#it’s never too early to think about biting frank

[frnkiebby]

welp. yeah.~🎃

[bellaxgiornata]

SAHD!Frank Castle Headcanons

I picture Frank being an amazing, hands-on father if he ever managed to fall back into that role again and I just think he'd make such a wonderful stay-at-home-dad. I couldn't resist sharing some of my SAHD!Frank headcanons so they're below the cut! And I'm also just going to make him a girl dad here because he absolutely is in my mind.

I could also certainly be persuaded to share some girl dad!Frank Castle headcanons...

With the ridiculous cost of daycare, you and Frank would eventually come to the conclusion that it was just more cost effective to have one of you stay home with the girls. And while you might be tempted to do it yourself, you'd also know how much Frank would cherish being present for every moment with his kids. He'd never want to miss a single thing after the tragic loss he'd experienced, and you'd have already seen his steadfast devotion during your pregnancy. While he would argue that you should be the one to stay home with them, eventually you would win out.

On weekdays, Frank would be awake early every morning--possibly even before your alarm went off. He'd always have a mug of hot coffee or tea made for you whenever you finally stepped foot into the kitchen. And when you did, you'd find him preparing breakfast for the girls. He'd always make you up a plate of whatever he cooked, insisting you eat something before you were out the door for work ("You gotta eat, baby. Just a few bites, c'mon."). And Wednesdays would forever be known as pancake day in your house.

Frank would never run out of activities to do with the kids, even if you found some of them to be very 'Frank.' He'd have them help him build things (a new bookshelf, a baby crib, a birdhouse, etc), and he'd teach them what tools to use while he's at it. He'd have them assist him with changing the oil in the car, fixing a leaky sink, or preparing vegetables in the kitchen for dinner (with child-safe knives that he always complained to you later about how "they can't cut for shit."). When playfully teased about the things he teaches them, he'd tell you he wanted your girls to learn "the real shit they won't get from school."

Every Friday is Library Day in the Castle house. Frank would take the girls to the library in the morning for story time where he would sit back and watch with a big grin on his face as his girls sat "criss-cross applesauce" among all the other kids and listened to the books with rapt attention. Aftwerwards, he'd let them pick out new books for bedtime for the upcoming week. Then he would always make the morning extra special by taking the girls out for brunch.

He loves nothing more than to free up more time for all of you to spend together as a family on the weekend, so he would be the dad running errands during the weekdays with a toddler holding each of his hands (or a baby strapped to his chest in a carrier). He'd be out grabbing groceries, hitting up the hardware/home improvement store so he could work on projects around the house, or he'd be taking the kids to their doctor/dentist appointments so you wouldn't have to think about it later.

Frank would be the cool dad at all the parks, the one not afraid to play with his kids and push them on the swings. He'd be making small talk with the other moms and setting up play dates for his girls. He'd also be the one all the other kids flocked to on the playground whenever he was there because he was known to easily be persuaded into playing hide and seek or tag.

A few times throughout the month, Frank would stop by your work just before your lunch break to drop off food with the girls as an excuse to see you ("Had to come see my favorite girl. Wanted to make sure you're not workin' too hard."). You always loved it even more on the random occasions that your lunch came with a bouquet of flowers--either store bought or freshly picked on a walk by him and your girls.

If Frank knew you had a big presentation coming up or that you were just having a rough week/day, you could always count on coming home to something he made with the girls--pictures they colored or crafts they made--to cheer you up ("S'posed to be a butterfly ring or something. Shit, I don't know. Girls wanted to do somethin' with pipe cleaners. Blame YouTube.")

At the end of a long work day, you'd come home to see that dinner was almost finished cooking most nights. You'd either find Frank out back with a beer in one hand grilling while the girls were playing in the yard, or he would be in the kitchen surrounded by high-pitched laughter.

And when you came home from a long day of work, you could always count on Frank greeting you with the biggest smile. He'd wrap you up in his big arms and give you the sweetest kiss, even if he had to pause cooking dinner ("Missed you today, sweetheart. Hope you're hungry."). It would be the thing you looked forward to most at the end of every day, especially on particularly difficult days.

[noxturnalnymph]

Devotion 🖤 Masterlist

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

I. Stronger Together CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

II. Predator or Prey? CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

III. Path to the Future CH 9 CH 10 CH 11 CH 12

Epilogue Some Summer Sunday

Series Warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon-typical violence/death, death of clickers, guns, blood/injury, references to previous SAs (not described), Reader has low self worth & trauma, this group/cult is not feminist - women aren’t treated as equals, Joel has sexual relationships with other characters (not described in detail), possessiveness, manipulation, stalking/spying on, Joel gets mean, DubCon Oral, Joel gets abusive (verbally, mentally, physically (he hits, throws, and bites), thoughts of self-harm and suicide, talk of periods & pregnancy, unprotected PiV, oral sex (m & f receiving), come eating, DIRTY TALK, brief reference to breeding kink and creampie kink (but reader does NOT get pregnant in this story).

A/N: OBVIOUSLY this is canon-divergent, but it is post-outbreak. The events of outbreak day have not changed (sorry Sarah). Reader does have a developed background that plays heavily in her character arc, so in that sense she is very much an OC. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions.

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

AO3 LINK

MOODBOARD BY @strang3lov3 MOODBOARD BY @beefrobeefcal

*🖤*NOTES ABOUT THE CULT & JOEL BELOW*🖤*

ABOUT THE CULT

The Cult's Core Ideology

Build up a community (and supplies) to return to a thriving society that can keep people safe & find a cure.

The Cult Operates by its 3 Tenants:

How Joel does it (what he "preaches")

I. Build Trust (We are Stronger Together)

Makes people feel beautiful, important, HEARD

Shares the wealth (food, shelter, women)

Seeks Power & Control to get others to help him

II. Us vs Them (The Predator Vs The Prey)

FEDRA is the enemy, do not trust them

Assimilate or Destroy all other people/groups

Attack them before they attack you

III. Gather & Prepare (Create a Path to the Future)

You can never have enough, always take take take take

The community you create now will determine future society (fair, honest, hardworking)

Once you are well-prepared and rebuild, you can work on finding a cure

🖤

Notes about Joel and the Cult:

He and Tess began this community together in 2010 after they met Bill and Frank and they felt that the QZ was becoming too dangerous and unstable. They settled in a small, remote town in the mountains of Vermont. Tess helps him "run" the community but she has a submissive role. (Their dynamic here is different from canon.) Tess has his respect probably more than anyone else does but she is not looked upon like an equal by anyone in the community.

Timeline/Ages:

This takes place in the fall of 2012, so It’s been 9 years since outbreak day. Joel is 45, my HC for Reader is Early 30's (Tess is 39/40). Reader's exact age isn't given, but she was in her early 20's on outbreak day and I wanted her to have experienced a fair taste of an adult life before the world ended. I didn't want to write the reader as inexperienced or with too large of an age-gap, although I think 11-14 years is still pretty significant. She has a history that plays a significant role in her personality (wary, untrusting). She has been hurt/abused by men - both those that took advantage of her when she was young, as well as by those that she trusted/loved. There are very few physical descriptions but she is very much an OC. Note that her age is not something that's explicitly mentioned because I did want to keep it inclusive. I hope everyone who wants to read this can use their imagination to fit themselves into the story in a meaningful way.🖤

[oneforthemunny]

​​you and bouncer!eddie fucking in the walk-in during a closing shift.

minors dni 18+

it's just the two of you on a wednesday night- too cold for even the drunks to venture out. you hadn't had much cleanup besides the few beers you served to frank, a regular, and you'd finished that before close.

eddie had sat at the bar with you, closest to the door in case someone walked in, but they never did. his hands traced the fringe of your ripped jeans while the jukebox played. you were giggling, so close you were practically nose to nose.

the two of you had gone out a few times, already planning for the next time you both had a night off. you liked eddie, a lot. and he liked you. he especially liked that you surprised him. like how you were naturally good at darts. or how you knew every word to 'starry eyes', you'd serenaded him on your first date, tipsy and giggly while he was sure he was going to marry you, right then and there.

he was even more sure when you'd sucked him off in the bathroom of the bar he'd taken you to. knelt on the grimy, sticky floors, head bobbing and eyes locked to his. he had his ringed hands fisted in your hair, head tilted back on the graffiti stall walls of the bathroom, groaning and muttering how good you were. you'd swallowed his load without him even asking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. he'd kissed you hard, pressing you against the stall, uncaring.

eddie was hooked. so enthralled by you, and the excitement of your budding relationship. it was new, thrilling, and the best part, is no one at work knew. sure, they might see the little smirks and teasing banter you two had, but you'd always done that.

on night like tonight, you could be more yourselves, lingering touches and stolen kisses behind the counter.

you had finished loading the lemons up, going to dump the ice in the kitchen and stock away the unused produce for the night before you could leave. eddie insisted on helping you, muscles flexing when he lifted and dumped the ice down the sink.

eddie followed you into the walk-in, pinching your ass just to hear you squeal when you bent over. he wrapped you fully in his arms, your little giggles filling his ears as he pressed you against the cold, metal shelf.

"you look so pretty." eddie groaned, stamping kisses up and down your neck, biting and sucking on the skin that had you mewling and clawing at him.

"ed-ed, we can't. we're at work-"

"no one's here." eddie sighed against you. "just me and you, c'mon. been thinking' about you all night." you whined when his hands went lower, cupping you through your jeans, rough fingers pressed hard against your slit.

you gave in, letting him pull your jeans and panties down, lifting your shirt and bra up over your boobs. he smirked at the way your nipples hardened in the cool air of the walk-in, leaving your shuddering under his glare.

moments later, he had you clawing at a shelf, bent at the hips so your ass was pushed back into his face. eddie was on his knees, spreading your cheeks and lapping at your clit like his life depended on it. he grabbed the doughy skin of your ass, squeezing it and moaning as you shimmied back further into him, begging and gasping.

once he added his fingers, slipping them in slow into your sopping hole, you were shaking, writhing in pleasure. eddie pressed kisses to your ass cheeks, up your spine and to the back of you neck until he stood at his full height, pumping himself a few times before sinking into you with a grunt.

he anchored his hands on the shelf above you, hips snapping furiously into yours, eyes rolling back at the sound of your echoey moans in the freezer. the buzz of the cold air filling the space, mixed with your breathy demands of, "please, eddie, right there!" had his abs tight, gritting his teeth to keep himself from cumming too early.

you came undone quickly, your first orgasm leaving you sensitive and mushy. eddie watched as you dropped to your knees, finishing him off with swallowing him wholly. he fisted your hair, guiding your head on his cock again, groaning when you cupped his balls, squeezing just enough to get him twitching and spilling down your throat.

you turned off the lights and machines on shaky legs, clinging to his arm when he walked you to your car. you wrapped your arms around his torso, smirking up at him as he finished off his cigarette.

"wonder when we get to close again together, hm?" eddie smirked. "think we should make that a new closing task for us- fuck in the walk-in after close. whaddya think, baby?"

[frvnkcastles]

hiii, can you pls make one where reader have anorexia and frank helps her to eat? i love the way you write

❤️

SAY YOU’LL STAY ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You struggle with eating, and Frank wants to help.

Warnings: Unspecified eating disorder, feminine nicknames, brief mentions of Frank’s loss, language

Word count: 1.2k

Author’s note: Thank you for your kind words anon! I struggle with binge eating myself so I wanted to kind of pour my own experiences into this as well and that’s why I never specify what eating disorder the reader struggles with, just that she does struggle with one. Hopefully that also makes this relatable to a wider audience. I like to think that Frank is a good cook, just doesn’t really cook until you come along and suddenly he has someone to do it for. And he’d help you with your disordered eating step by step. <3

You stared at yourself in the mirror, scrutinizing every detail of your outfit, doubting the way you looked — but one glance at your disarrayed closet confirmed that you had been through all the potential looks already, and you needed to just accept this one as what it was. Exhaling deeply, you smoothed your shirt down and hesitated before finally just grabbing your keys and phone from the dresser and heading for the front door.

When Frank had asked you out on a date, you had been over the moon. You had been not-so-subtly into him for a long time, but you had never made a move in the fear that he didn’t feel the same way, so when he had done it for you, your heart had sung. It was the first time in a long time for both of you, and neither of you really knew how to act. Somehow, though, all your enthusiasm had been sucked out of you when he had suggested dinner at his place. In hindsight, it would have been so easy to propose something else, but in the moment you had frozen and simply agreed to his idea.

And just like that, it turned from an exciting first date with the man you were head over heels for, into a meal you dreaded. You weren’t able to see the date for what it was — you fixated on the eating aspect of the upcoming evening, and it was consuming your brain. You weren’t even nervous about being alone with Frank anymore, you were just worried about eating.

Still, you showed up on time, your heart momentarily soaring again when Frank met you at the door with a subtle smile and rolled-up sleeves. He looked beyond handsome, and before you could begin to doubt your own outfit and how your body looked in it, he had washed away your anxieties.

”You look stunnin’. Come in, sweetheart”, he praised while guiding you into his small but cozy apartment, and fiddling with your fingers, you thanked him and flashed a shy smile at him that pleased him all too much. He wasn’t going to admit to it so early on, but he was nervous too, more than was visible from his confident appearance — he really liked you, and to have this chance was irreplaceable to him.

Frank ushered you to sit at the dining table where he had already gathered his pots and pans, displaying an entire feast for the two of you, and your heart sank. It was so much food, and all of it looked so well-made and it only teared you apart on the inside even more. He had put so much effort into this date, and you weren’t sure you could get through one bite.

Frank was completely oblivious to the inner turmoil storming inside of you, his usually quiet self doing all the work to make small talk while piling food onto his plate. He offered some for you, and you weakly agreed, feeling sick to your stomach as the heaps of food built over your plate, certain that it was going to force an ugly side out of you that you weren’t ready for Frank to see.

Eventually, you realized that chatting with him was actually a great way to distract yourself from the food in front of you. You could blame not eating on getting lost in the conversation, make a joke about it, anything to get out unscathed. And for a moment there, you really did enjoy yourself — you enjoyed Frank’s company, the way he treated you with such kindness and gentleness, always respectful and interested in hearing more about you.

But unsurprisingly, he did realize that the food wasn’t disappearing from your plate.

”The food not to your likin’, sweetheart? I did ask you for your preferences”, he approached the subject with care, as he always did with you, and you felt awkward heat crawl to your cheeks because of being called out.

”It all looks great, Frankie. I guess I just lost my appetite”, you chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of your neck before pushing the plate a little further away from yourself.

Tilting his head to meet your eye, Frank licked his lips. ”Sure that’s all? You’ve seemed a little… I dunno, on edge all night. Here I was thinkin’ it’s just my handsome face but maybe there’s somethin’ else on your mind”, he made a half-hearted joke, but the frown on his face was truly concerned for your well-being, and it only twisted the knife in your heart.

”It’s not really a first-date topic”, you spoke quietly, suddenly feeling utterly ashamed, but Frank was quick to reassure you, his hand shooting from under the table to cover yours in a protective hold.

”Hey, I’ve already opened up about losin’ my family which ain’t exactly wholesome conversation material, either. Not gon’ pressure you into anythin’, but just sayin’. You can talk to me, sweetheart”, his voice was full of understanding, and god, if it didn’t melt your racing heart.

You swallowed. You supposed you did owe him an explanation, and he was right, he had opened up to you about his biggest losses and faults. If you two were to have any kind of relationship, it needed to be equal. And so, you took in a deep breath.

”I—I struggle with eating. Have for years. I don’t have a very healthy relationship with food and I’m afraid if I eat this admittedly delicious-looking meal, I’m going to spiral so hard out of control that it’ll wreck me entirely”, you admitted, all in one slurred speech, your eyes cast downwards as you waited for Frank to withdraw his hand and look at you in an entirely different light.

But he didn’t. His hand stayed firmly where it was, supporting you as he processed what you had told him.

”Shit, sweetheart. I can’t say it’s a topic I know a lot about, but I do know that I wouldn’t let you spiral like that. I wanna help, so whatever I can do, you just tell me, aight?” he promised, and silently, you nodded. You both sat in silence for a while, and he strongly felt like what he had said wasn’t enough. So, he continued. ”Doesn’t make you any less amazin’ in my eyes. You’re still a strong, gorgeous lady I’m kinda fallin’ real hard for. And I’d like to learn more so I can support you however you need me to.”

