moon Gang-tae.

[endless-whump]

S/O: Like Real People Do

Masterlist

--

“Find one you like yet?”

Oliver rubbed his hands together, swaying on the heels of his feet.  He was bundled in layers of hoodie and jacket, a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, but it still wasn’t quite enough to keep him warm in the chilly autumn weather.  It was nice, though, and Oliver didn’t mind it at all.  They were standing in the biggest patch of pumpkins Oliver thought he’d ever seen, trying to pick a few out to bring back home.

“No,”  Oliver hummed, watching the vapor of his breath in the cold air.  “I mean- I like them all, just haven’t decided yet.”

Simon crouched down to pick one up, turning it over to look at it.  It was a slimmer, taller one, the stem swirling until it was almost growing around itself.  It was a dark orange, the ridges running down the sides deep, creating divots in the pumpkin.

“That one looks nice.”  Oliver piped up, trying to help.  Simon straightened back up, holding it.  He smiled, tilting his head.

“Yea?”  He set it down in the small cart they had, brushing the dirt off his hands on his jacket.  He was wearing jeans and a light brown jacket, one of those heavy ones you see truck drivers wearing.  “After we find ones we like we can grab a few big ones, Marie wants a few to make pies.”

Oliver hummed in acknowledgment, staring down at his boots as he navigated through the array of pumpkins on the ground, careful not to trip on any as he kept looking.  He hunched his shoulders a bit as a gust of wind passed, shoving his hands in his pockets.  The dark leather was deteriorating a bit, thinner than they’d already been when they were given to him.

He crouched down and observed the ground for a moment before picking up a small, round pumpkin, small enough to fit in both of his palms cupped together.  It was a lighter orange in color, the stem short and stubby like the squash itself.

“Can we get this one?”  He asked, standing up and spinning around, holding it out to Simon with a small smile.

Simon’s eyes were soft and amused as his gaze fell on the small pumpkin, and he moved forward to pick it up and observe it.

“Yep, if that's the one you want.  It’s a cute little thing, that's for sure.  Might be too small to carve but I’m sure it’ll look just fine out on the porch or something.”  He put his hands over Oliver’s to take it, frowning slightly.

“Here- you’re freezing.”  He set the pumpkin down before turning back and gently grabbing Oliver’s hands, blowing warm air onto them and rubbing them comfortingly.  “Should've brought gloves, that's my fault for overlooking it.  You ok?”

Oliver nodded, looking down.  He really was fine, he wasn’t lying about that.  

“Yea..yea I’m ok, Simon.  Just a little cold, not a big deal.  I like it.”

The sound of a child's laugh filled the air, a group of kids who couldn’t have been older than ten running through the patch, parents watching nearby.  Simon observed Oliver quietly for a moment before nodding, giving his hands a small squeeze before letting them go.

“If you say so.  Wanna get something warm to drink before we leave?”

Oliver nodded enthusiastically at that, wrapping his arms around himself.  He followed closely behind Simon as they moved to the shed at the edge of the patch, where a small, somewhat scattered group of people were gathered.  There were bins of apples and different squash, signs Oliver couldn't read strung up against the wooden crates

He dragged their cart behind him, glancing around a little nervously as they moved closer.  He expected to have heads turn to stare at them, eyes curious, if not judgmental.  He expected for there to be a weight of danger behind those looks, behind the idea of going into a crowd.  A recognition of what he was, a danger of getting caught.

A strange feeling washed over him when the pair barely turned a glance.

“Hot chocolate or cider?”  Simon asked, glancing down at the other questioningly.  Oliver blinked, snapping back to focus.  The smell of apples filled the air, a pleasant scent that made Oliver relax, his previous anxiety melting away.  Simon was holding two cups, looking down at him expectantly.

“Cider,”  He said quietly, glancing over the table at the couple lounging in yard chairs, chatting.  “Is it hot?”

“Yup.”  Simon put the cup under the drink dispenser and turned the knob, the drink steaming slightly as it filled the styrofoam cup.  He handed it to Oliver, who took it gratefully and smiled when the cup warmed his hands.  He brought it to his lips and took a small, cautious sip, his glasses fogging from the heat.

The warm, sweet apple taste that hit him was wonderful, earning a soft hum of delight.  He had to hold the cup a bit away from him to let his glasses clear, watching the steam drift up in swirls before disappearing into the air.  Simon took a drink from his own cup, leaning against the wooden beam of the overhang and letting his gaze drift from left to right, as if he was scanning.  It was a habit Oliver recognized but usually didn’t notice, and he wondered idly if Simon had the same anxieties.

“Nobody’s watching us.”  He said very, very quietly.  Simon’s gaze darted to him, their eyes meeting.  He looked a little surprised, almost confused at the statement.  Oliver gave him a knowing look, taking another sip of his cider.  “You’re analyzing.”

“Are you..are you profiling me or something?”  Simon scoffed, smiling.  

“I don’t know what profiling means,”  Oliver shrugged innocently, face smug.  “Just noticed you were doing it.”

Simon shook his head with a chuckle, taking a long drink before grabbing Oliver by the hood of his jacket, yanking him close to ruffle his hair.  Oliver squirmed, trying not to spill his cider as he laughed and yelled in surprise, his voice clear and free of panic.  That turned a few heads, people glancing over and smiling fondly at the pair half wrestling.  Oliver didn’t care one bit, though.

“Hey! Don’t-”  The styrofoam cup was plucked from his hand, his only defence gone as Simon swiftly set it aside only to hoist him up, arms wrapped tightly around him.  Oliver threw his head back, laughing so hard he could barely breathe as he kicked, trying to gain leverage as Simon stepped towards the pile of hay besides the shed, his motivations clear.  

“Heyheyhey-”  He wrapped his legs around Simons waist as he went to swing Oliver towards the pile, throwing him off balance and sending him stumbling.  Both of them hit the hay with a surprised yell, Simon trying to turn and take the blow of the fall even on the cushioned surface.

Oliver laid, stunned for a moment as he sucked air in desperately.  There wasn’t a shred of fear or panic in his body, though, just an exuberance that made him feel feather-light.  The air smelled like apples and hay and dust and old wood, the warmth of the two laying against each other contrasting sharply with the chill of the breeze.  He pushed himself up, bits and pieces of hay covering his clothes and stuck in his hair.  There were people staring, now, and a warm blush rose to Oliver’s face.

“You ok?”  Simon chuckled, struggling to a sitting position, Oliver’s legs still draped heavily over him from where they fell.  Oliver wrapped his arms around himself and rocked slightly, his smile bright as he nodded.

“You’re a punk,”  He joked lightly, pushing Oliver’s legs off of him playfully so he could stand.  He brushed the pieces of hay off his clothes before offering a hand to Oliver, looking down fondly at him.  The younger boy took his hand, pulled to his feet with what was almost a giggle at the teasing.  He swayed on the balls of his feet as Simon fussed at his hair, picking out the hay.  He shook his head and muttered under his breath as he grinned, face a little flushed from the cold.

Oliver stared up at him for a moment, watching the way he breathed and moved, his dark green eyes glinting with a new light to them.  A small thought, almost an impulse, entered his mind.  

A rebellious one

It felt like he was twisting apart in anxiety but in the best kind of way, the butterflies in his stomach feeling like they were trying to break free from a cage, in the same way he always was.  He wanted to break free from that cage, from those limits he’d set for himself, that others had set for him.

He took a breath before grabbing Simon by his jacket, pulling him close and raising himself up on his toes, pressing a soft kiss to Simon’s lips.  He tasted like cider and coffee, smelling like the cool autumn breeze that surrounded them.

This was him, this was his choice.  He knew he was being bad, that he was supposed to belong to Cedric and only Cedric, that he wasn’t meant for anyone else.  Nobody was allowed to touch Oliver like this besides him, he wasn’t supposed to touch anybody else like this.  He wanted to, though, and he didn’t belong to Cedric.  Not anymore.

He could be for somebody else, Oliver decided.  He could be for anybody he decided.

Simon froze, a bit taken aback, the two still and silent for a moment in that corner of their own world.  He could feel Simon pushing back just slightly in return, relaxing,  just for a moment.  That moment passed all too quickly, however, when Simon pulled away.

“Oliver-”  He started, looking stunned.  He held Oliver at arms length, a hand on either arm.  “I..Oliver, I can’t...you can’t..”

“I can.”  Oliver said simply, leaning forward.  “I wanted to, Simon.  I want to.”

The soft hum of voices around them seemed so far away now, the two staring hard at each other.  Simon looked conflicted, brows furrowed in thought, in what looked like guilt.

“Oliver..I can’t let myself take advantage of you like that.”  He said softly.  “You know I can’t.  You can’t...say no to that.  Cedric-”

“Cedric made me for him, and you know that.”  Oliver cut in fiercely, pulling closer, pushing his luck with the rush of boldness taking over him.  “He ruined me for himself, and I want to make myself for somebody else.  I want to decide that.”

His eyes were full of angry tears now, resentment directed at the man that took everything from him.  He didn’t want to feel like Simon was just another owner, he wanted Simon to feel...to feel like his.  Like how Marie and Mia belonged to each other, in a good way.  They gave themselves to each other.  He wanted that.  

A warm hand cupped his face, the man who was always so sure of himself now looking lost, unsure.  A thumb brushed across his cheekbone, across the faint, jagged scar there.

“Can I..” Simon looked so uncertain, so careful.  “..Can I kiss you?”

Oliver leaned into the touch and nodded, drowning in those deep green eyes, little flecks of brown dotting the edges as if someone took a paintbrush and ran their finger over the bristles.

“Please,” He breathed, going blissfully pliant, all on his own, as he was pulled back in.  He sighed as Simon kissed him, that anger dissipating into something completely different.  It was so gentle, so careful, lacking the eager possessiveness he was so used to when being with a person.  Something in the back of his mind told him he used to know what this felt like.

He held Simon close through the kiss by his scarf, smiling against his lips.  Simon held his face, tilting his chin up just slightly as he let himself relax, let himself trust.

And for the first time ever, Oliver felt like he belonged to nobody at all

--

Taglist

@insanitywishes @18-toe-beans @castielamigos-whump-side-blog@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs @finder-of-rings @deluxewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @briars7 @albino-whumpee @thatsthewhump

[notsosmexy]

Heavens Love || Reggie x reader

Chapter four of ‘Heavens Love’ 

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 5 

A/N: OOooOo we back! Enjoy!

Word count: 3k

Taglist

Wanna be added to the series taglist? Just send an ask!

You walked up to your locker and put your code in. Once you had all your books, someone tapped your shoulder, making you turn around quickly. To your surprise, it was Carrie. She pointed at something not too far away and left. You arched your brow but looked at where she had pointed. 

It was Julie, singing in the middle of the hallway, doing some amazing dance. You wanted to stop her, so she didn't embarrass herself. But you couldn't move. You could tell she didn't mind, or she didn't notice. Either way, you stared at her like everyone else. Her eyes were closed and she had a huge smile on her face.  

You leaned on your locker with a smirk, when she came to get her books. She gave a small smile and took her headphones out. A boy who you had seen once or twice, tapped her shoulder.  

'Are you done?' visible confusion could be seen on her face. You suppressed a laugh. ' Can I have those back?' he pointed towards Julie's back pocket. 

'Oh..' she grabbed them and gave them to the guy. She turned on her heels and faced her locker once again. You and Julie were both laughing and you could hear Flynn running up to you both. 

'Omg Julie!' she smiled. 

'Whats up?'

'Nothing, glad to see you back to your…weirdo self' You laughed

Julie rolled her shoulders and gave a small chuckle 'Thanks?'

Flynn playfully rolled her eyes 'So, how's the band? Still hot? Still talented? Still..dead?' 

You put your head in your hands. 'Flynn..' you couldn't help but laugh a little. 'They can't be… undead'

Flynn shrugged her shoulders 'We're undead' you blinked once or twice. What goes on in this kids brain? Is all you could think.

Julie looked between both you and Flynn. 'Anywayssss, Luke and I spent all weekend writing songs… wanna hear some of them?' 

'Duh!' you and Flynn both said. Julie nodded her head and you both walked towards the music room. On your way there you saw Carrie form the corner of your eye. You gave a small wave but she didn't seem to notice, instead she was looking at something or someone in front of you. You stopped in your tracks and followed her gaze. Your eyes went big once you realized who she was looking at.

'Could be nothing' you tried to reassure yourself. You ran to the music room, to make sure you didn't miss any of Julie's music playing. 

'So this is-' 

'I'M HERE!' You shouted while panting a bit. You weren't the greatest at running you had it admit. Flynn smiled and Julie cleared her throat. 

'Right, here's the first song them and I wrote.' she sat down at the piano. 'Here's some of the chorus' she started playing and you smiled. It was amazing and had a fun beat to it. 

'Wow! I like it! Def Gaga vibes' Flynn stated. You nodded your head to show you agreed. Julie smiled. 

'Now um...here's something me and my mom were working on' Your smile faltered a little. She started playing once again and once again, you love it. You could tell Julie worked hard to get it right. 

'thats- that's beautiful' You and Flynn said at the same time. 

'Now,' Flynn smirked at Julie, changing the subject. 'You have a crush. And this name is Luke.'

'And he's a ghost!' you finished her sentence and Flynn pointed towards you. Julie's mouth fell agape.

'What? No! Luke's a ghost.' she stated, but you knew Flynn wasn't having any of it.  

'A cute ghost.' Flynn stated.

Julie scrunched her nose up. 'with a perfect smile.' she finally gave in.

'Ha! We knew it's you said to Julie while Flynn high fives you but missed. You rubbed your shoulder where she accidentally hit you and she gave a quite sorry. 

Flynn looked back at Julie, you doing the same. 'Just don't get hurt'

'Obviously you guys have a connection' you added. 

'Everyone’s been talking about when you're going to play again' Flynn put her hand on her hip and took out her phone. 

'Lucky for youuu…' You waited for Flynn to finish.

'Your marketing team has been way ahead of it.' Flynn smirked and gave a small flick of her hair.  

'I… I don't have a marketing team.' Julie gave you both a confused look. 

'Yes you do!' you pulled out a flyer from your backpack and Flynn did some jazz hands.

'No wait-' 

'it's all over the school!' before Julie could protest again Flynn's phone buzzed. 'Sorry, it already has 66 likes' you. Shook your head with a smile.  You and Flynn walked don't, leaving Julie behind. You could hear her telling you guys to wait and you both just laughed. 

As you all walked down the hallway to get to your class, you once again saw Carrie. She didn't seem to care that you were walking past. She was busy on her phone, like always, but you could tell something was different. 