You finally met his eye, looking up with genuine amazement and wonder in your gaze. How could someone be so understanding, so kind, so… perfect? And how did you get so lucky to be here with him?

”I’d like to try the food”, you started carefully, and the joy that bloomed on Frank’s made you giddy on the inside. ”But will you be the voice of reason when I start to regret it? I—I really don’t want to make it your responsibility—”, you stuttered, but Frank swiftly intervened.

”Sweetheart, I promise I’ll be here for you. I won’t let your thoughts win this round”, he assured you, and softly, you broke into a smile.

”Thanks, Frankie. For supporting me and for cooking. This has been a really nice date”, you squeezed his hand with sincerity, and returning the smile, Frank reached with his other hand to brush a stray hair away from your face.

”Any time, gorgeous.”

[sentientcave]

Let's Riot!

When the Reader St arena gets bought out from under them by Morgan’s vengeful ex, Pippa Graves, The Reader St Riots suddenly find themselves without a practice space. Pippa may say she’ll play nice, but Morgan knows that she’ll either have to get back under Pippa’s manicured thumb or the whole team will be out on their ass in no time. Problem is, the only other practice space around that’s not booked up to the tits belongs to Jo Price, captain of the Femme41, and well… Morgan has a bit of ugly history with her too.

Still, Jo’s at least a little more reasonable than Pippa, and Morgan may hate to beg, but she’d hate to see the Riots disbanded more. And well, maybe there’s room for a little cooperation, especially when their teams get along so well.

Contains: Lesbians! Almost everyone is a woman (Alex is NB and there are like. A few men mentioned.) and most of them are gay, OCs: Readers and OCs from a bunch of my projects and also Bambi and Bricks who belong to the esteemed @dragonnarrative-writes , Roller Derby!, complicated dating histories, this is just a fun little palette cleanser because I got sad working on one of my other projects lmao, alcohol consumption, cannabis consumption

~3k - 18+ MDNI

“Frank, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Come on, sweetheart, calm down—”

“I am calm!” Morgan snapped.

Chelsea quickly put an arm in front of Morgan and dragged her back a step. Calling Morgan sweetheart was a great shortcut to her blowing her top. “You are definitely not calm.” She looked back at Frank. He stood between them and the doors to the arena, a short, balding man that looked a bit sweaty and nervous in the low light. “You couldn’t give us any notice?”

“Look, I’ll return your deposits for the month—”

“That’s not the issue!” Morgan's brown eyes flashed with fury, her jaw tight, like she wanted to bite the man, which would be distinctly unhelpful.

Chelsea dragged her back another step. “It is a little the issue. What happened? We’ve never had any trouble, we’ve always paid on time, there’s no reason why you’d drop us like this.”

“New owners,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry, they cancelled everyone. You were just at the bottom of the call list, and you got here before I could.”

“New owners! Since when was it for sale?”

“Hell if I know. They don’t tell me shit either. All I know is that Gerry came in here with some blond bi—" He thought twice about his wording, giving Morgan another nervous glance. "--Woman and she’s the boss now.”

Morgan walked in a tight circle, looking up at the sky, hands on her hips. This wasn’t happening. It didn’t have to be her. Maybe it was some other blond woman with money to burn. “Fuck.”

The doors behind Frank opened. “Oh, hey sugar,” a too-familiar voice rang out, southern accent distinctive. “Fancy meetin' you here.”

Morgan turned around sharply. “Pippa.”

Chelsea groaned. “Oh here we go.”

“Go back to your office, Frank. I think I’ve got this from here.” Phillipa Graves patted Frank on the shoulder and walked past him. “Morgan, I’ve missed you. You never return my calls anymore.”

“Is that what this is about?” Morgan shifted her grip on her bag, glancing toward the parking lot. Bricks and Doll were lingering at the edge, talking to each other and looking back with worried expressions. They knew the history between Morgan and Pippa well enough to be wary of what might happen next. “You’re gonna steal our practice space because I won’t call you back?”

“Aw, honey, don’t be like that. We’re all big girls. I figure we can learn to share. Why don’t you join us tonight? And early next week we can grab dinner and make a new schedule. I’m sure there’s a way to make sure we’re all… satisfied.” Pippa twisted one of Morgan’s curls around her finger, leaning in close. Even ready for practice, she looked perfect as always, more like she was about to model for a roller skate advertisement than actually practice. Sleek blonde hair swept back in a low braid, a tight pink tank top, leggings that clung to her thighs, pads on, skates off, preparation interrupted by all the fuss she was certainly expecting.

“I’m the one that does the scheduling, usually,” Chelsea interjected. “Maybe it’s us that should get dinner.”

“If you like,” Pippa said smoothly, barely sparing Chelsea a glance. “The more the merrier, of course. Though I do have some personal business to talk over with Morgan too. Suppose it can wait.” She tapped Morgan under the chin with her first knuckle. “Come on, sugar, practice with us. We’re not so bad. And you’re all already here, ain’t you?”

“We’ll have to talk it over.”

“Course. Y’all come on in when you’re done talkin’.” Pippa winked at Morgan and sauntered back inside.

Chelsea sighed, elbowing Morgan as they walked over to the others. The rest of the team had gathered around Bricks, her height marked among the group of shorter women. “You’re gonna have to sleep with her.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “I’d really rather not.”

“She’s not going to be reasonable,” Billie pointed out. “She’s pure evil. She’s the head of the PTA at Ellie’s school, and she runs that shit like the navy. She’s gonna bend us over a barrel to get what she wants.”

“Have you ever tried not having antagonistic relationships with your exes?” Bricks asked. “Because that’s what I do, and no one has bought a whole arena just to fuck with me.”

“Yet,” Doll said reassuringly. “It could still happen.”

“The whole team is awful,” Bambi said. “One of them works in my office, and she’s a real— Well, I don’t like her.”

“Harsh words, DB.” Bricks propped her hands on her hips. “We can suck it up for one night, a free practice is a free practice. And if you have to flutter your eyelashes at her the whole time, you’re gonna do it.” She pointed at Morgan accusingly. “This is your fault.”

“It is not!”

“It is,” Chelsea said solemnly, fixing her pink bun from on top of her head to low on the nape of her neck to fit under her helmet. “Pussy game is clearly too strong. Maybe try being a worse fuck.”

“She can’t.” Bricks gently turned Morgan around so that she was facing the doors, and nudged her forward a step. “She doesn’t know how.”

Chelsea turned fully toward the others, walking backward. “Alright, drills only, we’re not going to let them goad us into a scrimmage, they’re gonna play dirty as hell with no refs, and we can’t afford an injury this close to a game. Keep it loose, and if anyone hassles you, come to me, or come to Bricks. Do not tell Morgan or she’s gonna punch someone and we’re gonna lose our space for good.”

“I’m not!”

Bricks laughed and caught Chelsea’s arm, spinning her before she hit the edge of the door. “Yes you are, Morgan. Stay on your best behaviour. Maybe even try being charming.”

Bunny nudged Dancer, grinning. “If you’d joined up last year, like I told you to, you could have been here for the whole explosion. It was great.”

“Great?” Billie asked, raising her eyebrows. “Were we watching the same breakup?”

Bricks glanced over her shoulder warningly. “Save it for drinks, ladies, or Morgan’s gonna make us skate line drills till we drop.”

They dropped their bags along the benches and geared up, watching the Shadows zip around the track. The Shadows were mean, not just on the track, but off too, in that sugar sweet way that left you wondering if you were just reading into it. They were a pretty well-rounded team, and coordinated, thanks to Pippa. She did nothing in half-measures. It seemed impossible that she’d be able to raise children, run school events, coach a junior team as well as an adult one, somehow have a job on top, and still have time to run around keeping two relationships secret from each other for nearly eight months, but Pippa was the kind of woman who really could have it all.

The Riots were… A good team. Pippa had poached two of their players during the breakup drama, and Pepper had moved back home to take care of her grandmother, and they were still trying to get back to where they had been a year ago. Kitten Caboodle and Break Dancer were pretty solid for fresh meat, but with a small team and only four of them with more than a few years experience, it was rough going out there. Hard not to get demoralized when Kortac had beaten them 240 to 60 during their last game. No one’s fault really— Bunny and Sweetpea had been out sick and neither Kitty or Dancer were prepared to jam more than a few rounds with players that rough. They’d gotten shaken, so Morgan and Billie had done most of the jams. Nobody and Freddie Kruger had just torn right through their weakened pack while Morgan and Bill tried to wrestle their way past Queenie.

Once Dancer and Kitty got more confident, they’d be hard to catch. Kitty was tiny, and Dancer was agile, but they both needed more time. Doll and Bambi, who had joined a little over a year ago had turned out to be a highly effective set of blockers— Small, but sturdy and hard to knock down. When they were out on the track with Bricks or Chelsea, they were nigh impossible to get past, which would leave their fourth blocker free to assist the jammer, in an ideal world.

The ideal world simply had five more players in it. Maybe more, since no one but Morgan and Bricks made it to every game.

Later on, worn out and sweaty from practice, crammed into the biggest booth at a diner that was roughly equidistant between everyone’s homes and the arena (and the young man that worked the fryers had a massive crush on Sweetpea, which meant everyone got more fries), they debriefed.

“That’s gonna be tricky for me to stomach long term,” Morgan admitted. “I’m gonna sleep with Pip if I have to be too nice.”

“You don’t actually have to sleep with her, you know,” Bricks said.

“No… I’m gonna.”

“We can find somewhere else,” Billie suggested. “I don’t want Morgan and Pip to get back together, it was so annoying when they were. All in favour of Morgan not fucking Pippa, say aye.” She raised her hand to note the measure.

“Aye,” they intoned together, all raising their hands as well.

“Simone says the Femme41 practice out of Jo’s warehouse now. Pippa did the same thing to them eight months ago. I bet they’d let us skate there.” Bricks tossed another fry into her mouth. “If someone behaves herself.”

Morgan scoffed. “It’s impossible for me to date another one of her girlfriends, her relationships hardly last the weekends now.”

Bunny mouthed the word Pippa at Kitty and Dancer.

“Then you won’t have a problem asking her,” Chelsea said. “Maybe bake her something nice as an overture. A pie or something. You make good pies.”

Morgan winced. “We have a game against them this weekend. We could ask her all together.”

Billie shook her head. “No, this one’s on you. Captain to captain conversation. You have Chelsea’s schedule key, you can negotiate for a time that works.”

“And if she says no? She hates my guts.”

“Wear something low cut and bake her a pie,” Bricks suggested. “Maybe just go wearing nothing but an apron.”

“I’ve got one that says Born To Be A Lesbian Housewife,” Doll said. “You can borrow it. It’s very frilly.”

Bambi giggled. “I’ve got one that says Vagitarian.”

Doll laughed too, knocking her head against Bambi’s shoulder. “That’s way better, Morgan, borrow that one.”

"I'm not going to-- Did you people hear me when I said she hates my guts?"

"She still has eyes, Morgan," Bricks said. "And you have nice tits."

"If you don't sort this out, we might have to disband to other teams. And I don't want to. I like you guys." Chelsea looped an arm around Kitty. "We started this team because we wanted to get together and have fun and challenge ourselves without it getting so damn competitive or mean. Bill and I are not going back to the Shadows, and there's no way Bricks wants to go back to Kortac. So put on your big girl panties and a cute dress, and charm Jo into sharing the warehouse with us. Got it?"

"Got it." Morgan sank back into her seat with a groan. I'll talk to her after work tomorrow."

"Good," Billie said, a note of finality in her voice. "Now, did anyone else watch Game of Dragons last night? I have opinions."

By the time Morgan got home, walked Laika, showered, ate cold leftovers out of the fridge and stepped out on her balcony with a joint, it was well past dark, and she was bone tired. Jo was out on her own balcony, feet up, smoking a cigar. She was a thick, barrel chested woman, wearing a tank top and jeans, cigar in one hand, glass of whiskey in the other. Her hair was longer than usual, tucked behind her ears, like she'd been growing it out. It had been a while since Morgan saw her without a hat on.

They acknowledged each other with a curt nod, and Morgan settled into her swing chair, tucking her feet up underneath her. Laika went to the railing to give Jo the biggest, saddest eyes she could.

Jo maybe didn't like Morgan much, but it was hard not to like Laika. The big goofy rottweiler loved almost everyone, and knew exactly how to get what she wanted (big sad eyes, a few pathetic whines, a raised paw, if need be). It was only a minute before Jo was up and leaning over the railing to give Laika a pet.

Usually they didn't speak. The smallest things seemed to spark up into fights between them, and Morgan found it was easier just to keep their interactions to a minimum.

So it was a surprise when Jo spoke first. "Rough night?"

"Yeah. You could say that."

"Want to talk about it?"

“Thank you for pretending to care, but not really.” She grimaced. It really was the perfect opportunity to ask, but it was hard to shake the habit of brushing Jo off.

Jo snorted. “You know, I really preferred fightin’ to this cold shoulder treatment.”

“That’s because you’re a disagreeable sort of woman.”

“That’s the spirit, pet. But you can do better than that. C’mere.”

Morgan glared at her. “No. I’m good where I am actually.” She looked the other way, puffing on the joint. She could ask tomorrow. She wasn’t in a mood to deal with anyone else tonight. Having to smile and play nice with Pippa had been bad enough. She needed a good sleep before she could even pretend to be friendly to anyone else.

She startled when Jo’s thick fingers plucked the joint out of her hand. “Hey! I didn’t invite you over here.”

“Your weed’s better than mine.”

“Probably because I grow it myself. What do you want?”

Jo sat down on the solid little coffee table in front of Morgan, holding her cigar and whiskey glass in one hand. She leaned forward, glass resting lightly on her knee, bleeding condensation into the denim. Mixed drink, then, not straight whiskey. Jo drank the better stuff neat. “Pip called me today.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jo hummed, offering the joint back, blue eyes stern. “Don’t be coy, if you’re fuckin’ her again I’d rather know than get blindsided bumpin’ into her in the hallway.”

“Did she tell you we were?”

Jo’s jaw clenched tight. “She said she was lookin’ forward to seein’ you tonight.”

“Well I’m sure it was super nice for her. She bought my team’s arena. I am gonna have to start fucking her if I want to keep our usual practice slots. She made that… Well about as clear as she ever makes anything.” Morgan handed the joint over again. “So not very, but I still got the gist of it.” She scrunched up Laika’s ears, humming. Laika’s tail solidly thumped against Jo’s shin, bridging the space between them.

“Extortionist,” Jo scoffed.

“Yeah. Pretty much. Bricks said you might take pity on us if I asked nicely. I know you practice out of your warehouse.” Morgan lifted her eyes back up to Jo’s face.

“Is this you askin’ nicely?” Jo leaned forward slightly, her soft stomach spilling over her belt a bit, biceps flexing as she leaned more weight on her arms. “You can do better than that. Not so much as a please.”

“It was not me asking nicely. I had no intention of talking to you until tomorrow, and I’m still not asking until I’ve had at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

“Surprised you’d come to me.”

Morgan looked away first, just like she always did. Jo had an intensity to her that was hard to match, blue eyes drilling into her own like she was looking for faults she could use to crack her open entirely. It was much easier to study the freckles on the top of her shoulder, just above the pinup girl sitting on the curve of a crescent moon that looked rather a lot like her ex wife, Sadie. “I wouldn’t if I had literally any other option. But I have to admit that you are slightly more tolerable than Pippa. Even if you do park half in my spot and fuck squealing college girls at all hours of the night.”

“You don’t need the space. You have a bike.”

“So that gives you the right to park your big-dick pickup truck wherever you please?”

“Sure does, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart! We have one conversation that doesn’t make me want to punch you, and you have to ruin it.”

She grinned, shifting back again. “Not being very nice to someone you want to ask a favour from.”

“I’m not asking the favour until tomorrow. I’m too grumpy to be nice tonight. You invited yourself over and plopped yourself down in front of me and started smoking my weed.” This was not helpful. Why did Jo always manage to get her this worked up? She drew in a centring breath. “No, you’re right, I should be nicer.”

"I did bogart your joint," Jo conceded. "That's on me." Rather than hand it back, she took a long drag, the cherry burning bright all the way down to the folded cardboard filter, and dropped the remains in the ashtray. She leaned forward again, cupping the back of Morgan's neck with a strong hand, and blew smoke directly into Morgan's face. She grinned wickedly when Morgan spluttered a bit. "What's wrong, pet? Thought you wanted me to share better."