'Guys, go without me, I gotta do something.' Both girls looked at you but nodded their heads. You waved goodbye and turned around to go see Carrie. She was walking towards the bathroom and you knew this was  going to be so awkward.

You walked into the light pink washroom and stood in front of a mirror. You waited a couple of seconds and soon enough Carrie walked out. She gave you a small glare, but it seemed fake. 

'Carrie, you don't need to pretend it's just me and you. Nobody else.'

She licked her lips and thought for a moment. She sighed and nodded her head. 

‘Hi Y/N’ she mumbled and turned to look at herself in the mirror. 

You nodded your head slightly and looked around. ‘So, I uh, I saw you staring at-’

‘Don’t’ Carrie quickly interrupted. ‘Its nothing. I don’t- i don’t like her’ She looked like she was going to cry. ‘Even if I-i did, she’d n-never like me’ 

You gave her a sad look and opened her arms. She practically ran into them, her arms around your neck. She smelt good, like honey and sugar. Her cold wet tears were hitting the cloth on your shoulder. Every single one slowly crept through the fabric, making your shoulder wet. After a while she let go and stepped back. She gave you a small smile and rubbed her eyes.

‘Sorry’ She sniffed. You shook your head and gave her a small toothy grin.

‘Don’t be… i’m sure she likes you to’ To be honest you had no idea if Flynn did. She’s never been one to talk about who she likes. She’d never even spread Carrie a glance after… the thing happened. 

‘Maybe…’ Before either of you could say anything else, the bell rang. You both walked out of the bathroom and went  your separate ways. The whole time you were walking to your class, you couldn’t stop thinking about...everything. There was Luke and Julie, Willy and Alex, Flynn and Carrie and You and Reggie. Too many people were falling in love.

****

‘I wasn't in love with the idea at first as well, but it'll be a great way to up our following.’ Julie was watering the plants, while you, Luke and Reggie stood around the piano. Reggie gently put the paper down and nodded his head a bit.

‘Ya, ya! We can play wherever we can and whenever we can’ Reggie stated and a smile had grown on his face. 

‘And then, you guys put out a new album!’ You said happily and Reggie snapped his fingers and pointed at Julie. 

‘Than release a country album’ You shook your head. ‘That does surprisingly well’ He turned towards you but you keep shaking your head. Julie gave Reggie a look and Luke looked a little disgusted. ‘I shred on the banjo so...’ Reggie shrugged his shoulders and acted like it was no big deal.

‘Then i'll  learn how to play the fiddle,’ You said jokingly and Reggie gave you a side hug. 

‘And before you know it, we're being inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame.’ Luke gazed into the distance. He snapped out of it once Reggie started talking. 

‘But one of us isn't there’ you stared at him, half confused, half emmussed. ‘ Because we had a blowout in 2032. My moneys on Alex, he's just to sensitive.’ he shrugged his shoulders and you laughed quietly. 

‘Let’s get rehearsing!’ Luke pushed himself off the piano and spun on his heels. You turned around but remembered Alex wasn't there. Julie must have read your mind cause the next thing she said was exactly what you were going to say.

‘Wheres Alex?’

‘We can start without him.. He’ll be back soon’ Luke reassured you all. You leaned against something and watched them all get ready. Reggie gave you a wink and they all started playing. You blushed and looked at the ground for a few seconds. 

Once you lifted your head again, you heard a poof and Alex was suddenly through the door.

‘Hey Y/N’ you smiled and gave him a wave. 

‘Dude, where have you been?’ Luke stopped playing and let his guitar dangle. ‘We need to practice.’

‘Oh, really?’ Alex looked at Julie, his eyebrows scrunched together. ‘For what?’ 

Before anyone could answer, the door opened only to reveal Flynn. She was wearing her vibrant pink beanie, her lock necklace and the jean jacket you gave to her last year.

‘Dance news!’ she practically screamed while doing some weird pose. ‘I don't have a date but, I'm so psyched to see you guys perform!’ 

‘Oh man! We're playing a dance?’ Alex whined and looked at the guys. 

‘Course, man’ Luke sat on a red chair. ‘That's how we get a following nowadays’

‘Ya, get with the program Alex’ Julie mocked and Luke playfully scoffed. Flynn looked at you and Julie.  

‘What? They guys are here?’ she tutted and flipped her hair casually.’Hey guys!’ she waved in the opposite direction.

‘Other way, sweetie’ you said, giving her a taunting smirk. Oh was all she said and turned to wave at them. All  of them waved back, not that she could tell.

‘OK, well, now that Alex has graced us with his presence-’ you cut Luke off.

‘You should start practicing!’ You threw your hands in the air and Julie looked amused. ‘Wanna stick around?’ You turned around and asked Flynn. 

‘Im supposed to blow up 500 balloons for the school dance..’ she sighed but smiled. ‘This sounds way more fun though’ you all laughed. 

‘Hey Julie!’ Carlos walked into the studio and you heard Luke sigh. ‘Remember those orbs in dad's pictures? I...I think their ghosts.’ You turned to the boys with wide eyes, them doing the same to you. 

‘But don't worry!’ He slammed the pictures onto the piano. ‘ This room is...is’ he did a whole 360. ‘This room is clean. I'm not getting the ghost tinglies’ He whispered the last part like it was a secret. 

‘Wrong again little dude’ You all gave Reggie an amused look. Suddenly Carlos started yelling. 

‘Have no fear! If they come back I will protect you! Because I am the man of this house!’ Carlos stated, looking proud of himself.

‘Isn't dad the man of the house?’ Julie asked. 

‘There can be two’ they both chuckled. ‘Dad needs all the help he can get right? Now, according to the internet, salt burns their souls out.’ Everyone turned towards each other with panic written all over their faces. ‘A little sprinkle will keep them from ever coming here’ He threw it everywhere and some landed on Alex.

‘No! Oh! Oh god im…’ he looked at his hands. ‘Im fine. I'm totally fine.’ he raised his head with a proud smile. 

‘Oh! Carlos you know who's hungry? Me and...Y/N. Why don't you salt us a path to the kitchen’ You gave Flynn a look and shook your head. 

‘No, I need to-’ before you could continue, Carlos took your arm and started dragging you along, while salting a path. 

‘Don't worry Y/N you won't miss much!’ Your boyfrie- Reggie yelled behind you.

@tclerateit @sarcasticallywitty15 @killingbxys @calltothewild @well-hes-just-too-cute​ 

[unknowncountrygirl]

The Letter

This is just a little short story featuring my MC Iris Rosewood with Ben Copper. As soon as they had the dialogue in the game where he wrote a letter before entering the Portrait Vault I knew it was to the MC and my gears started spinning. To me the final “reading of the letter” at the end of year six was anti climactic so I wrote my own.

On a side note if anyone watches North Woods Law, even if you don’t, does Officer Kevin Bronson remind anyone else of what Ben would look like in the real world? Or is it just me?

Also if this post oddly, I did it from my phone as my computer is on the rocks.

Ok, please enjoy!

~*~*~

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

“Take a break. Spend time with your friends. There will always be more mysteries to solve at Hogwarts.” Mad Eye had told her.

For the first time, Iris did finally feel like she could breathe. She strolled down the halls and made her way towards the greenhouses, a nice walk amongst the flowers felt like a good place to start and the sweet peas were beginning to bloom.

Iris had been admiring some of the flowers, and had taken it upon herself to re-pot a few that looked like they needed a new home when a bird began knocking on the outside of the greenhouse. She walked over and lifted one of the window vents and let the little owl inside and pulled the note off his leg.

Meet me at the Owlery, I found something for you.

Cryptic, typical Talbott.

She cast a simple cleaning spell on her hands and the jeans she was wearing, before rubbing her forehead. She transformed into her animagus, a peregrine falcon, and soared off towards the owlery. She flew into the open window and came to a stop right in front of Talbott before turning back into her usual self. She shook out her hair and smoothed it back into place while asking,

“Your note sounded urgent, Talbot Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. I simply found a letter for you.” He informed her as he handed over the dusty, and slightly stained from owl poop, envelope. “It looks like it's been here for a long time.”

“A letter?” She flipped it over and saw her name written simply on the front. “That's all?”

“Iris. I think you need to read it.” Talbot insisted. Her blue eyes looked up and met his. While Talbot was a serious person, he seemed even more so in this moment. Iris took the letter and leaned up against a small table near here and skipped to the bottom to see who the letter was from.

“It's from... Ben.” She was honestly genuinely surprised. Their friendship had been strained since the portrait vault and what conversations they had anymore was strained and tense. Well, all but for one night when they had went to Jacob's room to search, the night that Rowan was killed. He had told her how he didn't want her to suffer and bear burdens, all such sweet and genuine things... Only to turn his back on her in his grief and deal with it in a hurtful and dangerous way.

“He must have left it here for you.”

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks.

I was writing a letter to an important witch.

“Ben mentioned writing a letter before we entered the Buried Vault.” Iris informed Talbot. “He

said it was for a very important witch.”

“Well, I suppose that important witch was you.” Honestly Iris felt her stomach feel sick a bit. She

wrestled with the idea of not reading the letter in truth but Talbot pulled her from her thoughts. “Iris. I didn't read the whole letter, it seemed to important. You need to read it.”

She took a deep breath and opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of parchment.

Dear Iris.

I have always admired you, from the first day we met. You came into my life and for the first time it felt like my life went from black and white to full bright color.

You were so sure of yourself, so confident and strong. I had never met anyone like that and I wanted to be like that not just for myself but for you, and I have failed miserably.

You have been my truest friend and my confident when I could not let anyone in. Even if I didn't let you in, I feel like you would have pushed back any road block and found your way into my life and my heart all the same.

I am terrified to go into the vault. R has promised to kill one of your friends and I know it will be me, that's why I am writing you this letter, so at least I can say my peace to you even though I'm to cowardly to tell you in person.

You are the brightest light in my life, and I wish I could be that for you. There were times when we would do homework together and you would ask what I was thinking. I would answer with something like 'nothing' or 'Snape' just so I didn't have to face the truth.

Those times I would be thinking of you, even though you were right in front of me. I would think of things far off, like after Hogwarts. Where you may see me not as a terrified kid but as a man who is worthy of your affections.

Somewhere between sandwiches, Gobstones, homework, and butterbeers my feelings for you turned.

All this to say, is that I love you Iris. Not the platonic love that you feel for a friend.

I am in love with you. Even though we are young, I know it deep in my soul.

I'm sorry I never said this to you, you deserved that much even though you don't feel the same. I

hope that you can forgive me for being cowardly even to the end. I never deserved your friendship, and I never deserved to have you in my life as actively as you were. There were so many more deserving people that you could have been spending your time with.

I hope you find this note one day, and that it finds you well and living your life to the absolute fullest. You deserve happiness more then anyone that I know.

Pursue your dream of being a Herbologist, don't listen to anyone telling you otherwise, because you love it and that's what you should do.

Plant your flowers, grow your garden, find that little cottage in the woods and have that little farm you always talked about doing after Hogwarts.

I hope you find love that is worthy of you, and can give you the family you want. You are the most beautiful human being, and I was lucky to have you in my life for the time that I had.

Yours, Ben Copper.

Water droplets splattered on the paper and Iris took in a deep, shaky breath.

“It's strange to see the old Ben again, even if it's on parchment.” She managed to get out to Talbot, who had taken a step towards her and laid a hand on her shoulder. It was his awkward way of trying to lend support to her while she cried over the letter.

“Whatever he said, I don't think he believed he would live to tell you in person.” He told her as she folded the letter up again and slipped it back into the envelope.

“He's never said anything.” She managed to get out as she wiped her tears off her cheeks, seeing her mascara smudged on her fingers. She grumbled and pulled out her wand, casting a simple makeup removing spell that left her face bare. “I have to go.” Iris said suddenly and pulled away from Talbot.

“Right now?”

“Yes! Right now!” Before Talbot could say anything else she was flying out the window in her falcon form. She flew all over the Hogwarts ground looking for any gleam of tawny blonde hair before she landed and transformed, looking for him on her own two legs.

The Great Hall, the Library, the common room, and finally she managed to see him rounding a corner ahead of her.

“Ben!” Iris shouted, all but running up to him. He turned to see her coming up to him, looking a bit ruffed up then normal for her. He noticed she had no makeup on, her hair was out of sorts, and that her eyes were red and puffy.

“Who made you cry?” He asked angrily, ready to hex whoever had made Iris cry when he spotted the letter in her hand. He felt his eyes widen and his stomach fell to his feet. She held it towards him.

“Talbot just found it up in the Owlery.” She explained. “This was the letter you wrote before the portrait vault.” It wasn't a question, it sounded more like an accusation.

Blue eyes met dark brown as they simply stared at one another, both knowing exactly what laid in the letter, but neither wanting to be the first to address it. Ben took a deep breath, and gulped hard, feeling himself beginning to perspire.

“It is.” He simply stated.

“Is it true?” Iris asked him, her voice soft but still stern.

“It was-”

“I'm not asking of it was true then, obviously it was, or else you wouldn't have wrote it.” He

noticed then, as she held up the letter, that her hands were shaking. “I'm asking if it's true now.”

There was two options for him. He could lie, and tell her that he was no longer in love with her

anymore. Or there was option two. He could tell the truth, which honestly was the more scary option. He knew he had treated her wrongly the last year, and she was more then likely farther away from him then she had ever been before.

After Rowan's death. In truth, he had pulled away from everyone. He had thrown himself head first into training, to the point of exhaustion. He had been snappy with Iris, on more then one occasion, and likewise she had been irritable with him. It felt as though what tiny shred of friendship they had was hanging on by a thread, threatening to snap at the smallest gust. So they had generally left one another alone.

But they were here now, at the crossroads that he had put off for more then a year.

She was looking up at him with her large blue eyes and her lips were slightly down turned as she waited for him to say anything. He remembered vividly the day he knew he felt for her, they were in Charms, Iris was between him and Rowan. They were reviewing Riddikulus, one of the boys from Ravenclaw managed to turn a dummy into a dancing frog and it caused the class to burst into laughter. Iris laughed and looked over to Ben with a bright smile, and he had zeroed into her lips. Full, pink, plump lips that he wanted against his own. He had never wondered what Rowan's or Penny's lips would feel like or taste, but Iris's had invaded his brain. The smell of her perfume seemed to get stronger, he wondered what it would be like to run his hands through her her silvery blonde waves.

Iris was his first true friend, the first person he had confided truths, fears, and secrets with. The first person he cared for, the first person he loved besides his family. He adored her.

Every past wrong, every crass word spoken, and hurtful thing seemed to pass through his mind in a split instant, digging their claws deep into his brain, squeezing what life he had left from his heart.

Ben had tried so hard to show Iris that he was strong, resilient, and brave that he had pushed her away in the process. He wanted to fix it, he wanted her back. He missed her laughter, he missed their chats and late night talks on the Gryffindor couch in front of the fire. He missed her.

“I still love you.” He managed to say.

It was like he watched a fire ignite in her eyes, a fire he hadn't realized came very close to burning out. For a split moment, he thought she was going to hit him as her hand came dangerously close to his face. Her hand grabbed his neck, not in an aggressive way, but a gentle way. His entire world came to a freeze as warm lips collided with his own.

He had felt like had been propelled, into ice cold water and that time had stopped. He had dreamed about this moment for years, the part about it happening in a hallway for anyone to see was not part of the dream but it was what it was and he was not about to complain about it.

His hands grasped at her like he was a man drowning and she was a life preserver, one hand lost into her hair, slightly damp from perspiration, and the other in the small of her back pulling him as close as he could to her.

As far as he was concerned, nothing could ruin this moment.

But he would be wrong.

“Mr. Copper!” The shrill voice called out, causing both of them to jump. “Miss Rosewood! I

would expect more from head girl and two members of Gryffindor!” Professor McGonagal reprimanded the two of them. “Twenty points from Gryffindor.” She began to walk past them, both cheeks burning before she turned around to face them one last time, a grin curling at the corner of her lips. “It's about time.” They watched her disappear around the corner and Iris looked up to him, the blush still across her cheeks, but a bright smile from her lips.

“I don't think that was twenty points worthy.” She winked and he knew she was being cheeky, and laced her fingers in his.

“Are you insinuating we find somewhere more private?”

“No, I'm saying it.” She smiled and leaned into his side as they began to walk down the hallway.

*~*~*

After Hogwarts, Iris planted her flowers and wove them into a champagne and blush colored

crown that she wore intertwined with her curls at her wedding.

Ben found a cottage in the woods near to his Muggle parents with a chicken coop and a little

duck pond. In Muggle tradition, he had carried Iris across the threshold, into the home that they would make together.

[sherrybaby14]

Christmas Lights

Summary:  Bucky helps you string your lights.

Warnings:  Smut, Filth, Non-Con (PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU). Turns into Dubcon

Pairings:  Bucky x female reader

Words: 1k, just a drabble

“You really don’t have to help me.”  You were on the step stool, trying to start the lights at the top of the tree.  “I could have figured this out myself.”

“I know Doll.”  Bucky had the excess string.  “But without me, you wouldn’t have even tested them first.  At least now we know they work.”

You looked at the lit up multi color lights in your hand.  He was right about that.  It never occurred to you to check first.  

The tree was too big for your room, but you wanted a real one this year, determined to have a traditional Christmas.

“You like em big huh?”  Bucky laughed as he gave the lights some slack.  “Is there even room for a star at the top?”

“I’ll make it work.”  You went on your tip toes, trying to reach the top. “WOAH!”

The stool started to wobble.  

“Be careful.”  Bucky’s hands were on your waist steadying you.

It wasn’t enough though.  You slipped back dropping the lights.  You braced yourself, expecting to smack the floor when he grabbed you in his arms.  

He smiled at you as he held you in a dipping stance.

“I guess it was a good thing you were here.”  You went to stand up straight, but Bucky twisted your arm behind your back.  “What are you doing?”

He set you on your feet, moving too fast for you to react.  His hands were on your wrists, wrapping away.

“Hey!”  You started to tug your hands, but he kept winding.  It was the lights. “STOP!”

“There we go.”  Bucky tugged hard, squeezing your wrists together.  “All lit up like a Christmas tree.”

“Very funny.”  You turned to face him, half the strand hanging down your side.  “Please take them off.”

“Now why would I do that?”  Bucky’s hands were on your waist.  “When I finally have what I really want for Christmas right in front of me?”

“What are you talking about?”  You tried to snake your way out of the bindings, but you were caught.  “This isn’t funny.”

“Oh you’re right.”  Bucky went to the collar of your shirt.  “I should unwrap my present first.”

“Huh?”  You couldn’t comprehend what he was saying until you heard a giant RIPPP. “HEY!”

You took a step back, almost falling again as he caught you.  Your shredded shirt left your breasts exposed, the only covering your bra.

“This isn’t funny.”  You tried to turn yourself.  

“Of course it’s not.”  Bucky grabbed your bra and tore that down the middle.  “All that teasing.  Wagging your ass in my face.  What did you think was going to happen?”

You tried to twist away, but his hands were on you and yours tied behind your back with Christmas lights.  Bucky ducked down to your nipple and sucked it into his mouth.

“Stop!”  How did this happen in such a short period of time?  “ I mean it!”

“No you don’t.”  He let your breast fall from his mouth, the saliva and cool air making it harden into a peak.  “You want me as much as I want you. Stop lying to yourself.”

His mouth went to your other side and he began flickering against the bud.  You pressed your legs together, your body responding before your mouth could.

“Bucky no!”  You twisted and tugged at the lights.  “What the hell is happening?!?!?”

“I’m getting my Christmas present.”  He stood up and put his arms under your ass, scooping you in the air.

Your bound hands gave you little option but to wrap your thighs around his for support as he carried you to the bed.  

“Knock it off!”  You tried to kick at him and roll away on the bed, but he touched your stomach, powerful enough to hold you in place with one hand.

“I’ll knock it off.”  His other finger went to your jeans and he started to take them off.  “If you’re not wet already.”  

You let out a whimper, not sure how to respond as he pulled away your pants.  

“Nothing to say huh Doll?”   He ran his hand up your leg.  “Because you know you are?”

His fingers grazed your panties, lightly running over your clit.  You bit your lip and turned your head to the side.  

“I can feel your slick already.”  He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked.  “Delicious. What a treat you are.  All wrapped up for me.”

“Bucky.”  Your chest was getting heavy.  “I…no…I.”

“Shh.”  He yanked away your panties, ripping those too.

“STOP RUINING MY CLOTHES!”  You scooted away on the bed.

“A body like that?  You shouldn’t wear any…ever.”  He pushed his pants down as he got onto his knees, his monster cock falling forward.  “Of course, you are fun for me to unwrap.”  

Your mouth hung open in shock at the size of him, having to blink just to know it was real.

“Don’t worry.”  He ran his head up your slit.  “You’ll get it in your mouth, eventually.  But right now I want the prize.”

Your knees started to shake as he pushed inside of you, filling you more than you thought possible as your body stretched to accommodate him.

“Damn you’re tight.”  He placed his hands on either side of your head as he continued sliding inside of you.  “A gift like this.  I’m not going to last long.”

Locking eyes with you, Bucky brought his thumb to his mouth.  He licked the digit before putting it between your bodies.

“What?”  You let out a squeal as he began rubbing your clit, circling it with pressure.

Your body jerked underneath him and you tugged at the lights keeping your hands together.  

“Wanted you so bad.”  He leaned over you.  “All year.  My special gift.”  

Your body had taken over any objections your brain had and you found yourself rocking underneath him, lifting your hips to meet his touch while his cock continued to stuff you.  

“That’s it.”  Bucky let out a hiss.  “I knew you wanted me too.”

You didn’t.  Did you?  Right now you didn’t care.  This felt too good.  The lights digging into you flesh, his thumb working your tender nub, your pussy getting the attention it deserved.  

Then you felt him bottom out.  A groan left your mouth, shocked you had taken him all the way.

He began to rail into you, bouncing you into the mattress.  His speed and precision left you with no choice but to take him, your body unable to keep up anymore than you brain had been.  

You were spinning, struggling to breath as the coil in your center tightened.  Harder and harder. Tighter and tighter.  Was it him? Was it you?  Did it matter.

“Fuck!”  You bit your lip as your body trembled, cumming on his cock while his thumb didn’t let up.  Pushing your orgasm harder and longer than you thought possible.  

You were panting and gasping when he slowed his assault.  Your brain fuzzy and wrists aching.

“Don’t worry Doll.”  Bucky bit your ear.  “I am the gift that keeps on giving.”  

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Book Four - Part 14

Anti's "puppets" take a final stand against him.

Tws for violence, fighting, grief, death, blood, and extreme distress.

Part 14 - Gone

unpredictably-ghostly asked: O-kay, whatever up with Anti can't be good, what's happening? Dapper, do you know what he's doing, have you seen it before? You're all so close to the happy ending you deserve, and we're so proud of you for making it this far, please keep fighting!

Dapper stares up at the corrupted version of himself from the ground, coughing hard, his body exhausted from what little fighting they’ve done so far. He’s hot and his head pounds. He can’t tell if this is real or not. He’s afraid.

“Look at you,” signs the being above him, cold white eyes, pupil-less and uncolored, staring back at him. Strings rope the monster from head to toe, pure white strings wrapped so tight they leave marks behind and drain all blood from his porcelain form. He is so young he may as well be a child, wearing a suit which is choking the air from him. “You really thought you could ever get away from us? From yourself. Psychotic and weak and mute to all the world but Anti, the only one who really knows exactly who you are. Pretending to be Christ’s little lost lamb. You’re just Anti’s murderer. Anti’s smiling, stupid, helpless little murderer.”

Blood fills up the monster’s mouth and comes drizzling down his chin, staining his neat beard. Blood follows from the eyes and ears. Blood coats the hands and drains from beneath the strings. He is coated in it. Those bloodied hands reach down and grab Dapper by the throat, hauling him up to look into those dead white eyes.

“And you always will be.”

He shudders and cries, clinging to the wrist of the amalgamation.

Anonymous asked: None of them belong to you. Let them go or die right here and now. At least lose with dignity, you bastard. Jack never intended for you to win this fight, and you're absolutely right on one thing. None of you can escape the destiny of your story.

“I won’t fall down like this!” Red shouts, even as he feels his heartrate pick up and his skin begin to tingle and hurt, everything too cold and too close and too overwhelming. “They’re right and I finally realized it! You were always meant to lose. You were always the villain in this story!”

“But it took us so long to realize,” answers a voice beside him, somehow both too loud and too quiet, and always entirely unaware of it. He drags his gaze up to the being beside him, sitting in the grass and rocking himself, eyes closed and hands over his ears. A black hood covers his face, but everyone can see the tears running down. He’s thin and his nails are filthy and broken from scraping against chains and locked doors. “So, so long. And we weren’t just passive - we were part of it. We hit them… we yelled and insulted them, dragged them by their hair and their throats. They hated us. They still do. And they’re scared, too, everyone but Blue. If Anti goes away, all of them will get sick of us. We’re so pathetic. No one can take care of us and we can’t take care of ourselves. You were a coward when they needed you, blind and cruel to them!”

Red feels something in his chest begin to shake. He’s sobbing again despite himself, shaking his head.

“Look at you, crying again,” sneers the Anti-Red, gritting its teeth. “You weren’t enough for Anti and you’re not enough for them. You didn’t save them. We drove Max away and he said he loved us exactly as we were! Even now, look at you - writhing in the grass. We have to go back to Anti. Go crawling back and beg he forgives us. If we’re not his attack dog, we’re nothing.”

Anonymous asked: No more, Anti. They won't take this from you anymore. You're right, not a shred of pity left for you. You've abused and used them for years, this isn't betrayal, this is comeuppance. Well deserved, at that.

“I won’t take any more from you,” breathes Blue, trying to hold himself together, digging his fingers into the earth even as the foot crushes against his windpipe. He feels his power moving in his fingers, soothing at the steady earth, where trees and flowers grow, warm and loving. “I am Blue, the witch, the one who takes care of them. I’m not scared of you, Anti. They’re right - this is comeuppance.”

“How noble,” whispers the cold version of himself. Its hair is grown out long and silky, surrounding the eyes like emeralds that glitter at him from a ghostly face. Its ears and throat and fingers are hung with jewelry and it is dressed in a clean blouse and jeans, a fine black boot pressed to Blue’s throat. Its whole body seems to glow, somehow. It is so beautiful it makes his heart throb and his throat tighten painfully. “Now, after you have lost everything and have no way of saving them, you are ready to scream against him. Stop fighting. You lost, Marvin.”

“I’m not - I’m not - ”

“You’re disgusting,” sneers the alternate, drawing its foot away as though repulsed even to touch him. “What an ugly, scarred-up, hollow little bitch you look like. Masculine and emasculated at the same time. You think you’re powerful just because you got your magic back? It was never enough to save us from him, Marvin. We will never be enough. All we can do is care for them when they’re in pain, nursing them through these last few years of their life before Anti gets sick of all of us. Don’t you see? It’s already too late. And now that you’ve chosen to fight back instead of taking care of them like you were told to do - ”

Blue is hoisted up by the throat, choking. He lets out a scream of pain, not for the hand on his neck, but for this - the sight of his family writhing and crying out in the grass, begging someone to make this stop.

“This is all your fault,” whispers his shadow.

Anonymous asked: You think you're going out with a bang when you're going out with an overdrawn tantrum. Enough. You cut corners, so now you get to cut your losses. It's your fault that the loss is literally everything you've built so shoddily.

For a moment, Anti is there, is himself, is visible to you.

He is in the middle of them, something black dripping from his eyes. His face is scrunched up in pain, his form flickering so weakly its hard to distinguish him from the background of the forest. He gazes around himself, panting. One moment he is not-Blue, not-Red, not-Dapper, not-Trick. He leans over himself and spits black gunk into the grass.

“Anti,” comes that same weak voice as he heard before, small and soft.

“Jack,” answers his voice from meters away, glitching and shattered.

“You’re killing yourself. You have to stop. Anti, Anti.”

Trick is in the grass nearby, lying on his side. Nearby, a shadow hovers over him, crying in silence over a dead cat in its arms. The smell of booze sweats from its skin and it shivers in the cold, bandages wrapped around its head and wrists.

“I want this to stop,” whispers the corruption, wiping at the tears in his eyes. “Let’s just go back to how we were. We just want to feel loved again. Don’t care what I have to do or who I have to be. We can’t do anything. We’re not the protagonist. We can’t even stop him.”

“Anti,” cries Trick, head pounding. He tries to drag himself to his hands and knees, but the dark image of himself kicks him back to the ground. He hears a faint squeak and shields the little body in his pocket as best he can, struggling to focus, struggling to do anything, just like always. “Please.”

Anti’s eyes flutter shut. He dissipates again, power over-exerted in the corrupted forms he’s manifesting, no longer able to control his own tangibility.

Anonymous asked: There is no shame in how long it took you to realize Jackie. Abusers are good at disguising things, especially if they have the power to give you amnesia and change your brain. You have nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, especially not being neurodivergent or being afraid Heroes can be afraid too sometimes. Your brothers loved you as the old Jackie, and they love you now! You are their hero, and everything you've ever done has been to keep them safe. Don't lie down in fear Jackieboy!