"Maybe I am better off negotiating with Pippa," Morgan grumbled, swatting Jo's hand away.

"Hm. Maybe. Why don't you think about how you'll ask me about practice space tomorrow, and I'll get out of your hair." Jo stood up, gave Laika another pat, and climbed back over to her side of the balcony without another word.

Morgan ushered Laika inside, fuming again, and furiously got ready for bed.

She was sure of one thing; Jo Price was going to make a truce between them nigh impossible.

Title card made on Canva - Image Credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 (Stickers are Canva assets) Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

Out of the siblings, and Mickey as well if you want, who do you think was clingy as a toddler and who was the "Let me down! Let me out of this stroller! I can walk by myself!" toddler?

IM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS ASK I LOVE IT SM

since there’s so many of them i dont think that just one sibling could be one of these. it has to be at least two.

ian and debbie were definitely both clingy as toddlers imo.

according to frank, ian’s been a “drama queen” since the day he was born so i think he was clingy. i could see him following fiona around, begging her or monica to hold him constantly, or just trying to milk frank for as much attention as possible constantly. this is one of the many reasons frank never liked him. fiona would let him cling to her, monica would sometimes find it cute, but sometimes find it obnoxious, and frank would just get pissed at him for it. when he didn’t get attention from fiona or monica, he would just cry or get mad. he didn’t do that in front of frank, though, because it would never end well.

and we all know that debbie loves attention (me too, girl) so i think that she was always clingy… yet also independent? i think that she, like many toddlers, had a lot of mood swings. like, she would beg her parents or big siblings (or even kev and v) to hold her and play with her but then would get mad at them for doing so and would scream and hit them. she was (and still is) very into being independent, but she also needed all eyes to be on her and she needed comfort and attention. she has totally followed fiona all around the gallagher house, whining about wanting fiona to hold her, and when fiona begrudgingly does, debbie starts kicking and screaming and yelling, “put me down! put me down!”.

lip was definitely all the way a “put me down!” type of toddler. for all of lip’s toddler years, he was canonically homeless, so i don’t know if it would’ve been the same, but i could see fiona trying to pick lip up and lip just getting mad and hitting her. maybe frank and monica got wasted and left the three eldest children alone in a park or something, and lip and ian would be walking too slow, being that they were so little, so fiona would scoop ian up and have no problem, and she would try to drag lip and hold his hand, but he’d just throw a tantrum. lip definitely threw a lot of tantrums.

i think carl was also like lip in this way, sort of, except he was quieter about it. i could see carl being more physical, like biting or scratching or hitting if someone wouldn’t put him down, but i don’t think he’d yell or anything. being that he was the baby of the family until he was seven, he was probably dragged around a lot, and he probably hated it. we know that as a child he was very… hyper, for lack of a better word, and i bet he was constantly biting. we heard a story about toddler carl in 9x06, and he sounds very chaotic, as always.

and since you said mickey, i’ve been thinking about it, and i really can’t decide.

maybe when he was little he wanted attention from terry (and laura, whoever she was. if she was around or alive. the lore on her is so messy so let’s just say she was dead so only terry), but learned the hard way that he couldn’t get it, so he started building up walls at an early age. but maybe colin and iggy would drag him along with them to go places and they would pick him up, but mickey wasn’t used to the touch, and so he would scream and kick, bite, scratch, punch, etc until they put him down. deep down he was probably very clingy and he desperately wanted the touch, but he never really got to be so he just buried it deep inside.

[doevademe]

Prompt: I have always loved the idea that both Percy and Nico come to the same person to rant about how much they pine for each other but they can’t be together be they are dumbasses, and it’s always Jason due to him typically being their third of their trio, but do want to know who I think would be funnier? Frank, who is Nico’s sister’s boyfriend and who is distantly related to Percy. I can see them both going to frank because 1) Frank is just an overall sweet guy who will you can kinda just talk to with having any snappy comments in return (you know characters like Annabeth, Leo and Jason would absolutely make fun of the both of them) and 2) frank is lowkey a pushover and would absolutely not be able to stand up to Percy and Nico using him as an emotional bucket to dump into. Frank is over here suffering just wondering how he got roped into this mess of a relationship.

Frank Zhang often wondered what had landed him in this position.

Maybe he was too nice, maybe he needed to practice saying 'no' once in a while, maybe he had been unlucky enough.

His bet was on him making a dumb comment once after walking in on something he shouldn't have.

It had been early in the morning and he had been going on his way to the senate, when he saw Percy's back as he leaned against someone suggestively.

Now, he knew it wasn't Annabeth, as they had broken up a while ago, but the way Percy covered the other person with his body was a little too intimate for the public street, at least in his opinion.

"Please don't do that in public," he had said before noticing, and Percy jumped to separate himself from... his future brother-in-law, Nico di Angelo.

"We weren't doing anything!" Percy had shouted, face red. "Just... talking about breakfast!"

Nico nodded quickly, as red as Percy.

Frank nodded carefully, fully prepared to move on and try to forget this ever happened, unaware that he had signed his death sentence.

"And he just... doesn't notice!" Percy said, frustrated. "I have tried everything, telling him he looks nice, invinting him to dinner, I even touched his ass!"

Frank looked around, hoping no one in the bistro had heard his friend/distant uncle, but was disappointed when he caught a few people looking at them discreetly.

"Just... he'll never see me as anything but a friend," he said, sulking.

"You know, you could be direct with him," he tried. "Just tell him how you feel."

Percy looked at him as if he had gone crazy.

"Are you insane? What if he doesn't feel the same?" Percy said. Frank was vaguely aware that his cofee with milk had gone cold a while ago. "It will ruin our friendship! I rather have Nico as a friend that not have him at all!"

Frank groaned. This was a test, maybe by his father to see if he would finally kill his nemesis. But Frank didn't have it in him to be that ruthless, and Percy was one of his closest friends...

"If only there was a way to know what he thought about me," he lamented, making the Praetor bite his tongue.

Yeah, if only someone could tell him that Nico felt the same... someone who hadn't been sworn to secrecy.

He had had to brush up his mythology trivia after he hadn't remembered what swearing by the Styx meant twice.

"Well, I need to get to class." Percy sighed and finished his cold cofee in one quick gulp. "Thanks for listening, Frank, you're the best."

The son of Mars gave a feeble smile and waved him off.

He paid for his part of the bill and went towards the fields of Mars, where he bumped into Nico.

"Frank," he greeted, face inescrutable like always. "Nice seeing you today."

"Uh, same," he said lamely. "I'm actually on my way to oversee some training drills so..."

"Are you free for lunch?" Nico asked, looking like he didn't care. Frank paled, but nodded after Nico stared at him intensely. "Great, the usual place, then?"

"O-okay..."

----

Hazel had been overjoyed over him spending more time with Nico. Having the most important men in her life be friends was everything to her.

If she knew why they hung out so much however... maybe she'd feel some pity for him.

"I just... can't understand him," Nico said, groaning into his pasta. Frank counted his blessings that at least Nico was much quieter. "Like, he touched me... inappropriately, yesterday, but after I asked he just said his hand slipped."

When Percy had chosen him as his confidante, he had said it was because they were friends, and since Percy had helped him get together with Hazel, so Frank felt as if he owed him.

Nico, though? He had been blunt and honest. He had just said, "you saw, please help me," and Frank was still very intimidated by the son of Hades to say no.

"And at this point, maybe he's telling the truth!" Nico exclaimed. "Maybe it's all in my head! I mean, Percy has always been a very touchy person, it... it could mean nothing..."

"Maybe you are the one that needs to be forward?" he tried for the second time that day. "Don't tell him what you feel, just say how it comes off as and confront him."

"What if he denies it?" Nico asked. "I... I couldn't take the rejection... At least like this, I can pretend that he likes me like I like him."

Frank busied himself with his steak to not comment. Nico sighed again and took a sip of his wine.

"I don't say this often but, thank you for listening," Nico said earnestly. "You're a good friend, Frank."

Frank gritted his teeth as he gave a forced smile.

"Anytime, Nico."

It wasn't like he could say no.

----

"Also," Frank said loudly to the Legion. Hazel raised an eyebrow, that was all they had discussed for their daily activities. "Any children or Legacies of Mercury or Hermes should speak with me before dinner. Dismissed."

The Legion saluted and marched.

"What was that about?" Hazel asked curiously.

"I need someone capable of forging handwriting," he said.

Now Hazel was really worried.

"You're not getting into anything dangerous, are you?"

"Huh? No! Don't worry!" he reassured her quickly. "It's the opposite, I'm getting out of a messy situation."

Hazel looked at her boyfriend's expression and relaxed a little.

"Is it one of those situations you could get out of if you just said 'no'?" She asked knowingly. Frank stayed silent. "Oh, Frank..."

"It will be better for everyone, not just me," he said. "Hopefully."

And hazel could only pray he was right.

[writerscornercafe]

WCC's Round Robin #7 & #8

Thank you so so much to @tommokat (pink) @thinlinez (green) and @beelou (red) for participating in another Round Robin session and writing this amazing crack fic! I hope you all have a great laugh as much as we did!

“Harry. My love.”

“Yes?” Harry singsongs back to Louis, although it comes out like ‘yeth’ from the banana in his mouth.

“Are you going to do anything besides eat bananas with Mildred today?”

Harry frowns at Louis and shares a look with Mildred. “Why would I do that?”

“Because we have a lot to do today. Because we bought a zoo!”

“We bought an animal sanctuary, actually.” Harry takes another bite of banana and passes more to Mildred. “Honestly, between this one and your Frank, I don’t know how we put up with these monkeys, Mildred.”

Louis stares at him. “Mildred is literally a monkey.”

“I mean, if you want to be technical about it, we all are, but I didn’t know we were being pedantic about it.”

Louis sighs and drops his head into his hands. “Just make sure you give some bananas to Frank and Ricco as well, please? They’re not just for your girl time with Milly.” Harry sends him a kiss and Louis knows he’s been heard (and played). “I’m going to go feed the otters and then check in with Niall.” He turns to walk out the office door and completely fails to not laugh at Harry’s shouted ‘Awake the Kraken!’ behind him.

Louis walks down the dirt path, nodding in greeting to the volunteers he walks by. He stops to get the bucket of fish for the otters from the kitchen and is on his way to the otter habitat. How they even got into this is really a blur for him. One minute Harry is looking at properties to buy and the next, he makes the transaction for a zoo. Harry insists on calling it an animal sanctuary, but a zoo is what it is. 

The otters are one of his favorite animals, though. They’re just so cute and have so much personality. Louis never realized that animals could have so much gumption before this. For that, he is grateful to learn. It’s been stressful at times, of course, but all in all, it’s been fun.

A splash from beside the otter habitat makes him look up, bit of crayfish dangling from his fingers as Niall pokes his head up.

"Awake so early?" Louis raises a brow as he teasingly waves the food at the squid whose head was bobbing above the water, huge eyes tracking his every move. "Guess you must have smelled the food, but these aren't for you…" 

Niall does a flip disappearing under the surface and splashing a decent amount of water over the brim of his tank. Louis doesn't get why Niall loves to throw tantrums. He and Harry had especially gotten the huge tank just for him and had even moved the tanks of eels and turtles to the other side of the sanctuary. Niall was too spoiled for his own good. 

Louis shakes his head as he walks away, knowing full well that he would come back soon to give the spoiled squid his full English breakfast. 

“Alright, friends!” Louis calls as he makes it into the otter compound. “Who’s ready for breakfast?”

He takes his time with the little creatures, making sure each of them get greeted with joy and a fair share of the food. There’s 13 of them in total, but Louis wouldn’t mind if the whole zoo was only otters. An otter-only zoo. He has confessed as much to Harry and was told it would be ‘an otter-ly amazing zoo.’ Always with the puns, that one is.

“I shared it with Frank and Ricco. Frank said thank you, Ricco just rolled his eyes at me. I don’t think Ricco likes me that much.”

Louis pats the concrete next to where he’s sitting and wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders when he cuddles close. “Think maybe that’s because you eat all of his food and take the attention of his mother all the time?”

Harry seems to consider it for a few seconds, but ultimately sighs. “No, that can’t be it.”

Louis turns back to the otters to hide his amused grin. He finds a pair of otters floating, little paws clasped so they stay together, a tiny fluff of fur atop the tummy of the longer one. An otter-ly perfect family.

Harry finds them, too. “Look, that’s us.”

“We don’t have a baby, baby,” Louis reminds him. (Yet, he thinks.)

“We have a lot of babies. Niall included.”

Speaking of the devil, Niall comes in with Lewis, twerking into the scene. 

“I heard my name! I am here!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Louis asks, face red from holding in his laughter at the sight. Niall is a terrible twerker. Lewis isn’t much better at all.

“Twerking! What does it look like?” Lewis says, still shaking his arse in the air.

“Well, stop it! You ruined our cute and sappy moment with the otters!”

Niall stops twerking, but Lewis keeps going as he walks out of the habitat.

“Why were you twerking? Wait- I don’t wanna know. It’s okay.” Louis shakes his head. “I was just gonna go find you after I fed the otters. Do you need something? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah everything’s fine,” Niall says but he’s not meeting Louis’ eyes.

“Niall? What’s up?” Harry asks again, noticing the lack of eye contact.

“Thelionandtigermated.”

“What?”

Niall sighs and repeats himself slower. “The lion and the tiger mated.”

Louis has to process the statement for a second, but before he could say anything, Harry is wriggling out of his cuddle and jumping up, curls flying.

"Oh my god! A liger is about to grace our sanctuary! I've been waiting for this moment for so long!" Harry squeals, pumping his fists in the air.

"You have?" Louis' mouth drops open.

"Of course! I mean, there is not a lion on earth who can resist the charm of our beautiful majestic Liam."

"You not only play matchmaker for people but also for your animals? Speaking of which, why don't you play matchmaker for mini me? All I get is an empty tank and is by my lonesome self all the time…" Niall huffs.

"Oi, it's hard enough to find squids around here. We live in London, not on an island." Louis slaps Niall on the shoulder as the Irish attempt to close their distance, shaking his arse again.

"But Lou! We did see that really pretty octopus in the fish market last weekend…" Harry interjects, forest greens misty and thoughtful. "I think he'll still be there if we go back this week."

“Excuse you, Harry, but my Niall boy is a squid. He needs a squid lover.”

Harry huffs, sitting back down with Louis and wrapping his arms around Louis. Louis can tell he’s preparing a comeback, so he rolls his eyes and prepares for the weird best friend crack these two always get into.

“Your boy is infertile anyway, so it doesn’t matter what type of creature his life mate is.”

“Listen, I’m not saying they have to be a match made in heaven, everyone knows those only come around so often–”

“Yes, Louis and I are truly a rare breed.”

“—But if we could find another creature of the same species, that would be great.”

“Sure, Niall, I’ll get right on that. You know, I think Manchester just got a whole buttload of squids in. I’ll just give them a call.”

“Great! Thanks!”

“That was sarcasm, you Irish twat!”

“Aww.” Niall pouts

Louis rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he sighs. Niall looks up hopefully. “I’ll have Harry look into getting another squid.”

“Yay!” Niall clapps his hands and lunges forward to kiss Louis on the cheek violently, holding his face in both hands.

“Oi! That was wet!” Louis screeches, wiping his cheek of the slobber that Niall left. But Niall is already twerking out of the room, not having a care in the world.

“Never a dull moment with him, is there?” Louis shakes his head, bewildered.

Suddenly, Harry’s walkie talkie that is slung around his hips cracks to life, startling the couple.

“Hey, H?” Lewis’ voice echoed out from the machine. “Them new lemurs you got are fighting… Again… I think Zayn goaded them into it.”

“Fucking shit!” Louis swears even though Lewis wasn’t addressing him. He could see Harry giving him a disapproving look.

“No swearing in front of our otters!” His husband pouted adorably. Louis sighs, grabbing at Harry’s arm and hoisting the taller man up.

“Time to go stop the fight or else it’ll get bloody… And you’re the only one who can talk sense into Zayn.”

They round the otter habitat and cross the length of a field, passing by the ducks, koalas clinging to trees and kangaroos chilling under the shades.

The lemur habitat comes into view and what a sight it beholds. As always, Zayn is sitting on the top rock, lounging in the sun like a king and surveying the other fellow lemurs who are hissing and clawing at each other beneath him. In front of Zayn laid a single tangerine. Louis deduces that the fruit must be what the others are fighting over.