Ro closes his eyes, trying to listen to you over the turmoil in his own brain.

“He made me forget,” he agrees. “He - he made me feel fond of him. I tried so hard to love him.”

“And still weren’t enough,” answers the broken version of himself.

“Well, maybe he was the problem!” cries Ro, letting Blue’s fiery warmth soothe against his palms. “Blue loves me even when I breakdown. Max thought I was someone worth spending months searching for. And my brothers forgave me for the things I did because I - I tried to get better. Not like him! I’m not!”

“You still failed them!” shouts his other self, gripping his shoulders. “You’re nobody’s hero! Just a burden to everyone around you! You were supposed to protect them, but you just watched! You let this happen!”

“I have a chance to save them now,” gasps Ro. “Don’t I have to try?”

aether-mae asked: Hey Marv, something I’ve learned recently is that hating yourself or feeling uncomfortable in your body is something that is confined to the moment, and can ease or change with time. Right now you feel this way but slowly with time and patience you can find the things that bring you one step away from those feelings. Think less about your ideal ‘fixed’ self and look more towards how you can make urself comfy in the moment, one step at a time

“There’s no comfort to be had from this,” snarls the Anti-Blue, eyes full of the same derision he’s seen in the mirror for days. “It’s your own fucking skin. No escape. No relief. Or Anti’s skin, more like it. You will never, never be rid of the feeling of him making your flesh his own. Just a fucking puppet.”

“I hate you!” screams Blue, striking his hand against the earth, but the cry, no matter how fierce, only seems to make that dark version of himself more tangible, its form straightening up and becoming less translucent while Blue sinks towards the ground, holding his head.

“You may as well give up.”

“I didn’t always hate myself like this,” sobs Blue. “I want to go back to that. Like they said. I want some comfort.”

“You will never get it.”

Anonymous asked: Don't fall back into his lies JJ! You are already free! Fight it, fight him as hard as he's forced you to fight others! Show him what 'carver' means, Jameson!

“How are we going to fight?” asks the other version, anguished. “Even if we could get away, what then? What will we do? We can’t touch others without being triggered. We’re scared of both open spaces and being locked away. We can talk to hardly anyone and none of our brothers even remember who we are! All we’ve been for years is Anti’s pet in the attic! We’re evil and we deserve to be locked away.”

“I’ve done bad things,” Dapper manages, his hands fumbling and tired. “But I… I don’t want to give up. I do want to fight.”

“As if. You don’t have the strength.”

Anonymous asked: You are not disgusting, Blue, you are not an object either. Don't let this bastard objectify and make you sick any longer. You are more than just caring for them, you are fire as well as flowers! You can be whoever you want as soon as you get away from him. You will be worthy of love and happiness no matter who you are, no matter if it's Blue or Marvin or anyone you wish! You are beauty and danger together as one! Show this bastard who's boss, wonderful magician.

“I’m not disgusting,” whispers Blue, trying to pound it into his head. “I’m not, I’m - I’m not. That’s a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” snarls the other self.

“No, it is,” gasps Blue, determined now. “I know it because that’s the same sort of bullshit Anti would always tell my brothers. That they’re broken, somehow, because they’re different and because they’ve been through shit that hurt them. Well, I - I don’t believe it about them. I won’t believe it about me. I won’t.”

He pulls at his hair, eyes gritted shut. He can’t make himself stop hating the way he looks and feels right now, but he can’t give up either. They need him!

Anonymous asked: You are enough Jackie! Being autistic doesn't make you less than, don't let that ableist bastard warp your thoughts! You're more than enough to protect your brothers, everything you've ever done for them has been an effort to protect and take care of them! You've beat him to ashes before and you're strong enough to do it again, you brave, tremendous hero!

Ro hears Blue’s words faintly from a few meters away. Isn’t this what Blue has told him before? That he’s not less because he’s different or because he breaks down sometimes? If Blue won’t believe it about himself, well - Ro has to try not to believe it about himself either.

“Cause we fight side-by-side!” he cries, striking the earth, and flame bursts against the grass. “I was manipulated for a long time, but I remember what Dap said. I needed time, but I never stopped trying to protect them. And I won’t fucking stop now!”

“No, just surrender!” screams the Anti-Red.

“Why? Huh? Why, cause you don’t think I’m worth it? Cause you don’t think I can handle it?”

“Because we’re afraid!” cries the shadow, grabbing his shoulders. “We’re afraid, I’m afraid!”

Red feels his heart pounding so hard he’s scared he might die. It’s true. He is. Jackie would never be this afraid…

“We’re not Jackie,” sobs the shadow. “We’re just… just… the brokenness that remains.”

Anonymous asked: You are strong enough, Jameson. You are powerful, and wonderful. You can heal if you give yourself time being free! You need to show yourself kindness and fight the words of this asshat. Anyone can heal and work through their triggers with time and therapy, but you can never start healing if you don't get away from him. Remember, you are a strong, capable, powerful man who deserves freedom and happiness.

“I deserve a chance to heal,” his hands whisper.

His eyes are closed. He’s bent over himself as though kneeling.

“I deserve a chance to be free. To be happy. The chance that Anti took from me…”

In his pocket, pictures of times when he was happy, if only for a moment. In his pocket, a torn prayer card. In his pocket, tickets to go back home.

“I’ve come so far,” he signs against his chest, bowed and exhausted. “I’m so tired.”

“If we were healthy, maybe then we could fight,” signs the Carver, grabbing his hair to force him to look at his hands. “But Anti’s ruined us permanently. We’re just ash now, Dapper.”

“Ash to ash,” signs Dapper weakly. “Dust to dust.”

“Don’t parrot Christianity at me like God gives a fuck.”

“I think everybody’s just ash sometimes,” says Dapper, almost dazed. “I… I think we’re all sinners. I’ve done bad things, but I deserve a chance to give back some goodness to the world. I want to be nice. I want to make other people happy. I want a chance to grow old. I have to fight for it.”

But, oh, he’s so tired. Carver’s hands rest on his back. Dapper sinks against the earth, unable to get up.

“You always know what you have to do,” signs Carver, derision in white eyes. “But you never have the strength.”

“No,” protests Dapper softly. “No.”

Anonymous asked: You can find comfort Blue! But comfort starts with learning to love yourself. You need to fight this self hatred, Anti wants you to hate yourself. The biggest spit in his face you can do would be to say "fuck it, I love myself!". You are powerful and magical, The Magnificent. Find freedom first, then we can work up to comfort. Right now, your family needs you to fight this! It wasn't your fault, not in the slightest, but right now you have a chance to fix it, get your family back!

“I can find comfort, I can find comfort.”

Azul is chanting it to himself, trying to get up off the ground.

“I can, I can. I can help them still. I can avenge them and protect them and love them, even through everything that follows. It hurts, I - I’m trying to keep fighting, but I - ”

He glimpses his own body. His filthy hands and his scars. His shirt too big on him and his hairy legs.

He’s on his knees, overwhelmed. Eyes full of tears, he looks over and sees Ro looking back, their misery reflected in each other’s faces.

Anonymous asked: Boys, this is a difficult battle, but remember you're not fighting it alone. All your brothers are here with you, see? You know each other, way better than some glitch bitch does. Draw from that!

Trick is holding Dok’s little body in his hands.

He’s shaking in the grass, consumed by his own thoughts and intrusive desires, desires that never seem to go away no matter how hard he fights. His corrupted self sits beside him, crying and crying, no longer able to keep up the fight.

Dok moves against his palm.

Soft and warm. Soothing. His tiny nails scrape against his fingers.

Trick sucks in a deep, desperate breath, heaving for air. His own fingers stop scratching so hard at his wrists, no longer trying to get the blood out.

And the fat, fuzzy little body of that rat, sick and tortured and exhausted - that rat, his brother, staggers its teetering way out of his pocket and comes crawling all the way up to sit between his neck and his shoulder, and comfort him.

“My brother,” croaks Trick.

Fuck, a rat. He’s a goddamn rat and he’s still comforting him through his pain.

That’s how much he loves him.

Trick cups his warm body against his neck, tears dripping down his face. Dok’s nose pokes lovingly at his cheek. He is already ready to fall asleep again, his big dark eyes sliding shut.

“It’s better to die than live,” cries Trick’s darkness.

Trick looks up at it. He sees his own face, his own faults, his own regrets, his own pain.

“Hey,” he whispers, dragging himself up. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

“It’s true!” cries the other version of himself. “The cameras are wrong! We’re alone. Who would want to fight for us? Nobody will ever love us.”

Trick stares down at his hands. There is a burn scar in his palm. He set a fire to keep his brother warm. Dok crawls into Trick’s hood, curling up against his neck, and Trick can feel him there, beside him, just like through every dark night that never seemed like it would end.

He looks up at the other version of himself, sobbing and scarred.

“We’re already loved,” he says. “And we always have been.”

He sits up. He reaches out.

And in that moment, Chase hugs Trick to his chest.

Anonymous asked: Blue, Ro, Dapper, you don't have to suffer alone! You're both worthy of love, respect and comfort, right now, regardless of what those shadows say. If you can't love yourselves right now, that's okay, you can get there later if you must, but right now, you can love each other. Would you ever want anything the shadows say to you being said to your brothers? Why would these poisoned words would only be true for you?

“Dap deserves everything,” Ro agrees in a croak.

“I don’t want to see Blue in pain anymore,” signs Dapper weakly.

“I need to get to Ro. I want him to feel okay.” Blue staggers to his feet, shoving at the shadow when it grabs him, baring its teeth as it pins him back on his knees. As he fights, he sees the others.

Dapper is tussling with Carver. Ro and his shadow watch each other warily, both self-soothing with the same motions. And Trick?

Trick -

Chase.

Chase is on his feet. The corrupted being is no longer beside him.

He looks back at Blue and reaches out for him.

aether-mae asked: I wanted to let u know, bud (any bud who needs to hear) that once anti is gone and you’re away from him things won’t instantly fix. They won’t fix a little and they certainly won’t fix a lot. Taking away the pressure doesn’t heal the wounds, only time and patience can do that. You need to be patient with ur selves, however long that will take and how ever it may happen, let it happen and don’t force healing

Blue reaches shakily out to touch the shoulder of this other version of him.

No. Not another version.

This is a part of him.

Chase takes his hand, trying to smile at him despite everything that’s happening. His perfect little brother. In so much pain of his own, and he chose to come over and help him. That’s how much he loves him.

Isn’t that worth something?

The shadowy being is disappearing from beneath Chase’s hands, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“It won’t really be gone,” says Chase. “These parts of ourselves still exist inside of us. Maybe they always will. But Blue, we will deal with them together. That’s the only way we can. We can’t fight them alone, but we are not alone.”

Blue touches his cheek.

Cups his little brother’s face, eyes full of tears.

“And we… we never will be again?” whispers Blue.

“Never,” swears Chase, just as soft. “You will always have my love.”

They move together the way that trees which grow side by side wrap together.

“I love you,” whispers Chase. “So much.”

“I love you too, Amata,” answers Marvin the Magnificent, drawing back to kiss his cheek. “Go help Ro, okay? I’ll get Dapper. It’s going to be okay. Not today, maybe, and not even tomorrow. But someday.”

Anonymous asked: Wrong, wrong wrong, and wrong again. You are Jameson motherfucking Jackson! You are the philosophizer, the violin player, the man braving our hallucinations in a safe laundry room, you are the most powerful magician in the world, a strong and capable adult man, and most importantly you are A FUCKING FREE MAN! Fight it, you know who you are, even through his breaking of your identity and his claws at your mind. JAMESON JACKSON, RISE UP AGAINST YOUR TORMENTOR!

Dapper can’t see past the blood. Can’t smell anything but copper. It’s in his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat. His face is wet - with tears, with the lifeblood, he doesn’t know. With both?

He can’t breathe.

He feels sick.

His heart is this fading, flickering thing in his chest, pounding so hard and so weak at the same time. He pukes into the grass, but Carver is still signing at him, still dragging him by the throat and head, still pouring venom into his head and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.

It never stops. It never stops. It never stops.

“Give up,” signs Carver. “Just lie down and die already. It’s what you’ve wanted for years now, isn’t it?”

“No,” signs Dapper shakily, trying to keep from crumpling into the grass. “No. I want to go home with my family and be happy and safe. I want to fight.”

“But you’re not strong enough.”

“You bet your ass he’s strong enough!” screams a voice of rage, like a clap of thunder from the sky, and vines burst from the earth and begin winding around Carver’s tortured body. “That’s my little brother and he’s my fucking hero!”

Dapper sobs aloud, reaching blindly for help. Warm arms encase him in a hug, in a shield, in a promise, and he feels their bodies rock in time, soothing, soothing.

“This is my little survivor!” cries Blue, kissing his face once, twice, all but ignoring the struggling Carver. “This is my fighter, my time traveler, my friend! Clever, powerful, kind, sly as a fox. My perfect darling. I’m here. I love you.”

“Don’t, no, please,” protests Dapper, and Marvin pulls back in surprise. “No, I don’t want you to touch me or kiss me. I’m so filthy. No one should ever touch me again.”

Prepared to draw back at a request for space, the explanation only makes Blue’s eyes harden with determination. He lunges forward again and wraps his brother in his arms so tight it makes Dapper cough, kissing his filthy, bloodied face and the side of his head over and over again.

“My darling, my love,” whispers Blue. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing dirty about you. Oh, Dap, don’t you know you deserve the whole world? You, little brother, have spent your life surviving Anti. In all his hatred, in all his cruelty, in all his lies and manipulation. You survived. You even fought, goddamn! This is the man who slapped him! This is the man who pulled so hard against those strings! And here you are now, my brother, still striving to get up from the ground. Sick and exhausted and still trying.”

He cups Dapper’s face and presses their foreheads together, letting his little brother ugly-cry in front of him and slump against his shoulder, truly worn, down to the heart of him.

“I will help you through everything that comes after this,” Marvin vows, rocking him against his chest. “Don’t be afraid of what we’ll have to deal with. We will deal with it together.”

“Please,” prays Dapper, nodding his head against him. “Yes, please, that has been my wish for so long, though there were times I did not even recognize the desire inside myself. Marvin, Marvin. Don’t let go.”

“Here I am, my heart. Here I am.”

Carver is slumped back against the grass, staring up at the sky with despair in his white eyes. Blue looks over at him and feels the urge to snuff this deranged version of his little brother out - but it is Jameson who stops him.

With the last of his strength, JJ gets to his knees and crawls over to where the vines bind that broken, hurting child tied up in string and coated in bloodshed. Tears well in JJ’s eyes and fall down on Carver, clearing, for a moment, the trails of blood away.

“We’re not going to be a prisoner anymore,” he says, reaching out for Blue’s hand. He presses the witch’s fingers to the vines and the string.

Blue understands his request without words. Glancing once more at JJ, he turns to the strings and let the vines grow careful thorns, tearing through the white lines which cut into his flesh.

The strings fall away.

Carver’s eyes clear. For a moment, they are blue instead of white, and he is looking up at the sun.

He disappears from view, fading into wisps of smoke.

Anonymous asked: Jackie was afraid sometimes too! Stop putting the past you on some pedestal, Ro, Jackie. Listen to me, you are the same person as the past you, you just have a little more hardship you've seen. And that only makes your stronger! Heros are allowed to be afraid, Jackie! Your fear doesn't make you weak, it pushes you to fight harder!!

“I can fight harder,” pants Ro, squaring up with this dark version of himself, this useless, pathetic version of himself. He hates it!

“I can fight harder,” he repeats, louder. “I can fight harder. I can fight harder! I can fight harder!”

He throws himself at his shadow with a howl, grabbing its shoulders and shoving it to the ground. He knows how to fight! The other him fights right back, yes, snarling and scratching at him, but Ro is past caring. Blood seeps out of his cheek from a long scratch along his face and when it drives its knee into his stomach, he stops breathing for a good thirty seconds, but never once does he stop fighting.

“I’m going to be a hero again! I can fight harder! I can fight til it fucking kills me if it keeps them safe! I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Red!” someone is screaming, grabbing at his arms. “Ro, stop, this isn’t helping!”

“I’ll destroy it! I’ll kill it like a bug! I can fight harder, longer, dirtier, I don’t care!”

He drives his thumbs into the double’s eyes just like Anti’s taught him to, feeling the juice squelch beneath his fingers.

“Stop! Ro, stop!”

Chase’s hands wrap around his own, tearing him away from the other being, which is too beat to rise again, groaning and sobbing with pain. Chase tears Ro back even as he screams and thrashes, trying to get up to attack it again.

“Lemme go! I’m going to keep you safe! I gotta make it up to you! I can fight! Don’t get rid of me! I’m useful, I’ll fight for you, I’ll protect you, let me show you!”

“Ro… Ro… stop, bud, just - shit, man… I’m here, okay?”

Ro is sobbing, striking the ground.

“Look at me,” he cries. “I can’t be what anyone needs me to be. I’m not warm or comforting like the rest of you. I’m not a medic or a magician or a problem-fixer. I’m just a dick.”

“Reddy, you just get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“It’s not that!” Ro howls, shaking his head against Chase’s chest. “I get these horrible thoughts. When I’m angry, I want to hurt people. I have hurt people. Not just my enemies, but the people I love too. I’ve done horrible things… to you, to Dapper, to anyone Anti sicked me on. You five deserve to be free and happy. I’m just a mean person with a horrible fucking temper. And yet I still spent so long cowering from Anti when I should have been angry for you. I forgot my own fiance… I’m a monster. Just like Anti.”

“That’s not true,” whispers Chase. “No, hey, don’t go protesting right away. It’s not true. Red… we’ve all done bad things. For different reasons - anything from mind control to having a bad day. It doesn’t make you a monster. Shit, Red, look at all of us. Look at all this baggage we’re all carrying. This darkness… it’s a part of all of us, Red.”

“What if mine’s worse than yours?” sniffles Ro, wiping at his face. “What if I’m genuinely a bad person?”

Chase is draping his weight over his shoulders, holding him tight.

“Ro. Bad people don’t change when they hurt someone else. Good people do. When they do bad things, they do everything they can to make it right. They try not to let it happen again. They apologize.”

“Then I’m sorry,” begins Ro. “For - ”

“Bro,” laughs Chase, hugging him tighter. “We already did that, remember? The only person who hasn’t forgiven you… is you, Red.”

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Ro, you don't need to be Jackie! You're enough, and worthy and deserving of love as Ro, as who you are right here and now. You don't need to be Jackie to be a hero, or help your brothers. You've already done so much good, Ro, and you're not a failure or a burden. It's okay to be afraid, this is really, really scary. They say courage isn't the absence of fear, but acting regardless. You can still fight afraid, but please remember you don't need to fight alone.

“Can I tell you something?” whispers Chase, cuddled up close to him. “Something I never even told Dok?”

Henrik pokes his little head out of Chase’s hoodie.

“Yeah, bud, what?” asks Ro. “Anything.”

Chase knocks their heads together, swaying gently against his back. “You were always kind of my hero.”

Ro starts. “What? You hated me! We fought all the time and I was awful to you.”

“You kept me and Dok fed,” says Chase. “Gave us blankets and medical supplies even when it meant you didn’t have enough for yourself. Took fucking beatings for us, Ro. Even when you thought I didn’t like you, you still laid yourself down for me and my twin all the fucking time.”

Ro is quiet beneath his hands, staring at his double, now panting against the ground. “I didn’t know you knew that I would… maybe give you more than I gave myself. Sometimes.”

“You starved for days sometimes for us,” says Chase, feeling his voice tremble a little. “We never told you no because you were in charge of us and you always told us to do what we were told so Anti wouldn’t be mad. But we knew, Ro. And when Blue came to stay with us and you started to get some joy back… I just felt sorry I hadn’t been the one to make you smile like that to begin with.”

Jackie chuckles wetly, swiping at his eyes. “You two were my only happiness when I couldn’t see Dapper. I didn’t think you’d ever like me, so I stayed away. But when I got a chance to see you happy or hear you laughing, I would hold on to it for days. It was what I lived for… the only thing I lived for. Protecting you. Making sure you ate. Making sure you stayed together. My twins in their nest in the corner, guarding me through the night.”

He threads his hand through Chase’s hair. A soft nose touches his hand and he laughs, reaching back to steal Henrik out of Chase’s hood. Body beginning to relax, Jackie closes his eyes and nuzzles his head against Henrik’s, stroking his round grey and white body with one hand.

“My healer and my guardian,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one more secret,” says Chase, sitting down beside him. “Dok and I talked it over, and we’ve come to an official consensus - we love you too.”

Ro closes his eyes, hugging both of them against his heart.

“And we want to make you happy too.”

They stare at that fading shadow on the ground for a long time. It won’t drain away completely.

“I’m still afraid,” whispers Ro. “That’s why it won’t go.”

“I’m afraid too,” says Chase. “Scared out of my mind. So is Dapper and Blue, and maybe even Dok, but he’s just a sleepy little guy right now. But Ro, I think they’re right. I think Jackie was scared too. And he was still my hero.”

“You didn’t know Jackie,” laughs Ro.

But Chase doesn’t laugh. His face is serious.

“No,” he says. “But I see him in you. And that, Jackie - that has always been true. My big brother. Being scared together - that’s what families do.”

Ro rises slightly, getting to his knees and looking down at the other Red. He thought he saw weakness in him, weakness and anger and a threat. Now, all he sees is fear. His own fear.

He doesn’t want to hate himself for it anymore.

Jackie watches the other being fade away.

nikkilbook asked: Oh, Jackie. How many times are we gonna do this? In Norway, when we first met Red, the first thing I realized? Was that Red did what he did to draw the fire. You kept your brothers quiet and in line, so that if anything bad happened, you were the odd one out. You drew Anti’s fire. Maybe you don’t have any of what makes your brothers special. What you do have is love. Even if it comes through out of focus, you love, Jackieboy. You love with a love that always tells the truth. Lies do not become you. You do not become lies.

And all this talk of “you’ll fight til it kills you”? Frick that noise. You’d crash like a falling star if one of your brothers gave their lives—what makes you think they’d mourn you any less if you were gone? What makes you worth less? What makes you any less important or cherished or loved? I’ll say what I’ve said to you in a different life—you’re a trauma victim, not a bread loaf.

Stand up, Jackieboy. Be afraid, be overwhelmed, be uncertain of what to do with your own thoughts—but stand up, just one more time.

“You draw the fire for everyone,” says Chase, cupping Ro’s warm, gloved hand, where a small blue flame flickers. “Sometimes literally.”

Jackie laughs softly. He turns at the sound of crunching grass and sees Blue and Dapper walking towards him - or, more accurately, Blue walking towards him with his little brother in his arms. Immediately concerned, Jackie reaches out for him, and a moment later, Blue settles JJ into his arms.

“What’s going on?” he asks, brushing Dapper’s hair from his face. “He’s still sick?”

“He hasn’t had any good rest,” says Blue softly. “And yes, I think still a little sick. He’s not feeling up to walking. Maybe as he calms down he’ll feel a little better, but right now I think he’s just overwhelmed physically and emotionally. He’s not a healthy guy, really.”

Jackie holds JJ’s head against his heart. “We have to get him somewhere he can rest.”

“We have to all get somewhere to rest,” says Blue. “They’re right about you… always worried about everyone else. You try to tell me that’s a mean person.”

Jackie smiles gently, turning away with a slight tint of pink in his face.

“We’re not fighting til death today if we can help it,” says Blue, kneeling down beside him and pulling him into a hug. Close to his ear, he murmurs, “don’t you know it would kill me to watch you die for me?”

Jackie just hugs him back, closing his eyes. Chase is pressed against them a moment later, squishing all three of them in close around JJ.

Dok peeks out of Chase’s hood, poking at Blue’s face.

“And how’s my poor Deutsch?” asks Blue, immediately starting to baby over him again, patting and stroking him. “Shit, Chase, how long will he be like this?”

“I don’t know, it was his magic necklace.”

“Well, at least it makes it easier to move him around. He and Dap are going to need a lot of recovery time… all of us, really.”

“Don’t go just yet,” mumbles Ro, pulling Blue and Chase back into the hug and making them laugh.

“Is this… done, then?” asks Chase. “Did we scare Anti off? Because - ”

A gunshot. Chase hears one of his brothers scream. Jackie’s on his feet, Dapper in his arms. Everyone’s moving. Everything’s loud. Chase’s head spins. Someone drags him standing upright and they’re sprinting towards the trees for cover, shouting and calling for each other.

Red and Blue shove their younger brothers behind the fallen body of a great tree, tucking them into the side.

“Stay here!” shouts Jackie, touching Chase’s face and placing the slingshot and fighting staff down beside him. “Protect them. I love you.”

“I love you,” agrees Blue, leaning in to kiss Chase’s cheek before summoning his power and turning away. “We’ll handle this.”

“Guys,” cries Chase, his heart shaking. “No, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

They’re already racing off towards the figure in the yard.

“Oh, holy shit,” breathes Chase, his hands taking up the tremble as it spreads. “I tried to warn him… Anti…”

Anti can no longer be mistaken for a human being.

His body seems to drip coding and black gunk, making the air around him distorted and wavering as the air above hot pavement in the summer. Most of his body is consumed in glitching. What can be seen is no longer opaque, perhaps not even tangible. His eyes glare straight ahead, blank and unseeing, his mouth flat and unfeeling. His whole body glitches and for a moment, he can be seen screaming. In his hand, Dok’s gun.

“I’m here, guys, I’m here,” breathes Chase to JJ and Henrik, shakily loading a stone into the slingshot. “Please… please don’t let them get hurt.”

Anti feels his thoughts from meters away, eyes sliding shut.

“I should have killed you all the day I found you,” he whispers, in a voice layered and faltering, and he drops the gun aside, and draws out a knife instead.

He is the movement of the fire, the leap and bound of it, the blaze. He has strength again and courage, too, in the face of all his own fear. Blue is beside him. This is all that matters.

They fight.

There is no way to ward off something that moves as fast as Anti does in most circumstances, but now Jackie burns with heat and fire and Anti stumbles as he transports, sometimes forced to fall to his side for a moment of rest. Blue always presses these advantages. Anti screams as brambles wind around his neck, cutting deep as they can go, and struggles to get back to his feet, tearing at the thorns.

“Choke on them,” shouts Blue, leaping at him and pinning him down. Anti draws his legs back and kicks Blue hard in the chest, throwing him off and glitching away again. He makes a swipe at Jackie from behind and suffers a burn even when Jackie dodges away, his older brother following up with a swing of a fiery fist at his head. Anti stumbles away, recovering with a flip of his knife that sends it spinning towards Jackie. It’s Jackie’s turn to fall to the ground, throwing himself away hard enough to fall.

“Where’s all that power now?” hollers Blue, jumping right over Jackie to leap at Anti again, plants tearing from the ground, catching fire and throwing dirt into the air. “Where’s the snide comments and the mockery? The death threats and the flashy tricks? Where’s the dog, Anti? Where’s the wolf bite, huh?”

Anti turns his head and coughs, pixels and gunk flooding down his lips. He glitches back, panting, as Jackie gets to his feet.

“You were jokes when you were created!” shrieks Anti. “At least Jack gave a fuck about me being frightening and strong! You two are pathetic. A onesie and a Game Grumps cape - he never even tried.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we, unlike you, have the presence of mind to realize Jack is in the past,” answers Jackie, his flame turn brighter as the heat increases. “This is now, and you can’t stop us.”

For a second, Anti’s head snaps towards the trees to his right, his flashing eyes going wide and his mouth parting.

“Dark? Is that you?” He takes a shaky step forward, head whirling. “You came to get me?”

There’s no one in the trees but the others. If Dark is there, hidden from all sight but that of another monster, they do not act.

“Just surrender, Anti,” says Jackie.

“No,” snaps Blue. “Let him keep fighting til he destroys himself all over again.”

He races forward, palms full of aconite.

And Jackie -

Jackie falls back.

He remembers what Jack told him.

He turns and picks up a camcorder dropped in all the commotion. He makes sure you can see.

Anonymous asked: get 'em guys!! your audience is here with you, we are here with you.

“Are we really going to hurt him?” Jackie pants, finding himself back-to-back with Blue as they circle, warding off blows from Anti. “It’s like he’s losing it. He’s weak.”

“Yeah, we’re going to fucking hurt him,” spits Blue. “Remember everything he’s done to us, Ro.”

“I don’t want revenge, I just want my family to be safe from him. We - where’d he go?”

There’s a moment of silence as they stare around them, waiting for Anti to leap out of the flame-licked trees. Then Ro hears Trickshot screaming from a few meters away.

“Oh, that’s fucking it,” he roars, tearing through the foliage towards them. He tackles Anti the moment he sees him trying to bring his blade down on his little brothers, slamming the glitch into the ground. Anti tries to transport away, but Jackie’s hands are digging into simulated flesh and Anti doesn’t seem to have the strength to tear off.