“Why are our friends the most chaotic fools known to mankind? First Niall and his twerking and his squid junior, now Zayn and his lemur Hunger Games.” Louis sighs and rubs a hand across his forehead. “Next thing you know, Liam will be teaching the penguins how to dance like Happy Feet.”

“Ooh, that would be cute!” Harry exclaims. “You go get him to do that, I’ll take care of Z, and I’ll meet you back in your office in thirty for a little dance lesson of our own.” He waggles his eyebrows in the most Harry way possible and Louis is too fond for this goof to do anything but agree to his silly terms.

“Alright, lovey. You take care of this one, I’ll take care of that one, and we’ll take care of each other in thirty.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s lips and pulls away with a wink.

Harry watches Louis walk away only to be interrupted by Zayn’s drawl.

“They’re fun, right?”

Harry turns around. “What did you do?”

Zayn shrugs, taking a bite out of the apple in his hand. “I fed them.”

Harry closes his eyes, centering himself. The one line responses irritating him to no end. Has it been thirty minutes yet? “Obviously you didn’t give them enough. Look at them! Your mini me is up there teasing them!”

Zayn takes another bite of his apple. “Is that what they’re doing? I thought they were just playing with each other. I thought it was cute.”

“It certainly is not cute!” Harry gestures pointedly at the lemur who took that exact moment to pounce on her neighbor, sending the other lemur flying.

Harry strides up to the fence, whistling so that mini Zayn would look up and catch his gaze. He shakes his head at lemur Zayn, pursing his lips as he points at the tangerine then back down at the fighting lemurs.

Mini Zayn makes a eeping noise before glancing at his human counterpart who tossed the apple core into the grass, straightening his overalls.

“Alright my dude, give the tangerine to your friends, come on.” Zayn orders lazily as Harry crosses his arms.

Lemur Zayn gives Harry another cock of his head before hopping down from his rock throne, grabbing the tangerine and waving it at the rest of the lemurs. They all crowd around their leader as Harry turns to give Zayn a slap on the shoulder.

“Well now that we don’t have to worry about lemur civil war, I need to run back to my otter pups. I forgot to give them their special treat.” Harry fishes a bag out from his pocket, three boiled eggs inside.

“Three eggs for the whole raft of otters?”

“Certainly not. These are for Harry and Louis and baby Pino. Obviously.”

“Your favoritism is showing. You’re almost as bad as me.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at Zayn and put the bag back in his pocket.

“I don’t even know why Lou hired you in the first place. You don’t ever help and always stir up chaos. You are in cahoots with mini Zayn.”

“If I’m not around then this zoo will be so boooooooring. And you know Lou hired me coz I’m his best friend.” Zayn smirks as he gives Harry a friendly pat on the back. “Now run along and go find your husband. I overheard you guys earlier… Dancing lesson? You guys are beyond sick.” All of this, Zayn says with a knowing fond smile.

Harry brightens. “Aww, Z, does that mean you’ll help me feed the squirrels, camels and ravens?” “That is one long list… But fine. Go have some quality time with your husband and leave you guys’ children to me then.” One last thing before Harry leaves, he hears Zayn muttering. “Can’t believe these two went and bought themselves a zoo.”

[artificialcaretaker]

“Surprisingly, not all of it was due to circumstances. A part of his madness was entirely hereditary. In fact, Vaas wasn’t the only one with the curse.”

[Note that I start rambling like a madman under the cut so maybe skip that if you don’t wanna read about my elaborate headcanons idk.

[Little known fact about me, I love sopping wet pathetic women. Or, at the very least, incredibly unwell women. This particular taste of mine is in no way implying that I am apologizing for any horrible actions a character might have committed, rather it just reveals one side as to how they actually got to those actions.

So, I know that it’s semi-canonical that Vaas was pretty well off for himself before The Incident, but like. I harbor the headcanon that he was definitely still mentally ill earlier in life, but at that particular point if actually action was taken to help him then he legitimately could have grown into a decent human being. I also harbor the headcanon that part of his ambiguous condition was entirely genetic. I feel like there was always something “off” about him. Violent outbursts continuing onto an age where it could no longer be considered a childish temper, a refusal to listen to rules, biting nails to the point of bleeding etc. etc. that kid was WEIRD.

But Citra, I feel, was also severely ill, but she never used such an expressive sort of outlet as a cry for help. While I am in no way saying that undiagnosed mental illness leads to predatory behavior I feel like some of the ways she treated Vaas throughout their life was, in part, a way for her to feel in control of at least one thing in life. I feel like after The Incident, things got worse for her. I think she rationalized that Vaas’ spiral into madness was some divine punishment for betraying her, but also that logic was slightly flawed in the fact that she also felt like she was spiraling. And then it hit her, this was her punishment too. It was hers because she messed up. She let him get away. She didn’t prepare him enough she didn’t raise him right she didn’t keep him calm she didn��t keep him isolated she didn’t kill him she couldn’t kill him. So, now, things have to go as smoothly as possible. There can be absolutely no mistakes this time. If she gets this right, if everything goes exactly according to plan, this will all be over and she can be normal. She is absolutely positive on this idea.

But yea no I don’t have any specific headcanon for anything she has, however part of me wants to say OCD among other things but to be frank I don’t know too much about things that I don’t have so I don’t wanna Rose Lalonde this too much. All in all, if the MonteLugmais got therapy early on in childhood a good half of the game would not have happened.

[phireflies]

𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄𝘀

steve takes you to chicago to get your mind off of everything. [wc; 4.9k]

pairing; steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings; swearing, mentions of death (no one dies though), mentions of violence, this is set sometime after season 3 but not in season 4, fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, and steve being cute, one bed trope... hehehe.... not edited at all oops again

an; title is from all my tomorrows by frank sinatra solely because of the line "and all my tomorrows belong to you". i also don't know what the art institute of chiacgo was like in the 80's so it's probably not accurate LOL

it was a month after starcourt had gone down in a fire, according to the news. you and the others knew what actually happened, and it hurt to keep that tucked away.

it had been a month, and you were still hurting. your body was still sore, some bruises never healed, and your brain seemed to be permanently fried.

everyone was scared still, scared about what they would do if it came back, or if someone died.

will, jonathan, joyce, and el had left for california. seeing everyone saying bye hurt, made it feel like your heart was being ripped apart. it was for the best though, everyone knew that.

now, you were standing on the curb with a bag waiting for steve to pick you up. a month ago, he appeared under your window, asking if you'd like to go on a trip with him. just you and him. you met steve during all of this, and he'd taken a liking to you. he wasn't at all like his high school self. you liked him, and he liked you. you just didn't know that.

it was cold, the air was biting at your cheeks. it was early morning, around 3 am.

you got lost in your thoughts, something that happened often. you would often find yourself back in the mall, back in the russian base underneath getting beat up and drugged.

the headlights of the maroon BMW had pulled you out.

steve got out and give you a small smile. he didn't say anything as he opened the trunk for your bag. he still had the bat in there, just in case.

once you two got into the car, he smiled. "hi."

"hi."

"i'm sorry if this is weird." he apologizes. he was a new friend, and he thought that going on a trip with you was strange. it wasn't that strange.

you shook your head. "it's not. thank you for this."

"figured we needed a break, yeah?"

you nodded. "yeah. i'm scared though."

he started the car and began to drive off. "of what? i'm not gonna kill you."

you chuckled. "i didn't think you were. i'm just scared that... that something will happen when we're gone. like dustin will get into some shit and we won't be there to help."

steve glanced at you. he wished he wasn't driving so that he could stare at you more. he decided that it was stupid and weird of him to think that. "they'll be fine. i may or may not have threatened him. i think he'll be okay."

"i hope so. god, i'm just so, i don't know. i don't know."

"i know. me too."

steve reached over the center console to grab your hand where it rested on your leg. he was always one to engage in physical touch. it took you some time to get used to it.

"the drives like three hours. maybe more if we decide to stop." he says. the radio wasn't on, the only thing you could hear was his breathing and the engine. "you ever been to illinois?"

you shake your head. his hand was still on yours. your skin burned. "no. my mom always said it was cool though. you?"

"nope. my dad said the same thing. he's always up there for work trips. but uh, about your parents - they don't care?"

"i didn't tell them, but they wouldn't care. i think it's better that i'm gone, that they don't have to deal with me." you laugh, trying to hide the fact that you were almost in tears. your parent's attitudes had changed after starcourt. they hated that you had changed, that you weren't as smiley and carefree.

steve smiled at you. "i get that. fuck parents."

"fuck parents." you agreed.

you and steve had bonded over your family situations. he would call whenever he couldn't sleep, and most of the time you couldn't either. it was either his parents were gone and he was left alone, or his dad had said awful shit to him.

you had gotten so close to steve over the months that you would consider him your best friend. it angered you that his parents hurt him the way they did.

"are you okay?" you ask. it felt weird to ask that because he wasn't okay. no one really was.

his face was still bruised, and his cuts were still healing. "i'm hanging in there. are you okay?"

"hanging in there." you repeat. "your face has gotten better."

he laughed. "started taking care of the cuts and stuff, you'd be amazed at what a difference that can make."

"i bet. my back is still sore. can't believe that guy just threw-" you stop yourself and take a deep breath. "sorry. i'm glad you're hanging in there."

"glad you're hanging in there too." he stops at a red light and takes the opportunity to look at you. really looked at you. you were sure you looked tired, that you had bags and dark circles under your eyes. "let me know if you wanna go back, i'll take you back."

"i don't wanna go back. i wanna stay here." with you.

"good." he smiled, patting your thigh. you felt extremely cold when he put his right hand back on the steering wheel.

once you got out of hawkins fully, the air seemed lighter. it wasn't stale, it didn't hurt to breathe. steve seemed to feel it too, taking a deep breath at the "you are now leaving hawkins" sign.

"i wish we didn't have to come back." you say.

"me either, but the kids."

"the kids. one of these days."

he sighed. "i hope we can all leave sometime. maybe join the byers in california."

"i don't think i'd fit in there." you admit. you had this growing pain in your chest that you were never meant to leave indiana, that you were stuck in hawkins.

steve looks over and raises an eyebrow. "i think you'd fit in perfectly. you could definitely become a great actress or artist, maybe you could write books and stuff."

"i can't do all those things, steve."

he smiled. "yeah you can. i wish you could see how talented you are, babe."

babe. it played over and over again in your head. babe. babe. babe.

steve always used pet names, babe included. every time it gave you goosebumps. "whatever you say, harrington. you'd have a bigger chance of making it in la."

"'cause of the hair, yeah?" he asks and you nod. "knew it. my best feature, right?"

you wanted to be honest and say, no, your eyes, smile, and freckles. "yeah, you are steve the hair harrington, after all."

"oh shut up." he teases. he doesn't want to shut up. he could listen to you speak for hours on end and never get tired.

you finally reach the highway and you're really on your way to chicago. it's smooth sailing from now on. "do you have any plans for us? i don't know what there is to do in chicago."

he shrugs. he can feel his hands burn like they should be on you. you were ice that could relieve the pain. "i heard about some photography exhibits at the art institute. you like photography, right?"

"it's cool. i think that'd be fun."

"i think there's other things if that sounds boring, i didn't really think it through i'm sorry."

"steve." you cut him off. "it's okay, i think it'll be fun. i'm sure they'll be other things to look at too." you two share a look. "it'll be fun with you, i promise."

steve smiles. he can't form words. with you.

he looks around for a gas station. his tank was nearly empty. "shit, i didn't even think to fill up before i left. sorry."

"it's alright."

he finds a gas station and pulls into it. "do you want water? or like, corn nuts? i can go inside and get them."

"no, i'm fine. thank you though."

while steve was focused on the pump, you took the time to really look at his outfit. he had on an old and worn shirt with basketball shorts. and he looked good.

looking down at your outfit, you realized that while you wore basically the same things, you didn't look like him.

you had on gray shorts, cut from an old pair of sweatpants that had gotten too short. you had on a t-shirt, one that was probably your dad's. it was large on you, nearly covering your shorts.

"alright, let's get on the road again," he says, climbing back into the car.

it was still so early that the sun wasn't up yet. it excited you though, the thought of seeing steve in the sunset, a beautiful wash of reds and pinks on his face.

"can i put my feet on the dash? i'll take off my shoes."

"go ahead."

your eyes widened because steve never let anyone put their feet up on the dashboard.

the road is long and winding, it almost puts you to sleep. in fact, you are asleep by the time the sun comes up. so much for seeing steve in the light.

"babe. i think we should get some coffee, yeah?"

steve didn't like coffee, you did. he brought you to a cafe for you. "are we in chicago?" you rubbed your eyes.

he shook his head. "no, but we are in Illinois. just got here."

you nod and rub your eyes. the sun was bright, making you squint. "coffee."

"yeah, up." he motioned for you to sit up and get out of the car.

you felt weird about going into a cafe, a nice looking one, in your sleep clothes. steve didn't seem to care, so you tried not to either.

"holy shit, thank god." steve muttered, eyeing the toast and eggs on the menu.

the waitress came over a couple minutes after you sat down. "what can i get for you folks? i think i saw you looking at the toast and egg plate? it's very good." her tone was overly flirtatious. she looked much too old to be flirting with steve.

"yeah, i'll get that. uh, water too, please."

"got it, and for you?"

you smile. "just a coffee please. no milk or anything."

the waitress nods and leaves.

"no food?"

you shrug. "not that hungry."

steve leans back in the booth and nods. "maybe i'll find a nice burger joint or something. that sounds good, no?"

"it does."

you're quiet, too quiet. it felt strange, steve felt strange. "you okay?"

you shrug. "still scared i guess."

he puts his elbows on the table and leans over. "wanna talk about it? i'm a good listener."

"i don't know. i just feel scared. i've got goosebumps all the time, even when i'm not cold." you close your eyes.

steve hooks his ankle with yours under the table. "considering what we all went through, i'd say that's normal. i've been getting nightmares real bad lately. robin said that's normal."

"i'm sorry," you say. you haven't been having nightmares, but then again, your whole life recently felt like a nightmare.

"s'alright." he's silent for a few seconds, staring at you. "is it weird if i ask to hold your hand?"

you almost choke. "uh, no, i don't think so."

he reaches over to intertwine his fingers with yours. "you have nice hands."

"so do you." your voice is strained. he notices this and laughs.

"are you flustered?"

"oh my god, shut up."

he mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

"you're insufferable."

"it's just in my blood, baby." his voice is awful and strangely low. it makes you laugh.

you point to him with your free hand. "your lips are supposed to be sealed!"

you two fall into a fit of laughter that undoubtedly has the other occupants giving you dirty looks.

with steve, you could forget that the world existed around you. when you were with him, it was just you and him.

"here's your food, and your coffee. enjoy." the woman smiles.

"so," steve starts, his mouth full of food. "i was thinking we could get there as soon as the place opens, and i don't know, change in the backseat of my car. is that weird?"

you shake your head, sipping the hot coffee. "i don't think so, i've done it plenty of times."

"i was also thinking that we leave today too, i didn't pack enough for multiple nights, and i don't think you did either."

"i didn't."

"you're a mind reader, harrington. plus, i think i can only handle so much of chicago." you laugh.

he nods, finishing his food. "right! i found a cassette in my car, pretty sure max left it. it's stuff i don't really know but it'll be nice to listen to some tunes, yeah?"

you smile at him. he looks so good in the sun, in the cafe. he just looks good. "yeah, it does."

you two finish and steve pays. he almost shoves you out of the cafe when you insist on paying. something about wanting to do nice things. steve is always doing nice things though.

it's a lot warmer when the sun is up, but you think it may just be Illinois itself. it wasn't haunted by a looming evil, surely that contributed to the warmth.

steve drove slower, cruising. his hand found its way to your thigh again, making you scream inside. the windows were down and he had sunglasses on. the sun was high enough that he didn't really need them, but he looked good so you didn't mention it.

the cassette he found was full of random songs that either of you didn't know. it was nice though like you had a little piece of home with you.

"you okay?" steve asked, lowering the music slightly.

"i'm okay."

"good. you were daydreaming again. anything new?" he asks. steve knew about what you saw when you daydreamed, what you smelled, what you felt. all of it in starcourt.

you shook your head, looking out the window again. "nope. i'm used to it though."