“Stop it!” he screams, finally throwing Jackie aside and leaving a dark gash across his stomach. Jackie grunts in pain, gripping at the hot wound as his blood comes forth. He gets back up to his feet and starts after Anti again, grabbing him with hands full of fire. Anti shrieks from the pain, his form melting like plastic where he’s touched.

“You’re hurting me, Red, you’re hurting me!” Anti wails, tearing at his hands. “Stop, stop!”

He transforms weakly, making himself look like Dapper, complete with soft curls falling into his face and sad blue eyes. Jackie falters and Anti swipes again, tearing a second line into his chest. The stone of a slingshot whips through the air and strikes Anti’s head so hard Jackie sees the blood burst into the air for a moment as Anti crashes to the ground, gasping and clutching at his skull.

He tries to get up. His eyes roll. He crawls away on his back, panting roughly and trying to see as his vision blurs and his head throbs with pain. He blinks blearily at the log of the fallen tree and sees Trick staring back at him, face ashen, the slingshot in his hands.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, he won't stop. Even now, at his weakest, he's taking advantage of your emotions and the love you have for each other. Killing for vengeance is one thing, (and we could talk morality all day and still not come to a proper conclusion on mercy vs consequence but I digress) but killing out of self defense might be a necessity if all of this is to truly stop for good.

Anti pulls out a knife and throws, but his aim is shot and his hand is unsteady. The blade goes flying past Jackie and clatters to the ground.

“You’re really done for, huh?” asks Jackie softly, staring at him.

Anti drags himself to his knees, reaching for another knife. He’s shape-shifting wildly - losing control, Jackie can see - and he looks like a different version of Jack or of them with every moment that passes. The rapid shifting only seems to make him feel more ill. He struggles to get up, but then dandelions and creepvine are exploding from the earth, wrapping him up so tight Jackie hears him begin to wheeze, splitting the wound on his throat and crawling inside. Jackie closes his eyes, nauseated. It’s not a sensory issue this time - Anti just sounds like one of his brothers, choking and crying in pain.

“Fuck, fuck,” whispers Jackie. Blue comes to stand beside him, staring down at Anti.

Anti lets out a fragile scream, and then another, fighting clumsily against the plants that pin him down, trying so hard to glitch that Jackie is scared he will burst into pixels and fall apart completely. His energy is drained and his face has gone shock-white, but still he writhes, looking up at the pair of them with something like terror in his eyes. For a moment, he is a snake, a dog, a bird, a person again. He keens in pain, blood slicking his face from the wound Trick put in his skull.

“This is horrible,” cries Trick, getting to his feet and coming to stand beside his brothers, putting hands on both their shoulders. “Please, make it stop.”

Something flickers behind Anti. Blue grabs Trick, ready to shield him from one last battle as something appears on the ground in front of them, but nothing attacks.

“Jack, Jack,” cries a weak, warbling, glitch-broken voice. A shadowy version of Anti sits behind the imprisoned one of the ground, his hands reaching out. “Sean, help me, I’m sorry, don’t go.”

His throat is wrapped up in bandages. He’s clutching a pumpkin in his lap, a knife sticking out the side, and as they watch, his form begins to sprout feathers, clawing their way out of his skin. The other Anti cries out in pain, pulling on his soft green hair.

On the ground, Anti has gone frighteningly still, his eyes dropping as the blood lists out of him. His fingers twitch around his last blade.

“He’s passing out,” mumbles Trick.

“He didn’t mean to manifest that,” says Blue. “He just doesn’t have control over his magic anymore. Look at him. It’s all his fear and insecurity brought to the surface at last. Not that he was ever very good at hiding it.”

“Jack?” The other Anti is staring up at Trick. He coughs and there’s blood on his throat and fear in his eyes. “Why won’t you help me? Please, please. I’m scared. Don’t let me get stuck again! I don’t want to be an animal! I can’t move!”

Feathers tear his face apart and he howls, scraping at his skin. Trick’s chest heaves and he moves forward, but Blue grabs him and holds him away.

“I’m sorry, Tricky,” he says quietly, keeping him back. “You know we gotta do this. Ro?”

Jackie stares down at hands full of fire. He looks back at both Anti’s. His chest shakes.

Clapping draws their attention and all three of them turn to see JJ shaking his head and signing at them.

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” he begs. “Let him go with Dark. He promised Red this would be the last time he tried to make us his servants.”

“He will never stop following us!” shouts Blue. “He will never stop trying to hurt us! You know that!”

“I can’t watch this,” weeps Dapper. “My brother.”

They have been together since the day he was born.

Anonymous asked: We hear you JJ, but Marvin's right. If you let Anti go, he'll be back with a vengeance as soon as he heals - if not to enslave you all again, then to kill you all one by one. There's no way he'd let this go. This is painful and traumatic, and you have the right to feel like you do, but Anti is not your brother. Your brothers are beside you, protecting you, loving you. That writhing creature before you is not your brother. It is a monster who has only ever tried to break you down.

Dapper covers his eyes, pressing his head against his knees. He’s too sick to deal with this right now, unmedicated and running a fever.

“They’re right,” says Blue softly, reaching out to take Jackie’s hand. “Ro. Come on, okay? He’s in pain anyway. He’s ruined himself. He won’t recover from this, not really. End him.”

Jackie steps close to Anti.

His monster is lying on the ground, still. One green eye slides open and stares up at him. His mouth moves like he might speak, but nothing comes out.

“Anti?” asks Jackie.

Anti’s throat bobs. He closes his eyes. Jackie’s palms fill with fire.

And extinguish again.

“I can’t do it,” he says, backing away. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m big brother. But I can’t do it.”

He turns away and goes to Dapper’s side. They wrap around each other and breathe.

“Blue?” asks Trick anxiously.

Blue is staring down at Anti, chest heaving, face stony.

“Why do none of you want to do it?” he asks. “Don’t you know I’m right?”

Chase blinks down at Anti, a little sick to his stomach.

“I think you are right,” he answers hollowly.

“Great, then go for it,” says Blue, turning to him. “Look, Dok’s right there with you. If he were human, he’d be telling you the exact same thing I am.”

It puts a little fire in Trick’s blood. He coughs like he can expel the sickness from his stomach and reaches down to take the knife from Anti’s hand.

And suddenly, he wants to do it. He wants to. Oh, fuck. So bad it hurts.

He remembers everything since the first time he was reset, remembers torture and barbed words, remembers getting slapped for kissing a girl, being trapped for his suicide attempt, being forced to pull triggers on people he didn’t want to kill. He remembers, most of all, every fucking time he saw Dok cut, bruised, beaten, crying, hurt - all because of Anti.

“All because of you,” hisses Chase, tears pouring down his face. He flips that knife in his hand and grips it tight. “You, goddamn it.”

“Jack,” asks the shadow Anti, its arms wrapped around itself. “Jack, please.”

He thinks it’s him. His creator.

Chase sobs and drops the knife, turning bitterly away, hands clenched into fists. Blue stares at his brothers, face cold. But he doesn’t move.

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Dapper, you've known Anti as long as you've been alive. Do you really think he'll keep his word? You know how long and intense his obsession with Jack has been, do you truly believe he'll be able to let you all go and live without him after all this time? Also, would any of you ever be able to feel safe, knowing he could find you and try to capture or hurt you again?

Trick circles back to Blue, touching his shoulder. “Let’s just call Dark to come get him, Blue. We can’t do it. I know he’s hurt us, but he… he was one of us for a long time. Or we thought he was. We all tried to love him. Some of us… some of us still do.”

“That’s not true,” says Blue flatly. “We didn’t all try to love him.”

Chase squeezes his shoulder, face softening with sympathy. “Blue, it’s okay to admit. We did it because we’re loving people. That’s not wrong. You weren’t wrong. But look… you can’t do it, right?”

Blue doesn’t move.

“None of us can,” sighs Chase, scraping his fingers through his hair. “We… we’ll have to figure it out from here, buddy. And the cameras, I - I’m sorry to you guys too. I know you’re probably seeing clearer than we are right now, but none of us can do it. I definitely can’t.”

Blue is still.

Chase sighs again and lets him go, turning back to the others.

“Maybe you can’t,” says Marvin, and he grabs that knife off the ground, and he stabs Anti, once, twice, thrice, even as his brothers let out screams of alarm, who cares, it’s all in the background, they don’t try to stop him despite their weak little cries, so all that matters is this, is the faint way that Anti’s last sobbing scream shudders from his throat, in the hot spluttering flood of something not-quite blood, is the writhing beneath his fingers, and he stabs, and he stabs, until he has gotten past the chest, yes, dug it open and gotten past the ribs, until his hands are full of blood and he finds, between his fingers, a simulated mass of muscle meant to be something almost like a heart.

Can you tear your eyes away? Some of you are watching. I know that for a fact because, in that moment, Anti’s life passes out of him, and his glazed green eyes stare up at the merciless sun, and he is dead without a final word to mark his passing.

Marvin can hear himself laughing aloud.

“I fucking told you,” he spits, crushing blood and muscle between his hands. “I promised you from the beginning, you goddamn parasite - I will kill you for what you’ve done to my family.”

No answer. No answer from anyone. Overhead, the fluttering of birds.

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Is this Anti's end? We are ready and watching. You deserve to be free, and we will be here to support you, whatever happens.

Free. Yes. Free. Marvin’s laughing, clutching his shoulders. No more. No more. Free.

“You are never going to get under my skin again!” he screams, drawing back that blade again. “You are never going to torture my friends and then leave them with me to care for while they cry for mercy! You are never going to hit us, you are never going to possess us, you are never going to hurt my family again! You - ”

Warm arms wrap around him, pinning him as much as hugging him, and someone wrestles the blade from his hand before he can stab anything else. He lets out a scream without even knowing why, so loud it sends deer dancing away for miles, and lets his body slump back against the one beside him.

“My twin, my twin,” Ro is whispering, rocking them in time, pressed close together. “It’s over, okay? We’re okay. Look at us, Blue. We’re all okay. Or - or alive, okay? We’re all alive. I’m here. Blue. I’m here.”

Blue closes his eyes, light-headed.

“I don’t regret it!” he cries out, because it’s important to say.

“I’m here,” Jackie repeats softly, again and again, until Blue is breathing clearly again. “Just rest. I’m here.”

Anonymous asked: It's over?

Trick and Dapper stand together a few feet from their siblings, staring. Trick feels numb. He reaches for his hood and finds Dok fast asleep despite all the commotion, exhausted from all that’s happened. Trick doesn’t know if he’s okay. He rubs his thumb over his twin’s back and some of his soft grey fur falls away, leaving a patch behind.

“I think I need to get him back to the house before he transforms,” mumbles Chase.

It’s true, but it doesn’t really address the fact that Dapper is standing beside him on shaking legs, sobbing so hard he makes no sound at all.

Jackie turns back to them, looking eerily calm, though his eyes have a sort of desperate shock which manifests in a slight tremble in his hands.

“Get them both back to the house,” he says flatly, face pale. “Blue, come on, you go with.”

He pulls his twin to his feet, holding his hands. “I need you to look after them,” he says,squeezing his hands gently. “Focus on that right now, okay?”

“What - what do I do?” coughs Blue, wiping at his teary face.

“You know how to take care of them. It’ll be okay. Get everyone cleaned up and fed and bandaged. Try to find Dap’s medicine and help Trick take care of Schneep. Then you go through the house and you get absolutely everything that you think we can pawn or sell. There’s enough in this house to keep us going for a while. Pack bags with clothes and all their things and all the food that can travel. Put out some food and water in case Noodle comes back. Lock all the doors and stay out of the forest. It’s going to be okay, alright? Can you do all that?”

“Yes, Roser.” Marv tries to catch his breath again. Tries to be strong for the others. “What will you do?”

Jackie’s eyes flicker to the body on the ground.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” asks Marvin weakly. “You’ll have to…”

“I’ll start a pyre,” says Jackie softly. “Just go, okay? You shouldn’t all be here for this.”

Blue sniffles and nods, glancing back at the others. He knows he has to get them back to the house. Has to look after them. Anti may have been the one who told him it was his place to care for everyone else, but right now, it’s what he wants to do for them. His family.

“Be careful,” whispers Blue, leaving him with a squeeze of the hands. “Come back as soon as it’s done.”

Jackie nods and watches as his siblings walk away. He sees Dapper turn his gaze back, his eyes red with crying.

Jackie doesn’t move for a long time.

The ground is dark with ash. He never let the fire blaze out of control, but he’s burned the earth and the trees for meters around his feet, leaving everything warm and silent. Soon it will be cold and silent.

The body will be too. In fact, leaning down, Jackie finds that Anti’s skin is already chill as frog skin to the touch. Jackie wonders if he was ever warm to the touch at all. He seems to remember his hands being cold every time he struck him.

“I meant it.”

His voice is the only sound in the clearing.

“I would have loved you with all that I am.”

Anti’s still face does not answer. In death, he looks very small. He’s beautiful in a way that hurts Jackie down to the heart of him, beautiful like all his siblings are beautiful.

Jackie scoops that body up, and there, in the woods, he lets Anti’s body burn.

“Over,” he reads your question softly, staring as the pyre burns. “Over, I guess… I guess this is what over is.”

The fire crackles. The wind breathes.

Over.

Anonymous asked: Dapper, honey, I know this is hard, but you have to let them do this. Anti will never leave you alone. He has to die or you can never be free. Find acceptance in this fact: you will never be free from him until he has died. All the happiness you deserve will never come to you. You must let him go, let go of the attachment, and see, as you always have, his true nature. You know his anger better than anyone. He will never leave you free and happy. You're just a prisoner to him.

“Is this freedom?” cry his white hands.

“Shh, baby, shh.”

He’s sitting in the bathtub in the master bedroom, still crying his heart out. Blue is cleaning him with a washcloth, stroking clean, warm water across his face and lathing the blood from his hands.

“You killed him,” sobs Dapper. “He was already beaten, Blue. He promised Red that would be the last time.”

“He doesn’t keep his promises, angel,” sighs Blue. “Come on, Dap, I’m so tired… just let me get everyone cleaned up, okay? I thought you were fighting with us. You poor thing, you’re so hot. Do you know where Anti put your medicine? We can’t find it anywhere.”

“I was with you - I am with you. But that was - I didn’t want - and now I - I - ”

“Dap, Dap,” whispers Blue, cupping his chin. “You’ve got to just try and rest for now.”

Dapper hugs himself, red eyes staring straight ahead as he lets Blue clean him. He covers his eyes as he cleans his hair. He takes his time despite his exhaustion, getting every inch of filth and blood out of his baby brother’s skin and soothing at the heat in his head. Dapper closes his eyes.

“Okay, come on,” murmurs Blue when fifteen minutes have gone by. “Let’s get you out.”

Wordlessly, Dapper lets himself be pulled from the bath. Blue towels him down with the fluffiest towel he can find hanging up and wraps him in a fuzzy green bathrobe stolen off the hook on the door. Dapper shivers and hugs himself, sniffling.

Blue takes his hand and kisses the side of his head. “I’m going to try and find some food,” he says. “And then we’ll get you all tucked up in bed so you can rest.”

“Do I have to stay up here?”

“No, honeybee. You’ll come stay with us. We’ll all be together now. Okay?”

Dapper stares at the floor.

“Okay,” he signs finally.

“I’ll be back in a few,” says Blue gently.

He leaves him alone.

Dapper sinks to the floor of the bathroom, water dripping off of him, and he doesn’t speak for a long time.

Free.

Is this free?

He had thought it would feel better.

He drags himself back to the bedroom and he crashes onto the bed, sobbing into the pillows. Anti does not come and lie beside him.

Anonymous asked: Trick, how are you? Is Henrik human again? This can't be easy, so I hope you can support each other through whatever happens next.

“Hey,” Chase whispers, picking up the closest camera and pressing it into his brother’s hands. “Look, the cameras are here. You love the cameras. Do you want to talk to them?”

Only soft, shallow breathing answers. The hands he places you in do not wrap around the body of the camera.

“Dok, look at me, look at me,” pleads Chase. You see his side moving as he leans forward, murmuring reassurances. “You’re okay now, Deutsch. I’m going to look after you. Don’t be scared.”

“Trick?”

He turns around and his movement knocks you to the ground. You clatter to the ground and there is Henrik.

“He’s not doing well?” asks Blue, his voice starting to shake.

He isn’t doing well, no. He’s human, at least, but about as white as the rat was, with blue circles under his eyes and a terribly blank look in his face. He’s just staring, straight ahead. Trick strokes his hair, but Dok doesn’t respond.

“He - he gets like this sometimes,” croaks Chase. “He’ll snap out of it.”

“Is this because we turned him into a rat?”

“No, he was all silent and frozen beforehand too. Dok, Dok, come on, you’re scaring Blue.”

Blue doesn’t even deny it. He hurries forward to stand over him where he’s lying in bed, pulling his blankets away.

“Oh, no,” he whispers. “He’s… this was torture, Trick, this was… this… intentional and - these will all scar and he must be in so much pain, oh, we - we need to go to the hospital! We’ll walk again, can you carry him? Come on, we - ”

“No,” cries Chase, bending over his brother’s body. “No, I’m his nurse. I’ll handle it, okay?”

“Let me help you. He needs to get cleaned up.”

“You need to go look after Dapper and please, Blue, make something to eat. We need food and water more than anything. I promise, I can look after him. I’ve… treated worse.”

Blue touches his shoulder, his fingers shaking.

“Just go get me all the first aid stuff, okay?”

“Okay,” whispers Blue. “Okay. He… he’ll survive?”

“Just go get me all the first aid stuff.”

Anonymous asked: Chase! How's you and Henrik doing? Has he turned back from the mouse form now?

“Yeah, yeah, we’re… good. We’re okay. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. He gets like this sometimes. Don’t you, buddy? Yeah. The cameras have seen you like this before. They know. You’re okay. Just take your time. I’ll look after you.”

Henrik is wounded and weak.

“I’ll look after you. I will. I’ll be okay tonight so you can get through this. We’re going to be okay.”

As Chase adjusts that unmoving body and begins to help put him back together, you can see the cost of their freedom littered across his skin. Chase does not cry, though his mouth shakes. He stitches his brother together. Soothes bruise cream over black and blue injuries. Brings him painkillers and antibiotics and helps him swallow them with cool water. Cleans him from head to toe with a washcloth and redresses him in a clean grey t-shirt and soft pj pants.

And even an hour and a half later, when there’s nothing left to be done, Chase is still right there, lying beside him, hugging him against his body and speaking to him.

Chase always bore a resemblance to Jack, but so did all of the others. If you want to know why Anti always saw more of their creator in him, it was this one ability of Chase’s: the ability to speak comfort for hours on end. The words don’t have to mean anything. He’s there.

“And I won’t go,” he whispers, watching Henrik drift off to sleep beside him. “I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

Anonymous asked: It's not over. Anti may be over, but you're all still here. Together, breathing, living. What comes next may not be easy and processing everything is going to take an ungodly amount of time. The future will be scary but it's already brightening up and eventually, I believe you'll all be shining again. I hope you know that too.

Blue stares out the kitchen window as he waits for apple crisp to bake in the oven, his eyes watery and exhausted. In the other room, he can hear Trick soothing his brother, and he lets everyone’s words of comfort wash over him and hold him steady. Hope and comfort and love and bright futures. He did what he had to do. His eyes well up and the tears run over. He curses softly and brushes them away, mouth trembling. When he can see again, Jackie is walking across the lawn towards the house, leaving dark trees behind.

Marvin gives a dry sob. He tears open the back door and he runs out to meet his twin. Jackie scoops him up and lifts him off the ground. In the grass, beneath the sun, Jackie holds him and does not let go.

“I love you,” cries Marvin.

“I love you too,” answers Jackie, so fiercely his voice could turn tides in the other direction. “And we will survive this - together.”

Marvin’s arms wrap tight around him. They are pressed in close to each other, breathing in sync, in harmony, together.

They do not let each other go for a long time.

Anonymous asked: Marvin, you did what you set out to do. I'm proud of you. You're not out of the woods just yet and God, none of us could have predicted what's become of you and your brothers since that first day but... we're on the other side. A little worse for wear all around, but strong nonetheless. I really don't know what I can say, it's hard to pinpoint where you are in your head sometimes but I hope you know that walking by your side was worth it. And whatever comes next, we'll remain here as long as you need us.

“I don’t know where I am in my head,” laughs Blue frailly. “I… I don’t know what to do with myself. But thank you. Yeah, I… I just… I just want us to move on. I don’t know what to do.”

“How about for now,” murmurs Jackie. “We just go get some food and have a nap.”

Blue laughs again, soft and broken. He hugs his brother one more time.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

And that’s what they do.

They bring a camera along and they get the apple crisp out of the oven, adding stale chips and canned green beans for their lunch. They fill up cups of water and go back to their room, where they find Trick and Dok dozing on the bed.

Blue goes to bring Dapper downstairs too, to get him fed and look after him.

“I just want to be alone right now,” Dapper tells him.

Marvin blinks, touching his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks carefully. “Do you feel - ”

“Don’t worry,” Dapper signs back, face grey with fatigue. “I’m okay. I just really want to be alone right now.”

Marvin sets a plate and some water beside his bed, feeling a flutter of unease. “You’re sure?”

“Leave me with a camera,” recommends Dapper. “Then they can tell you if I’m in trouble. But yes, Blue, I’m sure. Please, I… I just want to… just to be alone.”

“We’re right downstairs if you need us.”

“I know.”

He leans down to kiss him again, but Dapper pushes him away and hides under the blankets of the bed. Blue draws back, worried. He gets his bear out of his backpack and sets it down on the pillow beside him, and then he goes back downstairs.

He finds Trick and Red cuddled up close, sharing green beans and talking quietly, warm under the blankets of the bed. Blue lets out a low, fluttering sigh. Food and togetherness and a feeling of safety at long last… it’s what this was all for.

He closes his eyes. For a moment, he just breathes.

The other side, at long last.

“Thank you,” he whispers to you.

Then he goes and joins his brother, and warm arms wrap around him, and he thinks, just maybe, that things will be okay.

Anonymous asked: (Oh god, oh no. Please... please tell me noodle is going to be okay. I'm going to be wrecked if anything happens to this baby)

That’s when there’s a knock on the door.

It’s almost comical how fast Chase, Jackie, and Marvin all shoot up in bed. Henrik’s first expression in several hours is vaguely judgemental.

“Who is it?” Jackie asks you, voice soft and dangerous.

Outside the front door, a familiar man in a grey hood, shifting nervously in his unlaced running shoes. He is carrying a box.

Jackie slides towards the door, picking up his fighting staff. When he sees Shep, his posture relaxes, but not entirely. Slowly, he opens the door, holding his weapon beside him.

“Uh,” says Shep, trying to smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” answers Jackie cautiously, lifting an eyebrow.

“Um, I kind of expected Anti to answer. Wasn’t sure if I should come at all. Hope you guys are getting things figured out. But, uh, I just wanted to apologize for what happened. The viewers asked me for a favor, so, uh… here.”

He hands the box to Jackie. Jackie pushes aside the top and -

“Noodle!”

It’s Chase, sprinting towards them from all the way on the other end of the hall.

“My cat! My cat!”

He goes crashing into Jackie and steals the box from him in one swoop, pulling his kitten out and hugging him tight against his chest, tears running down his cheeks. Noodle beeps and meows, taking a moment to adjust before tilting his head up and beginning to lick Chase’s beard like nothing has changed in the whole world.

“Thank you!” cries Chase, covering his cat in kisses, so overwhelmed he thinks he might just keel right over. “Thank you so much! My cat, my cat. Oh, Noodle, I missed you so much…”

He sees Marvin smiling nearby. Jackie speaks with Shep, thanking him and telling him about their plans. Noodle meows and snuggles up close to him, warming him, comforting him. Chase cries into his fur.

Maybe things will turn out okay after all.

Anonymous asked: Death never feels like the correct way to end things. When there's hope and love and trust and promise of change in the world, death just seems too final a consequence. But Anti was a denier of all those good things, and sought to replace them with spite and animosity and hopelessness. I know none of these words will help you all feel better but... I understand the sense of loss all the same, justified or not. Mourn how you need to mourn, feel how you need to feel. And hold tight to each other.

Dapper sits upstairs, alone.

Fuck, the room is quiet. The room is so quiet. Not that it was ever very loud up here, but damn.

“It wasn’t the correct way to end things,” he tells you. “He could have… he could have… I could have…”

But the truth is, he knows you’re right, and he knows Blue’s right, and he knows, he knows, he knows.

He buries his face in his hands, shuddering.

You watch him get to his feet and head into the bathroom. The thick smell of the lotions and bath salts fill his nose until nothing else is distinguishable. He sits down against the side of the tub and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t have the strength. He doesn’t have any strength at all.

But he needs to do one more thing.

A silver light flickers in his eyes.

.

The Northern lights waft through the sky like the body of a slow-moving dragon, vivid and ethereal. Their cold, swirling colors drift over the side of the mountain and illuminate the ocean in blue and green and pink. He knows because he can see for miles from the window above his bed. The trees, stretching out around him, the birds flickering through the sky, the faraway ocean, moving forever without him - yes, he remembers.

A young man in a big yellow jumper stares out at the Norway sky. His eyes burn with the colors of aurora borealis.

“What are you looking at like that?” asks a soft, familiar voice.

Dapper turns and finds Anti lying beside him, grinning up at him. He smiles back and Anti reaches out to grab him, holding his waist and yanking him back down onto the bed. Dapper laughs, falling onto the mattress beside him, and when Anti pulls him to his chest, all Dapper does is wrap his arms around him and hold him in return.

“Tomorrow’s going to be good,” says Anti, rubbing his back in slow circles, looking up at those lights through their window. “I’m a fucking genius. Finally. Finally I did it.”

“What, Anti?”

“What? Don’t play dumb with me. Finding Marvin.”

He has soft hair, dyed dark, and clear green eyes. Warm at his side and glowing in the light, Anti is relaxed and beautiful, soft to the touch and at ease with the world.

“I’m heading out to go get him soon as my intel finishes downloading,” says Anti. “Sneak up on him at night and have him back by morning. I’m so sick of Red moping around. He’ll finally have someone to cheer him up again. Fuck, and the pair of them will be so badass. We’ll be able to get whatever we want. I’ll have him look after all of you, actually, or that’s what I was thinking. Would you like that? Someone checking in on you sometimes? Someone other than me, I guess.”

Dapper stares up at him. Memorizing the lines of his face. The way he looked when he wasn’t scared or angry or lost in his misery. These moments - these moments where Anti seemed to love him - this was what he always held on to. It was the only way he survived.

“Dapper?”

“Yes,” he signs distantly. “Yes, I would like that.”

Anti nods decisively, settling down again, looking up at the stars. There’s a smile on his face. He rubs warm circles against Dapper’s spine. Downstairs, through the floorboards, he can hear Trick and Dok and Red talking - about nothing, about everything.

“Yeah,” says Anti, letting out a low breath. “Tomorrow, I’ll have Marvin. And then everything will finally feel right. And nothing will ever be able to hurt us again. Tomorrow, everything changes.”

Dapper is there. Against his side. Breathing in time with him. His brother.

“There’s his face,” smiles Anti as his security feed footage finishes downloading on the computer beside him, his eyes changing to blue as he sorts through it. “I’m so fucking good at this. Yes! Okay, I’m heading out. Be ready to reverse if something goes wrong. It won’t, though. It’ll go perfectly. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Dapper reaches out for him, but Anti is already out of bed, changing his form and packing his things. He’ll take Red and he’ll be gone.

He’ll be gone.

“Okay,” says Anti, hoisting up his backpack and turning back to him, running his hands through Dapper’s curls. “I’ll be back soon, little brother.”

“I love you,” he signs.

In just a moment, he’ll be gone.

“Do you have to go?”

“I have to go. Little dork. Bye.”

Anti leaves Dapper behind, heading down the stairs. But right before he goes, there’s a moment where he pauses and looks back.

“I love you too,” he signs. “I’ll be home soon.”

It is only a memory. Nothing more.

He’s gone.

End Chapter Four - the Witch’s Promise

[justthehiddleswrites]

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC (Alexis Randall) | Chapter 1

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him.  He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim.  An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond.  Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.  

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds.  But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.   A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love.  Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life.  A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them.  Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter:  Loki’s plans to grab the throne have gone horribly awry. Having been defeated by the Avengers, Loki must now pay for his actions on Midgard. Rather being throwing in the dungeon to rot, he is sent to live in Avengers Tower and repay his debt to the citizens of New York. One year later, he is adjusting to life on Earth. The only things missing would be a love match. But Loki’s heart is closed to the prospect of falling in love again, much less with a mortal, preferring a string of one night stands and casual sex to a relationship. A chance meeting with Alexis Randall in a dive bar seems like a perfect opportunity to continue his streak.

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst,  Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

-

Loki’s chains clinked along the stone floor of the Asgard throne room. This is not how he imagined his grand entrance as the new ruler of Asgard, Midgard and the rest of the Nine Realms. Nothing had gone as he imagined, hence the chains.

Odin stared foreboding down at Loki and Thor, who stood by his brother’s side. Frigga was off to the side, her eyes pleading with Loki.