"wish you didn't have to be." he tried to smile, but it came out all wrong. "wish you weren't with us at all."

"you're my friend, all of you guys are my friends. i'm just glad everyone's safe."

"me too, glad you're safe."

something about the way he spoke to you made your butterflies grow in your stomach. but he didn't like you, him holding your hand didn't mean he liked you, he was a friend. that's what friends do.

"you get dressed, i'll be outside."

"right, my epic guard." you laugh.

steve parked the car a ways away to allow the most privacy. privacy in chicago was hard to come by though.

steve was sitting on the hood of the car, his back to you. you changed quickly. a worn pair of blue jeans and a tank top. it was red with navy horizontal stripes. totally not appropriate for the weather.

you climbed out of the back and sighed. "think i'm ready."

steve turned around and gasped dramatically. "oh heavens!"

"what?" you thought something was on your face, or your hair was messed up.

"you just look really good. like awesome."

"awesome," you repeat. his face turns a pink color, making you laugh. "you look awesome too, harrington."

"shut up." he laughs, pulling you into his side. his arm is around your shoulder as he leads you to the institute. "excited?"

anything is fun with you, you wanted to say. "yes."

whatever exhibit was open behind those doors excited you. it could be anything, really.

inside, you could tell that you were underdressed, both of you. it was full of older people in nicer clothes. they probably understood art more than you too.

there was a sign that read "SCENES FROM THE SUMIDA RIVER". yeah, you were excited.

it felt like an eternity passed while you walked around looking at everything while steve followed behind. his feet were dragging a little, concerning you. "are you tired?"

he shook his head. "not really. feet just hurt a little."

"you can go sit down, i can continue on my own."

steve nearly shouted then, because he wouldn't leave you. he couldn't leave you. the way your face lit up when you saw something that you liked, whether that be an interesting texture in the painting or the subject's emotion.

"i like watching you. kinda like you're art." he winced as he said it, knowing it was cheesy.

"shut up, cheese ball." you laugh quietly. because of your attire, you and steve got strange looks from the older folk, and you didn't want to get any more from being loud. "thank you though. that's sweet."

"i'm sweet." he says it in a sweet voice. it fits.

"i'm almost done looking by the way. my feet hurt too."

"you having fun?" he asks, putting his hand on the small of your back. it's strange then, though you're used to the touch.

you nod and continue looking at the painting in front of you.

"what's the meaning behind this one?"

you shrug. "no clue, pretty though." steve nods, he agrees, though, he would argue that you're prettier. he's too nervous to say that though.

"there's a lot of old women here, think some of them want to come onto me." he whispers and smirks.

you laugh. "oh definitely, everyone wants to get a piece of steve harrington." you hit his chest and walk away.

"are we leaving?" steve calls, a little louder than he should be. he jogs to catch up. "i kinda wanna leave."

"yeah, i'm done looking."

“you have fun?” he asks.

you nodded. “a lot. i’ll have to come back and see what else chicago has to offer.”

steve’s quiet as he thinks. “would i be allowed to join?”

you laugh and fight the urge to hit his shoulder. “idiot, you’re the only one with a car. of course, you’re allowed to join.”

he pumps his fist up. "hell yeah!" it's like he's a little kid again. it's sweet. "alright, let's rock and roll." and you're off before you can chastise him for that saying.

"no fucking way." steve mumbles as he pulls over to the side of the road. the car was driving a little funny and there was a squeaking noise.

"what's going on?"

"something broke, maybe the brakes? or the whole engine might be fucked... god i don't know!" steve shuts off the engine and climbs out. his stance is something familiar, with his hands on his hips shaking his head.

you get out too. "assuming you can't fix cars?"

"you're funny. i'm gonna call a tow truck or something." and he's off to a payphone, cursing under his breath.

with the sun going down, you started to shiver.

looking around you, the small town you were in was quiet, with no traffic noise or people's car radios being too loud. thankfully, in case you needed it, there was a motel nearby. it didn't look the best, but it seemed to have some vacancy.

"hey."

"jesus! you can't sneak up on me like that!" you hold your hand to your chest. steve had a bad habit of sneaking up on you.

"sorry. i called, it's gonna come soon. also called dustin just in case."

you nod and shift on your feet, the temperature uncomfortable. "probably for the best. don't want him breaking down your door when we don't come back right away."

he laughs and blows out a long breath. "i think we should get a room for the night." he nods his head in the direction of the motel.

"i was thinking that. i'll go get a room while you wait for the truck."

before steve can protest and tell you to not pay for anything, you're already far away from him. you can almost hear him sigh humorously.

it's empty when you walk inside. the bell above you moving, but making no noise. there's no bell on the desk, either. to get whoever attention, you cough loudly. a man appears from behind the desk. he was just sitting there. avoiding you?

"sorry, do you have a room?"

"one." the man speaks in an awful british accent and you almost think he may be faking it.

you throw down some bills on the desk, probably too many. "keep the change." you say when you notice his wide eyes.

he hands you a key with tape on the head that has 15 scribbled on it. it's old, the tape is almost falling off, losing its stick. it's silent, the man doesn't speak again, just nods when you leave.

it wasn't hot inside, but it was a helluva lot warmer in rather than out.

"holy shit, that was weird," you say to steve as you approach him. the tow truck hadn't come yet.

"yeah?"

"hopefully won't have to deal with him any more than we have to. tow trucks gonna come soon, yeah?"

he nods. "are you cold?"

you begin to say yes and he's already receiving a jacket from the back. "better?" he asks when it's around your shoulders. the little bits of skin that his hands had grazed felt warmer than the jacket could ever make you.

"yes. thank you."

he pats both of your shoulders and smiles. "'course."

the tow truck pulls up with it's brights on, effectively blinding both of you. a scary man hops out and almost jogs over. steve stands up a little straighter.

"you steve?"

steve nods. "that's me."

they continue a conversation a little ways away from you, probably about where the car will end up and when it'll get fixed.

a few minutes later and the car is being hauled away.

"i hope she'll be okay." steve says quietly.

"the car? you don't need to be so sad about it, it's probably fine."

"fucking better be."

your bags were already sitting on the ground. steve didn't need to pick up your bag, but he did anyway.

"lead the way."

you swing the key ring on your finger and walk to the room. "i'm gonna be honest, i'm not expecting the best motel room. sorry if it's like, gross."

anywhere is okay with you, he wanted to say.

steve wasn't paying attention when you opened the door, startled by your shouting. "holy shit!"

just your luck, just your fucking luck. one bed. it's like in the movies.

"i can't believe this," you mumble.

steve sets down the bags and puts his hands on his hips, observing. "i can sleep on the floor."

"you aren't sleeping on the floor, it'll be fine. just... this sucks." you wince at your choice of words. "i mean, it doesn't suck, having to sleep with you - i'm gonna shut up now."

steve laughs loudly, making your face heat up. "you're awful."

"i think i need to shower," you say, retrieving your pajamas from earlier. you needed to freshen up if you were going to be in a bed next to steve harrington.

you've fought russians, sort of, and crazy interdimensional monsters. all while steve harrington was making you the most nervous. what a world.

when you got out of the shower and spent an eternity making yourself look presentable, steve had been waiting on the bed. he wasn't under the covers or anything, he was just sitting down and staring at the wall. the cream colors of the wall weren't interesting to him, it was you he was thinking of.

his heart was beating out of his chest, and he hoped that you wouldn't be able to hear it when you got out.

before he could try and think of anything to make him less nervous, there you were. although cheesy, he thought you looked like an angel, all glowy and fresh and nice.

"hi."

"hi." you say quietly, making your way to the bed. it was a full bed, thankfully not a twin. it seemed a perfect size, not too big and not too small.

"you smell different."

"i had to use those shitty travel size shampoo and conditioner things. they don't smell good."

"i wasn't gonna say anything bad, i think they smell okay."

the conversation felt easy and normal. you loved how it was like that with steve.

"i'm sorry that this whole thing got fucked." he said, his voice small. "just wanted to do something nice for you."

"it's not your fault, steve. you can't know when your car is gonna die." you want to reach over and grab his hand. he beats you to it.

it's quiet. every so often you can hear a car pass, or a screech on the road, or a honk. the only light was the orange-ish fluorescent from the street lights. even in shitty lighting steve looked good, he looked like steve.

"you look nice." he says, moving out of the way to allow more light to your face. "really nice."

"are you hitting on me?"

he laughs and shakes his head. "absolutely not." his voice is dripping with sarcasm. "maybe."

"god, you're awful. i'm gonna get robin to beat your ass for being awful."

"she'd love that."

again, you fall into a comfortable silence. his fingers are still intertwined with yours.

you want to make him laugh. you turn to sit in front of him with your legs underneath you. "do you have a crush on anyone?"

"oh my god, stop that. feels like eighth grade all over again." he laughs. mission accomplished. "i'm tired."

"me too, i'll stop being childish."

"best you do that, i think. i'm not gonna sleep much if i'm laughing."

you both laugh again. it's awkward when you both try to get under the covers. much to your dismay, he lets go of your hand. when you're both situated, he doesn't grab it again.

you are both facing each other, however. that's a plus.

"how often do you have nightmares?"

he shrugs as well as he can from his position. it's a little weird. "more often than not."

"i'm sorry. what do i do if you have one tonight?"

again, he shrugs. "dunno. i don't even know what to myself."

you turn on your back to look at the ceiling. popcorn ceiling. "i'm sorry." you say again. steve didn't move from his position on his side. he liked looking at you.

"it's alright."

he still stares at your side profile until he thinks you're nearly asleep.

"yes."

"hm?" you stir.

"to your question earlier, the crush one. yes. you?"

you shift to look at him, mirroring his position yet again. "yes."

he smiles, you smile, no more words need to be shared. the way he looked at you said everything.

"night," he says quietly.

you reply quietly. "night."

steve falls asleep first. you like that, it allows you to admire him. even slightly bruised and cut up he still takes your breath away. the fact that he's less than a foot away makes it even worse.

in the morning, steve is shirtless and his legs are intertwined with yours. it freaks you out a little bit.

he's stirring at the same time you wake up, not fully wanting to open his eyes.

you're looking at the freckles that are on his shoulders. like constellations.

"oh sorry, it got hot."

"shitty motel heating," you say. you don't want to make any notice to your legs, the closeness.

he laughs. "must be." he rubs his eyes. "it's bright in here."

"yeah, i was gonna get up and close the blinds but..."

he notices your legs and chuckles. "sorry."

"don't be." it's nice, you want to say. "i don't think you had a nightmare."

he thinks for a second. "no, i don't think i did."

"maybe we should do this every night," you say it like it should be a joke, and you hope steve takes it that way and laughs. he doesn't,

"maybe."

you are so close. so close.

he leans in and you feel as if you're going to explode. he's going to kiss you, he's 100% going to kiss you.

"i think we should go get the car," he smirks. it's awful. your face is hot and your eyes are wide.

"uh. definitely. yeah."

he untangles himself from you and puts his shirt back on.

inside of the mechanics is cold. the ac was on high, not much different than the chill outside.

whoever was working on his car was blasting music, old music.

you were drifting, it was easy to fall asleep when steve was pushed into your side.

steve's arm burned from how much he wanted to wrap it around your shoulder and pull you even closer to him. he hums the song he can hear. it's faint, but loud enough that he can hear the lyrics.

but i've got a lot of plans for tomorrow

and all my tomorrows belong to you.

he thinks of you. how he would like to spend all of his tomorrows with you, whether that be in chicago, or in a shitty motel with one bed, or in a russian secret base.

the underlying feeling of dread and hurt still lingered, but with steve by your side, it was a lot more bearable.

[timelesslords]

28 please!

28: “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” - “Well, you shouldn’t be saying it then.” send me prompts!

Percy turned the key in his and Annabeth’s apartment, surprised to find it unlocked. He would’ve gone in a little more carefully if Annabeth’s distinctive voice hadn’t been drifting in from the kitchen.

“...don’t worry about the cake, Sally’s bringing it. I just need you to get Frank and Hazel from the airport and to the restaurant before six. Percy’s shift isn’t done until then so that gives you guys plenty of time to set up.”

Annabeth was facing away from him, and for a brief second Percy considered turning around and leaving the apartment so he could pretend to re-enter much more loudly and with more warning, so it would seem like he had not heard what was very obviously a surprise birthday party plan his girlfriend was currently making for him over the phone.

His shift at the firehouse had ended early— someone had heard it was his birthday and offered to cover for him, and Percy had come home thinking he would get to take a nap in an empty apartment before his dinner plans with Annabeth had ended that night.

Before Percy could decide what to do, Annabeth was saying goodbye and hanging up the phone, and it was too late to turn around and pretend he’d just gotten back. So instead, Percy cleared his throat.

Annabeth jumped in surprise, whirling around, her eyes widening first in shock, then in horror of what he had probably heard. 

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Annabeth said, the tips of her ears turning pink. Percy laughed. He couldn’t help but think she looked really cute when she blushed.

“Well, you shouldn’t be saying it then,” he teased. She was standing strangely, and it took him a second to realize it was because she was holding something behind her back with one hand. 

“I thought you weren’t home,” Annabeth groaned, “Gods, you’re the worst. Why are you so sneaky?”

“Am I?” Percy asked, amused. 

“Very. You should make way more noise for how tall you are,” Annabeth said, sighing and leaning back against the counter. 

“So you’re planning a surprise party, huh?” Percy asked, grinning. Annabeth groaned again. 

“You have to pretend to be surprised,” she ordered, “I’ve been mean to everyone about keeping their mouths shut for weeks, if they found out I blew it at the last minute they’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“I’ll be very surprised. Completely shocked. Nobody will be able to tell,” Percy promised, though he was biting back a laugh.

“I’m doomed,” Annabeth said, listlessly.

“I can blame Frank instead of you,” Percy suggested, and Annabeth snorted.

“You know, that might actually work.”

“If my performance isn’t convincing enough I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good thing I’m a better actor than you,” Annabeth said. 

“I resent that,” Percy said cheerfully. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

“You think I’m going to spoil your surprise birthday party and your birthday present?” Annabeth asked, one eyebrow raised, “You’re going to have to try harder than that.” 

“Worth a shot,” Percy said, leaning down and kissing her softly. As he did, he inched his hand around her back, trying to grab at whatever she was holding, but she’d been expecting it and quickly switched to the other hand. 

“Better. I appreciate the effort,” Annabeth said, giving him one last peck before pushing him away. “Now close your eyes so I can go hide this in my purse.” 

“You’re no fun,” Percy complained, closing his eyes all the same.

“You’re the one who ruined my surprise!” Annabeth called. 

“No, that was Frank, remember?” Percy called back, and Annabeth laughed.

“If you can manage to say that without sounding like you’re winking at me we might actually get away with this.”

Her voice was closer, close enough that Percy felt safe opening his eyes again. She was back to standing in front of him, hands empty.

“I’ll work on it,” Percy promised. “And I’m sorry for spoiling your surprise.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“It’s your surprise. I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful.”

“Well, thank you for planning it for me,” Percy said, “I’m sure you put a lot of work into it, and it’ll be perfect and fun regardless of if it’s a surprise or not.”

Annabeth smiled, but it was a little less soft than he’d expected and a bit more mischievous.

“Good thing the party wasn’t the only surprise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Percy asked, knowing there was absolutely no way Annabeth was going to give him so much as a crumb of a clue as to what she meant. Sure enough, she just grinned.

“You’ll see.”

[kingsroad]

do you think you could tell us about vhaena and viserys' kids, what theyre like, what they do in the dance etc? there r a lot of them so if u just wanna tell us about your favorites that works too!

thank you so much for this! i can't tell you how delighted i am to know that people are interested in their many, many children. this... got pretty long because i’m so excited to talk about them, lmfao. this is so fucking long and so fucking sad, i’m sorry.

alyssa lannister is the eldest by only a few minutes. she, along with her brother aenar, were born on dragonstone in 97 AC, six years before viserys became king. the people were concerned when they heard that she’d begun her labors, considering she’d only been married for seven months and they worried about how early the babes seemed to be coming.

they were both healthy and remained so for all of their relatively short lives. where alyssa was an enthusiastic horseman & dragonrider like her mother, aenar was a lush, eager to spend his days lounging around at court with a pretty girl or boy around to listen to him tell tall tales.

viserys hoped to wed them, but both he and his wife knew that the lannisters would never allow it, so by the time they were both fifteen, they were betrothed to loyal houses to be married in the interim.

rhaelys came third in 100 AC -- born with silver hair and one milky eye. he was a clumsy child, which is something he never truly grew out of. but he was also incredibly smart and loved learning about the history of the seven kingdoms rather than clinging to the subject of old valyria like so many targaryens before him.

he was a gem at court, even though his brother sought to outshine him at every corner. the older men and women of houses both failing and flourishing, the scholars brought to the capital from every corner of the known world, the maesters both ancient and fresh from oldtown — they all loved him for his interest in their stories.

the first of their children to truly distance themselves from the life they had to offer her was daenys. born in 101 AC, she was a quiet, sullen child almost from birth. the fact  that she rarely cried made both vhaena and viserys dote on her, worrying for their daughter’s health after the strange matter of rhaelys’s defect.

she was healthy, for the most part, but simply quiet. not shy, not simple, but quiet. with age, that quietness flourished into a frank and observant nature that often got her into a great deal of trouble. that said, while viserys refused to name any of their children as his favorite, daenys was the one he spent most of his time with.

maeron was the last of vhaena’s children born under the guise of lannister blood, though none of them were anything but viserys’s. he came about in 104 AC, just before the tourney celebrating viserys’s accession to king. he was a hearty child, always bloodying his knees in the courtyard or pushing around boys twice his size and sometimes managing to get the upper hand.

the kingsguard called him little fang due to his biting nature and the way he gnashed his teeth while training. he hated the nickname.

vhaena and viserys did not have another child until 108 AC, once vhaena returned from two years abroad following her divorce from jason lannister. this time, she did not take a husband. she was not named as viserys’s mistress, either, and was notoriously vague about the parentage of her final three children.

elayna targaryen was the child born in 108 AC, and she was raised alongside helaena almost like a sister. they were not overly similar in terms of personality, but their close ages kept them in step with each other. they were cousins, after all.

while daenys was quiet and observant, elayna was merely observant. her intelligence sparkled, as did her charisma. bards wrote songs about the delicate little knife she was said to carry around with her, the hilt inlaid with pearls as her mother often wore. if any of their children was meant for dark work, it was the sweet-faced elayna, what with her obvious talent for deception.

but where elayna was a dagger, alora was a warhammer. even from a young age, the girl showed her interest in combat as openly as she could, and as she shot up taller than both rhaenyra and alicent’s children to the same six feet as her mother, she proved that she could handle anything they threw at her.

it was no surprise when alora ended up spawning a vicious rivalry between herself and aegon targaryen, who loathed being so routinely bested by a girl. she was brazen and bold -- exactly the maiden her mother wished she could have been. or, rather, the maiden vhaena was beyond closed doors, with those she trusted.

the last of their children was a son — aenys. he was born late in 110 AC, one of two children that vhaena carried to term and thought to be healthy.  but where one of them was indeed a strong babe, the other was stillborn, and the birth was extremely difficult on vhaena. the maester warned her that she should not risk having more children, and after the events that stole aemma from him, viserys agreed that this would be their last.

aenys was her sweetheart, and for once, a doting mother did not develop an ignorant or annoying son. the boy was impossibly kind and loved animals from an early age, though his dragon’s egg never hatched. he brought to the family an almost endless amount of optimism and light, and all of his siblings loved him.

events of the dance of the dragons.

aenar was the first to come to trouble following aegon’s crowning, as he had remained in king’s landing even when his mother and siblings fled to dragonstone. not only did he feel — foolishly — that alicent would not consider him a threat, but life at court was his raison d'être. being without it felt like cutting off a limb.

he was thrown into the dungeon in the belly of the red keep and left to rot, barely kept alive with water and scraps for the better part of a year.

but while aenar was the first to come to trouble, alyssa was the first of viserys and vhaena’s eight children to die. desperate to have her brother back with them, she took it upon herself to return to king’s landing.

after all, she was not noticeably targaryen like her other siblings with her dirty blonde hair. she dressed herself in rags and covered her face and used every trick she’d ever learned to get into the dungeon. not that those tricks  were enough to keep her alive when guards set upon her with swords. she was run through and left behind for the rats, thought to be no more than a cutpurse.

aenar died some months later, when the existence of viserys targaryen’s firstborn son was all but forgotten in the midst of all the chaos. the glittering gem of the realm died of dehydration, mere meters from where his sister had been killed, unknown to him.

with one brother jailed and one sister missing, the six remaining siblings remained relatively well and alive for years. maeron became one of daemon’s closely kept secrets, along with his she-dragon — ironhide — who was said to breathe black fire, like his father’s balerion. little fang proved to have a nasty bite, and he is part of the reason the castellan of harrenhal bent the knee to daemon and joined the blacks.

while elayna and daenys joined their cousins and other members of the blacks in the efforts towards bringing more lords to their cause, rhaelys remained at dragonstone, keeping aenar and alyssa’s dragons healthy, though he still did not have one of his own. it was alora who took to aenar’s dragon, tyrhai, and proved a terror for it.

after years bonded to the rather ineffectual aenar, tyrhai relished the opportunity to be ridden by someone with blood on the mind.

the next to die was daenys.

while traveling through the riverlands, she lingered for the night in claypool to rest after a long flight with her young dragon, still unnamed even after so many years and only referred to as darling by daenys herself. it was there that she found herself at odds with aemond and his men.

she truly had no chance, even with darling close at hand. the dragon was easily done away with -- a net thrown over its slender body and its throat slit by soldiers, and the soft-spoken princess was killed as unceremoniously with a sword through her belly.

ser criston cole found her body amongst other corpses just outside of claypool, sat up against the blackened belly of an apple tree in her bloodied silver dress. darling’s corpse was curled around the tree’s trunk and its head was placed carefully into her lap, as if daenys was hoping to comfort her even after death.

sometime between daenys’s death and the next of her family, elayna was taken hostage and brought to oldtown for questioning.

maeron fell shortly after, but not in the way anyone would have expected such a valiant fighter to perish.

a month before the events at tumbleton, he caught rhaelys slipping something into their mother’s cup. his elder brother had long-since taken care of vhaena, given how torn up with grief and mourning the woman was at the loss of her love and  her children. she had not cried in some time, however. not spoken. it was that night when maeron discovered why.

rhaelys was using medicine as a way to keep her docile, using the methods she’d so often used to help their father with his pain. the ones rhaelys used on her, however, were dangerous things, often mixed into poisons in greater amounts.

when maeron attacked him, rhaelys did all he could to survive the encounter. rather than fighting back, he grasped a handful of powdered greycap and shoved it into his brother’s mouth, using his superior size to pin his younger brother to the ground and force him to swallow enough to kill him.

then, ashamed of himself and his desperation to survive, rhaelys fled dragonstone.

alora returned to the island following a letter from her mother. she was needed, vhaena said, grief-stricken still and recovering from the sudden throes of detoxification from years of being nursed small doses of poison by her son. “bring my strong girl back home.”

there, vhaena kept alora and aenys for as long as she could, until the rage inside of her furious daughter broke free, and she took to the sky with tyrhai again, this time turning her attention towards aemond at harrenhal. she hated leaving her mother, but at the same time, she needed to fight. her blood sang for it.

so, with only aenys left to her, vhaena remained at dragonstone... for  only a month more.

when aegon ii and lord larys turned their sights towards dragonstone and the remaining targaryens, vhaena could no longer stay. she knew that she could no longer stay. day and night for nearly a week, she scoured the castle looking for aenys. she cried out to him for hours and hours, until her throat was bloody and raw, and she never found him.

the morning she took goldenlyre and left dragonstone was also the morning vhaena died. not to aegon and sunfyre, not to his soldiers, not to larys, but to the cannibal, knocked from the air and devoured for breakfast.

aenys survived because he hid. he survived everything because he was a slip of a thing and afraid, no matter how much his mother’s fearful howling for him broke his heart.

thankfully, alora never learned of how her mother died or how her brother hid like a coward until he could run someplace safe. she was killed before the ravens could reach her -- shot down from tyrhai’s back just over the god’s eye. while her dragon survived, she did not. there was no surviving that fall.

it was said that elayna laughed when news finally reached her, with tears like pearls in her eyes. much was said about all of them that didn’t turn out to be true, but that most of all. she did not laugh when she heard the news, nor did she cry.

[mmvalentine]

Lover Like Me pt 13 | Feysand

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 ** Part 14

In the end, I don’t go with him. None of us do, even though there’s a whole group discussion about it during the week.

“Don’t go.” Mor is cold and certain. For someone who is usually so warm, it shocks me how flat and unforgiving her eyes are. I am reminded that Mor, and only Mor, has already met Rhys’s father.

We’re sitting in Rhys’s living room like usual, but the boxes of pizza are growing cold and somehow I don’t think there’s going to be a Disney movie tonight. Mor had been relaxing next to Cassian on the couch, but since Rhys told them about the call from the hospital, she’s gone stiff and hasn’t moved. Azriel is leaning against the wall, and I’m perched on the kitchen counter next to Rhys. I slide my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, and don’t say anything. I just watch Mor, and the fury in the straightness of her spine.

“I mean he has to go, right?” Cassian, on the other hand, is all open handed and frank faced. I think I will always love him, for that. “I never met my dad and I hope he’s miserable out there. But if I had the chance, to meet him just once…”

“It’s not the same,” Mor hisses back. “The worst your dad did was fuck off. The worst this guy has done…” she trails off. I notice how white her knuckles have gone around her mug, and I don’t think I want to hear the end of the sentence.

“What are you thinking, Rhys?” Azriel, as ever, keeps his own opinion to himself. Rhys just rubs his face in his hands.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “This is likely the last time the decision will be mine.”

Rhys’s pizza is untouched, and in the ensuing silence I pick up a piece and hold it to his lips. He gives me a small smile and takes a bite, to humour me. He hasn’t eaten all day, and there’s a mug of tea gone cold on his bench top. My slice is only nibbled, but Rhys is bigger than me and I’m convinced he needs the nourishment more than I do.

Cassian is having no such trouble.

“So we’ll all come with you,” he says, his mouth full. That’s his natural state. Rhys shakes his head.

“No,” he says slowly. “I think… I think I want to go alone.”

“So you’re going, then,” Azriel says, after a moment.

There’s another heavy pause, and then Rhys nods. I look at Mor, and her face is stony as I’ve ever seen it, but she says nothing.

And that’s that.

The others go home after dinner, and I put the uneaten pizza in the fridge while Rhys has a long shower. I wash up his mug and a few other bits and pieces in the sink, and then sit on his bed on my phone until he comes out.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask quietly, when Rhys sits down heavily on the bed. He blinks at me in confusion.

“Why would I want that?”

“I thought maybe you’d want some time to yourself…”

But Rhys pulls me under the blankets and buries his face in my neck. “Stay,” he says, and so I do.

Rhys’s skin is warm from the shower, his hair is damp and clean and smells like his shampoo. It’s quickly become the most comforting scent to me and I’d start using it myself, just so I can smell it around me when he’s not there, if he hadn’t told me how much he likes my shampoo, too.

I turn the lights out, and we make love without words but with many silent things passed between our mouths that mean more than the things we could say out loud.  

Rhys doesn’t go the next day, or the day after. On one of the nights, I come home after work and I can hear him and Mor arguing loudly in his apartment. It’s not something I feel I have a part in, so I don’t go in, but even from my house I can hear Mor shouting. And after a while, a third, murmuring voice. When she finally storms out, I look out my window and see Azriel follow her quietly to her place.

Rhys walks through my door a little while after that, and I hand him a bowl of pasta. We don’t talk about their fight.

On Thursday night he makes up his mind, and on Friday morning he’s up early like usual so all I tell him is “good luck,” and he kisses my mouth before he leaves.

When I wake up an hour after that, I go to work and all day I keep checking my phone for updates. None come. I send a few texts early on- “how are you feeling?” “Text me when you get there,” “I’m here to talk if you need to call”- but get no response. It’s unreasonable for me to wait for them; I imagine he’s driving for the most part and not feeling chatty the rest. But I still do, and when the message comes, hours later, it’s not from Rhys. It’s Azriel.

Azriel: He’s back. He’s at work.

I tap out my reply fast.

Feyre: He’s at work? He’s not taking the rest of the day off?

I quickly do the math in my head- if Rhys is back by now, he must have spent less than an hour at the hospital. Did that mean things went well, or very badly?

“Guess not,” is all Azriel says. Then he sends me the address of the auto shop, and a quick Google tells me a bus will get me there in twenty. I make my excuses to my coworker, and she waves me off. I’m grateful the store is quiet, but I’d have left even if it wasn’t.

When I get to the shop, I see Cassian, Mor and Azriel all standing in a knot by the door.

“Hey, Feyre,” Cassian greets me.

It’s a bright sunny day and the three of them are in dark blue jumpsuits that have the shop’s logo embroidered on the chest. Cassian has his hair bundled on top of his head, and he gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“How is he?”

Rhys’s friends just glance at each other, and they look as worried as I feel. It’s not reassuring.

“Hard to say,” Cassian tells me. “He hasn’t said anything, he just turned up and started working. We didn’t expect him in today at all.”

“He shouldn’t have fucking gone,” Mor says. “I told him not to go. Nothing good happens when that man is in Rhys’s life.”

I look from one to the other. Mor’s blonde ponytail swings as she shakes her head. She’s wearing a stained white tank top under her jumpsuit, with the buttons are undone and the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Even in my harried state I manage to notice she looks incredible even in greasy work clothes. I realise that I’ve never been to Rhys’s work place, even though this is where my friends all spend most of their day.

“We’ve been trying to check on him, but I don’t think he wants to talk,” Cassian says, breaking me out of my rambling reverie. I notice I’m chewing on my thumb nail, and pull it out of my mouth.

“What should I do?” I ask him. He shrugs.

“Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

“It’s worth a try,” Mor says. “We’re mostly done for the day, but we can stick around and try to help…” She glances at Cassian, and I can feel how helpless they’re feeling.

“No it’s okay, you guys go. I’ll talk to him.”

Cassian clasps my shoulder on his way out, and Mor throws me a look that is part sympathetic, and part grateful. I think, don’t thank me yet. I don’t know what I can do for Rhys that his friends couldn’t.

And then only Azriel is left, leaning against the door frame.

“Thanks for texting me,” I say to him. Azriel just looks at me, with that unreadable stare of his.

“I thought you’d want to be here,” he says. “But… there’s some things you should know about Rhys. I know you’ve been spending a lot of time together. I’m sure you’ve gotten to know him pretty well.”

I wait. Azriel sighs.

“He’s not… himself right now,” he tells me.

I cock my head and gaze back at Rhys’s friend. I wonder who he’s trying to protect right now- me, or Rhys. I think he’s sweet either way.

“There are three levels of Rhys being upset,” I say, matter-of-factly. “Level one, he’s grumpy but you can fix him with a cup of tea and a sleeve of cookies. Level two, he’s mad, but he's distractable and it’s usually a good idea to get his… heart rate up.” A hint of a smile warms Azriel’s face. “Level three, things have gone very wrong. At this level, Rhys likes... hurt.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and the warmth disappears.

“I know I’ve only known Rhys for a few months, but my tactic is to work my way up the list until of one those things sticks. Did I miss anything?”

Azriel says nothing for a moment, and then eventually shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That is correct.” He pauses again. “And you still want to go in there?”

“I do.”

Azriel still doesn’t move. I soften, and think that maybe Azriel is usually the one who takes on Rhys at level three. I can see Mor and Cassian putting the kettle on and sparring but Azriel… I look at my feet, then take a step closer. I make the confession under my breath.

“Sometimes, I like hurt, too.”

I look up at him, and he’s reassessing. I don’t know what conclusion he draws, but he pushes off the door and walks away.

I’m surprised when I feel the squeeze of his hand on mine, just briefly, as he goes.

I pass through the front office and into the shop out the back. The room opens up into a huge space with bright fluorescent lights and concrete walls. There are a large number of tools and other objects I can’t identify on hooks and shelves, and two cars up near the ceiling. I can’t see Rhys, but I can hear the clink of metal on metal echoing through the space.

I walk around, taking in my surroundings for a while. I make sure my footsteps make noise, so that Rhys knows I’m here, and my eyes run over the stacks of tyres, the red and black pillars of the hoists, and the strangeness of having several tonnes of vehicle suspended above head height. I even find what I assume is Rhys’s motorcycle, tucked against a far wall. I walk toward the clinking instead.