“Hello, Mother. Have I made you proud?”

“Loki, please let your brother speak.” Frigga told her son. “Don’t make things worse.”

“Define ‘worse’.”

“Enough!” Odin voice echoed. “Explain yourself, Loki.”

Loki stepped forward, clicking his heels together before chuckling.

“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about.” Loki commented, a smirk appearing on his face.

“Do you not truly feel the gravity of your crimes?” Odin countered. Thor’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Wherever you go there is war, ruin, and death.”

“I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god. Just like you.”

“We are not gods. We are born, we live, we die. Just as humans do.”

“Give or take 5,000 years.”

“All this because Loki desires a throne.” Odin mused.

“It is my birthright.” Loki grew weary of his father’s games.

“Your birthright,” Odin spat. “was to die. As a child. Cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me.”

Loki stepped forward, chin lifted. “If I am for the axe, then for mercy’s sake, just swing it.It’s not that I don’t love our little talks, it’s just... I don’t love them.” Loki’s eyes begged for the conversation to end.

“It is only because of Frigga and Thor, you are still alive. I had intended for you to spend the rest of your days in the dungeon, but Thor…” Odin gestured to the tall blond god who stepped forward. “… has convinced me otherwise.”

Loki’s head snapped to glare at his brother.

“And what decision have you made for me? Once again?” Loki hissed.

Odin bit his tongue. “You live on Midgard, with those who defeated you.”

Thor piped in. “The Avengers.”

“And you will make amends for your crimes.”

“If it’s all the same, I would prefer the dungeon.”

“Which is why you will go to Midgard. Thor will be responsible for you.”

Loki rolled his eyes as Thor clapped his hand hard on Loki’s shoulder. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? I am certain over time, I could learn to hate the dungeon as much as I despise you.”

Odin said nothing and waved his hand at the guards holding Loki and they lead him out of the room. Thor remained behind.

“If anything goes wrong, I am holding you accountable, Thor.” Odin snapped. He didn’t enjoy the idea of Loki being so far away but Thor assured him it would teach Loki some humility.

“Yes, Father.” Thor left to make the arrangements for their return to Midgard.

-

Tony met Thor and Loki at the entrance of the new rebuilt Avengers Tower, wearing a scowl.

“I don’t like this, Point Break. Don’t like this one bit. What is going to stop him from trying to kill us all again?”

Thor shoved Loki hard. “I promise I won’t kill you. Please let me stay. I promise to be good.” Loki responded with a flat affect.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Real believable, Reindeer Games. Appreciate the effort. Fortunately for you, I’ve made some upgrades to living quarters. Here.” Tony shoved a slim bracelet at Thor, who snapped it around Loki’s wrist, only then releasing him from his cuffs. Loki twisted her hands, stretching.

“Aww, Tony.” Loki smirked. “I didn’t know you cared enough to give me jewelry.”

“I don’t.” Tony smirked back. “It’s a tracking device and if you remove it with anything other than the key. Well let’s just say you will wish you were in the dungeons.”

“I already do.” Loki sighed. “Now if you don’t mind, please show me to my cell.”

Tony laughed. “Oh you are not a prisoner. You are working off your debt, buddy. Thor take him upstairs.”

Loki was silent until the elevator doors closed. “What did he mean, I would be working off my debt?”

“Another condition of you coming here was that you work to not only help rebuild the city but to help the Avengers when needed.”

Loki wrinkled his nose. “Like going on missions and what not?”

“Not until we can trust you.”

“We?” Loki raised his eyebrows. “You always were the joiner weren’t you?”

“There is nothing wrong with having real relationships, Loki. You should try it sometime.”

“I did, only to have Odin destroy whatever shred of happiness I had or ever will have.”

The elevator doors opened. Thor nodded.

“Odin told me about Lady Sigrun. I am sorry it did not work out.”

Loki’s nostrils flared. “It was working out fine until Odin decided that my future for me while I was still in diapers.”

The elevator doors opened, revealing a common area with couches and a TV. Around the corner, a full equipped kitchen.

“Sometimes destiny has other plans for us, Brother.”

Thor guided Loki down a hallway to a nondescript door, unlocking it with a keycard. Inside was a sparsely furnished apartment, little more than a couch, table and chairs. Loki spied a bed in the bedroom with a closet and dresser and a bathroom behind that.

“Destiny is a cruel mistress, Brother.” Loki flopped onto the bed, tugging off his boots. “The sooner you learn that, the better off you will be.”

Thor shook his head at his brother. “Stark says to ask JARVIS to order anything you may need for the apartment. You can wander the floor and to the lobby freely. We will expand access as you earn it.”

“And he said I wasn’t a prisoner. It is a prison of a different sort.”

Thor gripped Loki’s shoulder, shaking him hard. “Try and make the best of things, Loki.”

“How do you suggest I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, find a hobby, make some friends, fall in love.”

“Love.” Loki scoffed. “Why bother? To fall in love with mortal to watch them wither and die? I would rather not. But your sentiment is touching.”

“I do not know what has soured you so, Brother. I only hope you meet someone that makes you realize love is worth the trouble.”

Loki flashed a smug smile. “Not likely. Now leave me.”

Thor rose, squeezing Loki’s shoulder, leaving the keycard on the nightstand. “I’ll meet you in the morning. And I am just down the hall, if you need anything.”

Loki shooed him away. Once the door shut, Loki groaned and laid back on the bed.

-

One Year Later

Loki sipped his large caramel mocha coffee and smiled. Of all the wonderful treats created by the kitchens of the palace, nothing compared to designer coffee of Midgard. A small pleasure he granted himself each morning on his walk. Today he also purchased a chocolate chip scone which he devoured before reaching the Tower and a small regular coffee for Thor.

The pedestrians no longer swerved or sneered as he walked by. Even the barista took to smiling at him when he came in to order. He hated to admit Thor may have been right about making the best of his time here on Earth.

There was a spring in his step as he entered Avengers Tower, waving at the security guard on his way to the elevators. Once he reached upstairs, Loki knocked on Thor’s door. Thor opened the door with a groan and Loki shoved the coffee into his hand.

“De-briefing in twenty minutes. I suggest you get dressed.” Loki commented.

“I liked you better when you were brooding.” Thor grumbled, walking away, but leaving the door open for Loki.

Loki finished his coffee, discarding the cup. “You were the one to make the best of things. I am merely following your advice.”

Thor downed the coffee in one gulp, emitting a large burp. Loki wrinkled his nose. Thor smiled back at his brother.

“I also suggested you find a nice woman and fall in love. Still sticking with one night stands?” Thor grabbed a mug from the small kitchenette in his quarters and poured himself another cup.

“My love life is no concern of yours.”

“One night stands it is.” Thor smirked and disappeared only to return a few minutes later dressed for the day in jeans and a hoodie. A stark contrast to Loki’s grey dress pants and matching button-down shirt. “Ready?”

“Lead the way.”

The two Asgardians made their way to the 20th floor, where most of the Avengers operations were housed. Loki was given free range of the Tower’s facilities three months ago except for the ARC reactor, Bruce’s lab, and Tony’s private workshop. The bracelet, however, remained in place.

“Glad you could grace us with your presence this morning.” Tony joked. “Take a seat. Donuts and coffee are for closers.”

Loki beelined to the pastries, selecting a chocolate glazed donut. Steve blinked at him.

“How can you eat so many sweets and never gain weight?” Natasha questioned.

“A god-like metabolism.” Loki countered, shoving a quarter of it in his mouth.

Tony tried to snatch the donut away, but Loki was too quick.

“Hey!”

“I said donuts are for closers.” Tony lunged for the donut again.

“Who defused the bomb?”

“Temporarily. You nearly kill the Cap.”

Loki glanced over his shoulder where Steve was scowling, arms crossed. He smiled back at Tony.

“And yet he lives, despite my best efforts. Now if you will excuse me, you’re delaying the de-brief.”

Loki grabbed a chair and squeezed between Steve and Bruce, despite there being no room. Loki made a show of finishing his donut. Tony rolled his eyes and started the de-briefing, only talking to Loki with absolutely necessary.

“And so for future reference, we confirm we deactivated a bomb before batting it around like a beach ball.”

Everyone stared at Loki, who gave a thumbs up. His mouth filled with his second donut of the day. Tony ended the meeting and the group scattered to handle other assignments. Loki was due in Bruce’s lab later that afternoon to help with a Chitauri artifact.

“Loki!” Steve jogged to catch up with him. “Some of the team are getting together tonight for drinks at Tilted Gimlet. Would you like to join us?”

Loki rocked back on his heels, contemplating the offer. He technically didn’t have plans for the night. But when he drank, Loki alone. He preferred to not have an audience.

“Another time? I am indisposed this evening.”

“Oh a date?!” Steve’s eyes widened. Loki nodded, not bothering to correct him. “Way to go, man. She’s a lucky girl.” Steve’s brow furrowed. “Or boy. Your brother mentioned something. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Now if you excuse, Master Banner is waiting for me.”

Steve nodded and hurried away, Loki imagined in fear of insulting him again. Loki wasn’t insulted, but the Cap didn’t need to know that.

The rest of the work day dragged as Bruce poked and prodded the artifact. Loki sat down on a stool, being less than helpful. Bruce shooed him away an hour earlier, complaining Loki was in the way.

Loki returned to his quarters and showered. He replaced his dress pants with black jeans and knit polo. A bit casual from his general attire but a dress shirt would stick out like a sore thumb in the dive bars he frequented. He ate dinner in his apartment, avoiding his brother and the rest of the Avengers. Around 8 p.m., Loki slinked out via the service elevator and headed to his favorite watering hole, The Whiskey Front Room.

-

Alexis was nursing her third Manhattan at the bar. She thought she was all cried out when Eric sent the text breaking up with her earlier that day. She cancelled the rest of her appointments and sobbed at her desk. Alcohol was solution, that is plain science.

“I would peg you as a Cosmopolitan kind of woman.” A smooth voice purred into her ear.

She turned and squinted in the smoky haze of the bar to find the source of the voice. Standing beside her was a tall man wearing black jeans and polo hugging his lean form. His hair was long and dark, hanging loosely around his shoulders, while his piercing green eyes undressed her. Alexis had a nagging thought she knew the man, but the tendril of a thought blew away before it came to fruition.

“And I would have pegged you as a gentleman, so we are both wrong.” She turned back to down the rest of the drink.

The man sat down in the empty stool beside her. “Give me a chance. Name’s Loki.” He extended his hand. Alexis shook it.

“Alexis.” She tucked her chin length brown hair behind her ear.

“So whatever particular sorrow are we drowning today?” Loki ordered a whiskey neat.

“Breakup. By text.”

Loki winced. “And you say I’m not a gentleman.” He downed his whiskey and ordered another. You finished up your own drink.

“I don’t want to trouble with my relationship issues.” Alexis stood too quickly and wobbled a bit on her feet. Loki wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her. Alexis shrugged him off. “I’m fine!” She smoothed down her top. “I’m just heading to the restroom.”

Loki pressed his hand to his chest. “Allow me to escort.” Alexis raised an eyebrow at him. “To help with reputation as a gentleman.” Loki flashed a killer smile and Alexis’s knees buckled, this time not due to alcohol.

“Fine.” She suddenly wanted Loki’s arm around her again. As if he read her mind, his arm wound around her.

“Lead the way.”

Loki did not plan on ending up in the ladies’ room of the Whiskey Front Room. Once Alexis and him made their way to back of the bar, he planned on waiting outside to take her back to the bar or even walk her to her car.

Alexis had other ideas as she grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him into the bathrom. She continued to pull him into an empty stall, latching the door.

“You seem like a perfect rebound guy.” Her hands ran up and down Loki’s torso. His muscles twitched under her touch. “Tall, dark, polite, hot as fuck.”

Loki blushed. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” Alexis palmed his crotch.

“Little Loki would disagree.” she giggled, squeezing him through his jeans.

Loki’s eyes snapped to stare at her. “Don’t start things you have no intention of finishing.” he growled, pushing her against the stall.

“I always finish. Usually first.” Alexis grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a rough kiss. Loki bit her lower lip and she gasped, allowing Loki to explore her mouth with his tongue. Her hands trailed down his Loki body to tug at the fly of his jeans. Loki followed suit with her jeans.

His cock sprung free as Alexis shoved his pants just past his ass. Loki moved to suck along her neck, his lips left a trail of purple marks. She didn’t care.

“Well, that is certainly a surprise.” She pumped his cock a few times.

“I’ve never had complaints. Turn around.” Loki guided her around.

Her hands pressed against the cool metal wall as she bent at the waist, wiggling her ass. Loki smirked as he pulled her jeans down around her knees and smack her ass hard with his hand.

“Ow!” Alexis called out.

Loki pressed his torso against her back, warmth radiating through the fabric. “Can you keep quiet or do I have to gag you?” He rubbed his cock along her ass.

“I can keep quiet. Please fuck me, Loki.” she begged, bucking back against him.

He playfully slapped her ass again, and rubbed his hand along her smooth skin.

“Such a eager little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes… please…” she continued begged.

Loki impaled himself inside of Alexis’s pussy, warm and wet.

“So wet, pet. Aren’t you a treat?” He gripped her hips and thrusted into her rough and fast. The time of niceties long gone as he stared at the dingy bathroom tile. Alexis did her best to muffle her moans, biting her lip hard enough to almost draw blood. She locked her arms to push against Loki’s cock. The walls of the stall shaking with each snap of Loki’s hips.

Alexis’s walls fluttered around Loki’s cock. “Loki. I’m… cum…” Her words cut off as Loki pressed his thumb against her clit and she screamed while she came.

Loki realized he should pull out, come on the floor, the stickiness would not be noticed. But Alexis’s pussy clenched him so tight, so perfectly that two thrusts later, he spilled inside her. She slumped against the wall, leaning on her arms. He pulled out and tucked himself back into his pants.

With a tender touch, Loki turned Alexis to face him. His lips softly kiss hers. He helped her dress, pulling her jeans back up and smoothed her head back away from her face. One of his hand slipped between them as he continued to kiss her, until it lighted on her lower abdomen. A green light glowed as he cast a spell, the same one he did every time passion overtook him. No need for the messy entanglement of a pregnancy.

Loki parted to share into Alexis’s blue eyes. “Your boyfriend was a fool to leave you.”

“I’m always unlucky in love.” she murmured, still coming down from the euphoria of great sex.

He kissed her one more time before slinking out of the bathroom. Alexis took a minute to collect herself before heading out into the bar proper. Loki nowhere in sight.

She hustled out to the street but nothing besides the night sounds of New York.

“Another rejection, what else is new?” She turned and headed home, hoping she wouldn’t regret tonight come morning.