“They’ve all gone, have they?” Rhys asks. I still can’t see him.

“Yes,” I tell him. “It’s just me.”

There’s a tension hanging heavy in the atmosphere, another fume in the oily air. I can taste it coating my tongue, and I can see why I found his friends all standing outside. Bad, then. Things went badly, with his father.

“Good,” Rhys comments. “They were annoying me.”

There’s a loud clang as he drops his tool into a box nearby, and then he steps out from behind the car he was working on. He’s wiping his hands on a rag, and I just stand and wait. Rhys has the arms of his jumpsuit tied around his waist, and he’s in one of his black singlets. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his bare arms, and a stray curl is falling in his eyes. On the surface he looks calm, but there’s something beneath that, something that my brain doesn’t have a name for but my body is responding to. Run, it’s saying, but it’s not clarifying in which direction. I keep standing still.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?” he says. His voice is flat and cold.

“Only if you want to tell me,” I respond. Rhys throws the rag on a table, and sighs.

“Can I tell you about it later?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know what I actually feeling like doing right now?”

“Tell me.”

“I feel like tying you to this hoist and fucking you till you scream.”

The air goes out of my lungs so fast.

My head empties, my toes curl, and I just think, Is that all it takes, with us? I shouldn't be surprised, by now.

I blush at the thought of anyone else possibly overhearing us, I know the guys have gone but I don’t know if anyone else works here, or if his boss is somewhere out of sight or…. But I’m looking at Rhys and he’s looking at me and he shares none of my concerns.

I take one step to the left, my knees only just holding me up, and put my hand on one of the black pillars. I look at it; the painted surface is shiny and cold under my fingers. I was never too good with words, anyway.

“This one?” I ask, much more casually than I feel.

“Well the other two are holding cars up.” Rhys starts walking toward me- stalking is more like it, he’s got that predatory look in his eye that makes me convinced that any second he’s going to sprout wings and fangs. My heart thunders in my ears.

“I guess that’s true.”

There a primal instinct somewhere in my brain that has me backing away, even though I know I look ridiculous hiding behind the post.

“Where are you going?” he asks. His voice has dropped to that low place that sends skitters up my spine. I step again, rounding the pillar, but he keeps coming.

“Just… admiring the machinery. Never been in a garage before.”

Rhys is standing right in front of me now, but there’s a red metal arm between us, jutting out from the post about the height of my waist. He leans his forearm against the pillar, right by my head, and leans in close.

“Put your hands on the bar, Feyre.”

I do it, and grip it so that Rhys can’t see the tremor. I’m not afraid of him, it’s just that my adrenalin spikes when he gets like this and… the anticipation is as potent as fear itself.

“Stay there.”

Rhys steps away and returns with a length of strap. He winds it around my wrists and binds me to the red bar. Then he walks behind me, and when I can’t see him my heartrate kicks even higher. I don’t know how close he is to me until I feel his breath on my ear.

“Good girl,” he croons. I shiver.

I’m convinced he’s going to bend me over just like this, but then there’s just silence and cold air. I’ve just started to wonder where he’s gone, when I’m startled by a loud noise. It’s a sort of grinding sound, and before I can guess what it might be, the bar under my hands starts to move. I whip my head around, and find Rhys several paces away with his thumb on a green button and his eyes watching me like I’m his next meal.

I watch him back at first, but then I look back toward the red bar because it’s risen to eye height. I’m leaning against it still, because my legs are jelly. But the bar keeps rising, and my arms are lifted above my head. I’m stretched out, I’m on my tiptoes. Just before I’m lifted clean off my feet, the grinding noise stops, and everything is still again. I can just barely put weight in the balls of my feet.

“Rhys…”

He comes back to stand before me, hands behind his back and something taunting in the corner of his mouth.

“Comfortable, Feyre darling?”

No. I stick my chin out. “Very,” I say coolly, and he chuckles.

“Good.”

At that moment, there’s the bright ding of a desk bell, and I realise that Azriel hadn’t turned the Open sign around when he left. Rhys looks toward the sound.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says, and gives me a cruel smile. Prick.

Rhys walks out to the office, and I’m just left there to hang.

He’s gone for what must be a few minutes but feels like an age, and I can hear muted voices in the adjoining room. A laugh, even, and I’m a little scandalised that Rhys can put on his friendly customer-service voice while I’m tied up in the shop only meters away. For a second, I have the mortifying thought that he might bring someone through while I’m suspended here, but I quickly banish it. Rhys wouldn’t humiliate me like that. Would he?

Finally he returns, and as he walks toward me he pulls another strap off the wall and slings it over his shoulder.

“Now,” he says, inches from my face. He slides his hands into his pockets. “Where were we?”

“Hope you’re not turning down business on my account,” I say. It’s all bravado, of course, but the last thing Rhys needs is to think I’m scared of him.

“I told him to come back tomorrow,” Rhys replies. “But I can call him back if you really want.” He leans in close. “If you’re not satisfied with just one of me.”

I just shrug- or I try to, but my shoulders are already up by my ears and starting to ache. Rhys laughs at me. He steps back, and begins to walk around me again. When he can’t see my face, I quietly blow a breath out. I’m trying to remain calm, but I’m so completely out of my depth.  I’m strung up, pushing up on my tiptoes to relieve the pressure on my wrists, and he’s circling me with eyes that devour. I still can’t see him, but suddenly there’s a breath on the back of my neck. His hand lands on the side of my throat, thumb in the base of my skull and a long forefinger over my windpipe. He puts his teeth on the join of my shoulder, and he’s hard against my backside.

“Mmm I like you like this,” he murmurs, and the rumble in his voice has me arching against him. He’s finally touching me, and it’s not enough. I shudder, and he squeezes my throat before letting go and I’m cold all over.

Next thing I know, his lips touch the nape of my neck, and his hands are sliding up the sides of my thighs. They’re so warm against my skin, under my dress, and then brushing over my stomach. My hands twitch but of course I can’t touch him back. He hooks his fingers into the band of my underwear and then tugs them down; threads my feet through to get them off me. They go into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

Next, Rhys walks around in front of me again, but he’s not looking at my face. He slowly starts to undo the buttons down the front of my dress, enough to get his hands over my bra, and exhales through his teeth when he squeezes my breasts.

“Yeah,” he says, “I should have gotten you in here ages ago.”

“You can walk circles around me at home,” I shoot back, and I’m just mad because he isn’t kissing me. Rhys’s eyes darken.

“I had a few other things planned,” he tells me, and then he rips my dress the rest of the way open so buttons clatter to the floor.

“I liked this dress,” I hiss. I’m goading him and I know it. Come on, I think. I can take it.

“I like it better this way.”

He gathers the two sides up in his hands and ties them in a knot at my stomach.

“You’ll pay for a new one,” I say.

“And you’ll pay for giving me lip.” The strap slides from his shoulder and into his hands.

“Do it,” I spit. And quicker than I thought possible, the strap lashes out and strikes across my lower belly. I gasp at the sudden pain, but it settles into a heat somewhere behind my navel. I shouldn’t be surprised by now that it feels good. Rhys laughs darkly, and begins to circle again.

“Want another one?” he purrs. I grit my teeth.

“Yes,” I choke out.

The strap lands again, this time against my bare ass. Electricity snaps hot over my skin. I cry out, and then bite my lip against it. When he whips me again, I hold the sound behind my teeth.

“Oh come now,” Rhys says. He grips my throat again, and pulls me back against his body. “Don’t be a spoil-sport.” His voice sinks low. “Moan for me.” And then he drops the strap and smacks me with his hand. My jaw drops open and I didn’t need his instruction- the moan is involuntary.

“Good girl,” he says at my ear, and the next slap stings near the join at the top of my leg. I moan again, as every hair on my body stands on end, and I’m rewarded with soothing circles rubbed over the reddened skin. It lasts only a few seconds before I’m spanked a fifth time, and this time when he does it his teeth sink into my shoulder. He rubs over the sore spot again.

“So fucking good,” he praises, and his thumb strokes the side of my neck in time with his hand on my ass. “You like being spanked like that?” he asks. I don’t respond, but his fingers move over my hip and between my legs and he finds his answer.

“Fuck Feyre,” he growls. “If I’d known I could get you so wet by smacking your ass…”

His hand leaves my throat so he can spank me again on the other cheek, a fresh pain, while the other hand starts to move where it is. I moan louder now, and hope to god he’s locked the front office up. He strokes over my clit while he squeezes my backside where he hit me, and I’m turning to liquid under his touch.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” Rhys mutters. I’m losing coherence and he’s talking about what I’m doing to him? He grips my hip and grinds into my ass while he touches me, the solid line of him pushing against me hard enough to bruise. Point made.

“I have some idea,” I tease, but it comes out breathy. His fingers speed up on my clit, and I lose my legs entirely. The strap cuts into my wrists but I barely feel it.

“Doubtful,” is all he says, and his hand moves lower. His fingers push inside me but the heel of his palm keeps contact with my clit. There's a soft groan from behind me as he slides in to his knuckles. He’s rubbing his cock against my ass as his fingers move in and out, and then his teeth and tongue are roving over the back of my neck.

“Shit Rhys,” I gasp, and I can hear his breathing labour, too.

“Wanna fuck you so bad, Feyre,” he says. And I fucking wish he would but I can’t string the words together to tell him. Then he spanks me again as he curls his fingers inside me, and suddenly I’m right on the edge. “If I keep doing that will you come?” he asks me. My mouth moves but nothing comes out. “Shall I do it and find out?”

He hits me again and I feel it all the way up my spine. My head falls back against his shoulder and his lips move against my ear.

“Shall I count how many it takes?” My toes clench in my shoes. "How many are we up to now?" he muses. The next word is a growl. “Six.”

The slap lands across the low part of my ass, and all the while his other hand keeps moving between my legs. I cry out, and he kisses me gently on the side of my throat.

“Seven.”

The sharp of the pain bleeds into a heat that suffuses through to my belly, and the more I feel the more the world fades away, and it’s just him and me and the tightening spiral in my core.

“Eight.”

My breaths are short and shallow, and when my mouth opens again I’m barely making a sound. His fingers are speeding up, and my skin is getting raw, but I’m pushing my toes into the ground to arch up toward the next slap.

“Nine.”

This one stings so much my eyes are watering, and yet the sharper the feeling under his hand the stronger feeling between my legs, and I'm shivering, I’m clenching around his fingers as they move in and out of me.

“Ten-” And that’s the one. I’m coming hard, I’m crying and the sobs compete with the moans in my throat. I’m shaking so much Rhys has wrapped an arm around my middle to take some of my weight since I can’t put my feet flat on the ground, and it feels like he’s the only thing holding me together.

“That’s my fucking girl,” Rhys is mumbling, but I can barely hear him because I’m pretty sure I’m floating outside of my body somewhere near the ceiling.

I don’t know how long it takes me to come back down, but when I do Rhys is still holding me up and he’s pressing soft kisses over my neck and my ears. When I’m able to lift my head and look at him, he catches my mouth with his and licks my tongue and my teeth as he kisses me.

Eventually Rhys lets me go, slowly so as not to jar my shoulders, and my arms ache again when I’m holding my own weight. But it’s only for a second, because he steps round to face me and wraps my legs around his waist. He holds me up again and kisses me, lush and slow. Does it for so long that before I know it, I’m rolling my hips into him and the kiss gets dirtier, hungrier, toothier. I want to touch him so badly, to wrap my arms around his neck and get my fingers in his hair. To get him out of that gods-damned jumpsuit. All I can do is whine like a tied-up pet.

Fortunately, Rhys is as wound up as I am.

He lets go of me long enough to shove the front of his pants down, but he’s still got my weight because my ankles are crossed behind his back. He pulls himself out but then just rubs me with his fingers again, and it’s not what I want. I grip harder with my legs, trying to get his hips closer, and he seems to understand. Lines his cock up to my entrance and then gets his hands back on my ass and pushes me down on to himself.

“Christ Feyre…”

I share the sentiment. Rhys’s head drops down onto my shoulder as he sinks into me, all the way in. We just stay like that for a moment, breathing hard against each other, and then he’s pulling out and pushing back in. We both moan as he lands again, and he palms my breast under my ruined dress as he does it.

“Fuck you look good tied up like this,” he says.

He moves his hands back down so he can pull me onto himself by my ass.

“More,” I tell him on the exhale, and he snarls in reply and starts fucking me in earnest.

And as much as I’m frustrated that I can’t get my hands on him, the feeling of being at his mercy and letting him take exactly what he needs is strangely freeing. I have no thoughts toward what I should be doing because I can’t do anything, and all I have to do is take and feel and glory in the way that he moves.

Rhys shifts his hold so he’s got one arm cradling me, and with his free hand he grips the bar above my head. Now that he’s got more purchase, he’s pounding harder into me and I’m still helpless in his hold.

“I should keep you down here,” he says, but his words are slurring together. “Should bind you up so you can’t go anywhere, and I’ll fuck you just like this whenever I want…”

When he’s buried this deep inside me, I can’t say I’m opposed to the idea.

His hand slides down my spine and his fingers find the seam of my backside. I can feel the spread of his handprint holding me to him, and I can barely get a breath in when he's fucking me like this. He gets his mouth on mine and his kiss is as raw and obliterating as the sex.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna come,” he says on my lips. I just tighten the grip of my legs and keep kissing him. “I want one more from you first,” he growls, but I shake my head and bite his lip. He starts to slow down but I keep moving my hips.

“Don’t you dare,” I grind out, and with a groan he picks up his pace again. He lets go of the bar and fists his fingers in my hair instead, and my breath catches as my head is pulled back.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please come, please I…”

Rhys lets out a snarl that rips through his teeth, and his hips snap forward so fast I can’t keep up. A bead of sweat runs cold between my breasts, I’m not sure if it’s from me or from him. His fingers dig into me and I only exist where he’s touching me, and then he’s roaring as he hits his climax and shudders hard into me.

I squeeze down on the bar under my hands as the waves of his pleasure rock through me, and I can’t breathe for how tightly he’s holding me. When he lets go of my hair I let my head fall onto his chest, and I can feel the beat of his heart under his tattoos. He kisses me, soft again, on the mouth and then with his tongue on my nipple and then in a line down my sternum. Gets on his knees, pulls my thighs over his shoulders so he’s still got my weight, and then kisses me right over my clit. I shiver, way too sensitive and tender from being fucked. He just chuckles and does it again.

“Rhys I can’t…”

He licks it this time and doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve still got his cum dripping out of me.

“I told you,” he says. “I want one more from you.”

And then he sucks my clit into his mouth and his tongue is relentless. He flicks it over and over me where I need it, and it only takes a few minutes before I’m coming again, my legs wrapped around his head and his hands curled around my thighs.

When I’ve finally stopped shaking, Rhys stands carefully and settles my legs around his hips again. He unties my hands, and my arms drop heavily around his neck. Completely boneless, I’m carried to a work bench and set down on it, before he finds a clean rag and gently wipes me off.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

I nod wearily, and give him a tired but true smile.

He gives me a spare jumpsuit to wear, since he’s ruined my dress, and then kisses my forehead.

“You were so, so good,” he murmurs. I just lean into him and let him hug me, while I breathe in the smell of grease and metal and Rhys. He lifts me again, and carries me to his car. Buckles me in, locks up the shop, and then holds my hand while he drives us home.

Hours later, after Rhys has put me in the shower and cooked me dinner and wrapped himself around me in his bed, he tells me.

“You can ask me, now,” he says. It takes me a moment, but I understand.

“How did it go?” I ask in the dark. He sighs.

“He’s dead.”

I turn around to face him, and he tangles our legs together. I hardly know what to say.

“Your dad died?”

“Yeah.”

I brush a curl from his forehead, and the words I’m sorry form in my mouth but I don’t know if they’d be right.

“Did you get to talk to him at all?”

“Sort of. He was pretty much gone by the time I got there, just pale and full of tubes. They said they were just keeping him breathing until I got there. So I said my goodbyes, and then he went.”’

“Did you get to tell him what you wanted to?”

Rhys shrugs. “I didn’t really plan what to say. The whole drive there I tried to, but I haven’t had anything to say to him in thirteen years. As much as I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything. Just figured… once I saw him, I might know. Or, he might say something, and then I’d have a response…”

“I’m sorry, Rhys.” I say it now, because I don’t know what else to say. The words never sound like enough, when someone is dead.

“I said, ‘You were a rotten father, and you couldn’t even stick around for me to tell it to you.’ Was that too harsh?”

Now it’s my turn to shrug. “It sounds like it was true.”

“And then they gave me a letter.”

“A letter?”

“A note, really. And his will.”

“What did the note say?”

“It said, ‘My son. I’ll be of more use to you dead than I was alive, but I’m sure you thought that anyway.’ And in the will he left me everything.”

“What?”

“I don’t know much about how he lived his last few years but I know he came from money. And there’s a massive house that I’m going to sell. So my dad is dead and suddenly I have more money than I know what to do with.”

“Rhys…”

“That’s a lot of conflicting things to feel, isn’t it?”

I bark a laugh. “It’s a few things.”

We lie in silence for a while, digesting the news. I think Rhys has been digesting all day.

“I’m buying the shop,” Rhys says. “For ma. And the others.”

“And here I thought I was going to buy it for you someday,” I tease.

“Well maybe I’ll give you the proceeds from the manor, in payment for my painting, and then you can buy the shop.” He gives me a sad smile, and I give him one back.

“And I’m going to get a house,” he says. “A real one, not a shit box. For me. And for you. If you’ll come with me. I know it's too soon, but it'll months from now anyway, maybe more..”

I put my hands on his face.

“I’d live with you in a shit box,” I say.

“You’ll never have to again,” he tells me, and then he kisses me so sweetly that I forgive him for keeping my underwear in his jumpsuit pocket.

****

The truth is, it didn't take me 2 months to write chapter 12 it took me this long to write this. It was in my head for so long and I just didn't have the juice to get it out, so I hope I did these babies justice. We're almost at the end, I just have to tell you the epilogue x

MASTERLIST

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[mara-xx217]

Would you ever consider writing a one shot smut with any killer in mind getting jealous another survivor touches his girl so he hooks the guy and takes her in front of the hook ? Like how the doctor was with jake instead she clearly enjoys it and maybe it’s against the wall? Sorry if it’s too specific delete it

Trust me, the more specific, the easier it is for me to write! I've been neglecting Frankie for too long, so let's give the man a good time, shall we?~

Frank x Reader

Frank is pretty comfortable in his relationship with you. You trust him, and he trusts you, no problem

When you first bring up that someone’s been hitting on you, he laughs. “Is it so surprising, babe? I mean- have you seen you? You’re pretty damn fine.” Neither of you two take it too seriously

Until it keeps on happening

Over and over again, this dude keeps on bothering you, no matter how many time you tell him to leave you alone and that you already have a boyfriend

Yep. Now Frank is pissed. Especially since he can’t just bust into the survivor’s camp and beat his ass for harassing you

Frank swears that the next time he has that asshole in a trial, he’s gonna make him regret the moment he laid eyes on you

And luckily for the two of you, it would seem that the Entity is looking forward to a show. Not only did Frank that that prick in trial, but he had you as well? Christmas came early this year, and he’ll be sure to give that old girl the show of her life

“You’re the prick that’s been harassin my girl? Are you fuckin kidding me?” Frank is not impressed. That survivor is nothing more than a cocky punk that thinks he’s hot shit when in reality he’s less than nothing

The other two survivors are taken care of with relative ease. He doesn’t need any distractions with what he’s about to do, and neither do you, for that matter

Hunting that asshole down was child's play. Nothin but hot air... After hooking him, Frank motions you over and-

“Is this really the guy that’s been botherin you, babe?” Frank pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple as he glares daggers into the other survivor. You nodded as you lean into his embrace, wrapping one of your arms around his waist. Normally, you would frown upon doing something like this, but after so many polite and direct rejections, you were done with being kind. Not to mention that this would surely be the best sex the two of you have ever had…

The survivor glared at both of you. One of Frank’s hands felt up your ass, squeezing and massaging it. You couldn’t help but to blush. Are you really about to do this..? Warm kisses trailed from your cheek, down your jawline, and all the way to your sensitive throat. You close your eyes and hum softly, craning your neck so he could have better access. Light kisses turned into possessive love bites. Frank growled into your neck, sending a pleasant thrill down your spine that pooled directly in between your thighs.

One of his bandaged hands slipped into your shirt and underneath your bra. You squirmed and bit your lip as he lazily palmed your breast. The hooked survivor refuses to make eye contact as you moan softly. Well, this is certainly wrong… But I don’t care. The heat radiation off of your body made the chilly air of Mount Ormond tolerable, if not a bit exhilarating. Looping his arm around your waist, Frank shoved his hand down your pants, past your underwear, and in between your sensitive folds.

Frank may be a big talker, but he can sure as hell backup all that talk with those nimble fingers of his. It never takes him long to edge you over to the precipice of your climax, and as much of a tease that he normally is, today was a special day, and he’s decided to not leave you wanting. For once. Your shirt and bra were pushed up, leaving you exposed to the freezing wind.

As wrong as this was, it was exciting as hell. And damn, if it didn’t feel good. With his hand alone, Frank was able to make you cum not one, but twice in quick succession. All the while, Frank was rubbing his hardened member against the curve of your ass, grinding it so that you felt the entirety of its length warming your backside. Soon enough, Frank grew bored of all of this foreplay. Yanking your pants down to your mid-thigh, you feel him start to unbuckle his own pants. Oh s-shit… That survivor looks desperate to get out of this situation, but it would seem that the Entity has other plans for him. So she’s enjoying the show, too…

You whimper as you felt Frank’s bare cock slide in between your thighs, grazing past your wet sex. Luckily for you, Frank was long past being an unbearable tease. After lubricating his cock with your juices, he grips onto your hip tightly with one hand as the other lines up his member with your entrance. Slowly, he pushes himself inside of you, groaning as you gasped, your walls stretching pleasantly around his cock.

Leaning back, you rest the back of your head against his shoulder. Frank makes sure to hold up your weight, assuring that you wouldn’t slip and fall backwards onto him. This was the craziest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. To not only have sex in front of someone, but for them to be a fellow survivor that’s been hooked… You unconsciously squeeze him as he picks up his pace. Frank was thoroughly enjoying himself. Smirking into your neck, he bites down onto your sweet spot. Your knees buckled and he looped his arm around your waist and torso, just underneath your partially exposed breasts.

He knew how to push you over the edge with minimal effort on his part. It was as impressive as it was infuriating, but it wasn’t like you could complain much. Not when you were already cumming all over his cock. A breathless chuckle that quickly morphs into a hot moan was breathed against your neck. You had completely forgotten any embarrassment or guilt that you were feeling, instead focusing solely on the pleasure that was steadily building back up deep in your core.

Throughout the entire time that he was fucking you, Frank maintained eye contact with the hooked survivor. He’s never thought himself the jealous, possessive type, but there was an undeniable thrill in fucking you in front of someone that was sexually interested in you. And seeing you so into it? Fuck, it was the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Not to mention seeing that simply miserable look on that bastard’s face was completely priceless.

You were shoved flat onto the cold, hard ground with Frank still fucking you senseless. As much as you wanted to complain, him repeatedly hitting your sweet spot with the head of his cock prevented you from voicing anything other than your unabashed moans of ecstasy. You think that the other survivor said something, but you couldn't focus enough to really care. Frank was panting and groaning above you, his cock twitching and throbbing inside of you.

Ohh shit! He's gonna fucking cum-! F-Fuck..! Furrowing your brows, your face screws up in surprises as another orgasm sneaks up on you. That was more than enough to push Frank over the edge. Grabbing both of your shoulders, he uses the leverage to ram his member as deep inside of your pussy as he could physically manage.

Moaning lowly, he cums hard, all but trembling and gasping as you milked his cock dry. Above the two of you, the survivor fumbles as his brief fight with the Entity comes to a sudden and bloody end. He didn't even try. Why would he? He was absolutely humiliated, and there's no way in hell that he'll ever be able to look you, or anyone else for that matter, in the eye ever again.

Shortly after finishing, Frank somehow manages to yank your pants back up, helping you to sit up so that he could pick you up and carry you back into the lodge. The trial isn't over yet, but he'd be damned if he isn't gonna spend some quality time with you before you take the hatch out. Just know that you'll never hear the end of this, and Frank will most definitely brag about this to the Legion, who will undoubtedly use this fact to embarrass the shit out of you. Playfully, of course.

@prettycutebunny

@randomyklol

@kennbb

@furanshinufuransu

[arrowflier]

if you still take prompts: ian coming out to the rest of the gallaghers causally or dramatic i'm just curious how he'd do it

It's been a bit but I'm thinking the show gave us Fiona, Lip, Frank, and sort of Monica?  So I went with the other siblings and an extra

Clayton

He didn't mean to come out to Clayton.  His dad?  His uncle?  Well, whatever he was, he didn't need to know that Ian dreamed about muscled biceps and short dark hair and sinking his teeth into the back of strong shoulders.

Unfortunately, Clayton happened to stop by the house just in time to see Mickey leaving it wearing Ian's shirt, the neck stretched out enough to show off an impressive hickey on the side of his own.

Mickey had scurried off with nothing but a glare--and a double bird when Clayton didn't avert his eyes quick enough--but the damage was done.

"One of your sister's boyfriends?" Clayton asked lightly, maybe serious, maybe giving him an out.

Ian knew he should take it.  Mickey would kill him if he ever found out he hadn't, even if Clayton had no idea who he was.

He should have taken the out.

But he didn't.

"No," he answered simply, "one of mine," and watched his something's eyes widen.

"Oh, um."  Clayton coughed.  "Well, it seems like a bad time, so I'll just..."

He backed away down the sidewalk.  His clean shoes scraped against cracked concrete, his neatly hemmed trousers just skirting the dirt.

"Yeah," Ian said, "Okay." 

And he pretended it didn't hurt when Clayton walked away.  Why should it?  The man was nothing to him anyway.

Debbie

It was early afternoon on a summery Tuesday, after Ian got home from an early shift.  Debbie was sitting on the front steps as he walked up, idly braiding yellow dandelions into a crown.

"Hi Ian," she said as he tried to sneak past, "you're late."

Ian winced, halfway up the stairs, looking down at her fair red head.

"You keeping a calendar or something?" he asked, reaching down to ruffle her hair.

She pulled out of reach, and frowned up at him, green stems twisting between her fingers.

"I do when you were supposed to help with the daycare pickup," she countered, and oh.  Oops.

Ian sighed, and turned to plop down on the step next to her.

"Right," he said lowly.  "Sorry, Debs."

He put an arm around her shoulders, and she hunched over, but let him.

"What were you doing?" she asked, eyes on her hands.

Ian shrugged, the movement making her sway in the curve of his arm.

"Nothing," he tells her.  "Just hanging out."

"Are you cheating on Mandy?" she asked suddenly, going stiff, and he stared at the side of her head in shock.

"What?" He says.  "No, why would you ask that?"

"Because she came over to help me when you didn't show up," Debbie muttered, "so I know she didn't give you that hickey."

Ian's free hand flew to his neck, slapping over the spot Mickey had bit a little too hard less than twenty minutes before.

"Uh..."

"You are cheating," Debbie said morosely.  "I knew it.  Boys are all awful."

She started to rise, flowered weeds falling from her hands to the steps.  Ian had only a split second to think, to decide, and then he was pulling her down again by a thin arm.

"I'm not cheating," he forced out as she collapsed back down with a huff.  "No, really," he insisted when she rolled her eyes.  "It's more complicated than that."

Debbie raised her eyes to his, then looked down again, biting her lip.

"Is it because you're gay?" she asked, and the wind went out of him again.

"Do you even know what that means?" he questioned, gathering himself.

"I go to public school," Debbie answered with a huff.  "Of course I know what it means."

Right.  Fair enough.

"Yeah," he admitted on an exhale.  "Yeah, it's because I'm gay."

"Does Mandy know that?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, she does."  Then he rubbed a hand over his face.  He had to ask.  Had to know how he had given himself away.

If not for himself, for Mickey, who had just gotten over their last scare.

"How did you know?"

"Mandy," was the unexpected answer. "Carl is always drooling over her, it's gross.  But you look at her the same way you look at me."

And what a thing to be outed over.  Being a decent guy.

But at least he didn't get Mickey outed with him.

His heart rate settled, and Debbie settled against him.  She picked up her half finished flower crown, and set it on his lap.

"You finish that one," she ordered.  "For your boyfriend."

Ian took it with a fragile smile, and didn't bother to correct her.

Carl

Carl had a lot of questions when he came back from care.  Questions he liked to ask indiscrimate of time, place, or person.  Questions that really weren't appropriate for the dinner table, with the full family around, right after they had all dished up.

"Does gay sex hurt?" he questioned absently, dragging his fork through the mess of gravy-covered meatloaf on his plate.

The table went quiet, except for the sound of Lip choking on lukewarm beer.

"Well?" Carl asked, directed toward Lip this time as the one with the greatest reaction.  "Does it?"

"Asking the wrong brother," Lip muttered under his breath, and Ian kicked him under the table.

"Lip," Fiona hissed, then looked apologetically at Ian.  As if that were somehow less obvious.

"Why are you asking that?" she directed to Carl, and the boy shrugged.

"Saw some videos at that fancy house," he told her.  "The guy seemed to like it in one of them, but in the other one he was crying."

Fiona hesitated, eyes going to Debbie, to Liam.  To Ian again.

"Well," she started, "they probably just--"

"Yeah, it can hurt," Ian cut in, suddenly feeling tired.  Tired of lying, tired of hiding, tired of everything.  "If you don't do it right."

Carl's attention was on him immediately, and so was everyone else's.  Except Liam's, at least.

"Have you done it?" Carl asked eagerly, leaning over the table toward Ian. 

Ian shrugged.

"Yeah."

Like it was no big deal.  Like his heart wasn't racing.  Like he wasn't thinking of what had happened the last time he said it out loud.

Carl's face twisted as he came to a belated realization.

"Does that mean you're gay?"

"Yeah," Ian said again, and held his breath.

Carl nodded.

"Okay," he said, looking back to his food. 

And...it was. 

No one continued the conversation.  No one even looked at him again.  And Ian felt himself relax, felt himself calm...until Carl spoke up again.

"Is that why you always hung out with Mickey?" he asked, and the blood drained from Ian's face.

"No," he answered shortly, then pushed back, the legs of his chair squealing on the floor.  "Mickey isn't gay."

He looked back on his way up the stairs, ignoring Fionas outstretched arm as he passed.

"And don't ever let him hear you say that," he added, "or he'll kick your face in, too."

Months later, when Ian was back, Carl asked him again, in his own way.

"Is Mickey gay?" as he walked up to the makeshift pull up bar in the doorway.  "Do you love him?"

And Ian wanted to answer, that time.  He really, really did.

But he honestly didn't know anymore.

"I like the way he smells," he said instead, and ignored the way his stomach clenched when Mickey glared on his way to the bathroom.

Liam

It's not like he ever told Liam, not really.  At least, not in any way that counted.

He didn't really have to; Liam had grown up in the middle of it all.

He had been there when Mickey stayed, the first time.  Sat watching them wake up in a too-small bed, share the bathroom, share breakfast, share all of it.

He had been there when Ian left, too.  Gone to live with Mickey in the dreaded Milkovich house.  He'd still seen him plenty--stroller rides with Yev, the odd babysitting gig--but more often than not, Mickey had been there too.

And when Mickey was gone, and Ian found others, it just didn't seem so important. 

By the time Caleb came around, and then Trevor, he just figured Liam kind of knew.  Obviously he knew when the whole Gay Jesus thing happened.

But they had still never talked about it.

"You love Mickey?" Liam asked when they were both back.  When he wandered past their bedroom to see Mickey sound asleep under the covers, head pillowed in Ian's lap as Ian tapped away at his phone.

Ian was transported.  To another time, a different brother, a different self that couldn't say the words.

He could say them now.

"I do," he answered, voice soft but sure, hand stroking through Mickey's hair as the other man hid his face against Ian's thigh.

Liam shrugged.

"Okay."

Simple.  Anticlimactic.

Perfect.

And maybe they didn't need to talk about the specifics.  Because it wasn't about Ian anymore, that he was gay.  It was about them: Mickey and Ian.  Together, no matter what their labels were. 

That was how Ian wanted to be see, now.  As part of a whole.

Mickey mumbled against him, and Ian looked down, and smiled.

He'd never have to come out alone again.