#it's an old community and small at the time but new waves of people come and go

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Actually if I were to rank it, the top four fandoms I've had the biggest impact on would probably be MMX, QSMP, Steven Universe, and then Transformers in that order.

[familyvideostevie]

to close up all the rest

joel miller x reader | 3.2k

a patrol rattles you. joel keeps you grounded.

cw: typical tlou violence, intense emotions about being alive/death, love, something to live for. post-part i jackson au

a/n: just a little jackson au one-shot. this is a christmas present for darling @macfrog. thank you for existing, i love you. hope this is alright.

--

It's been a long time since someone died in front of you.

You don't even know her. Honestly, you should be glad the runner grabbed her, considering she just finished shooting at you. Your patrol partner, a kid called Joey who usually works the stables, shouts your name as you watch it sink its teeth into her neck over and over again.

She doesn't even scream.

"More are coming," he cries. "We have to go."

He's right. The woman's gunshot echoed in the valley and it's not yet cold enough for the herds to be slow, so you have a few minutes at most to get out of here. Probably less.

Groans on the wind. Definitely less.

You shake yourself out of the twisted thrall you've fallen into and look away. Heart in your throat, blood pounding in your ears, you quickly tie your bags to your horse and scan the street.

"Do you have your pack?" you ask Joey.

If she was screaming you'd shoot her. Put an end to it. But it might be a waste of a shot and then the runner would be on you in ten big steps. Fuck.

"Got it!"

You both mount skittish rides and take off down the cracked pavement. The patrol had an added ask of raiding some neighborhoods for linens that can be turned into bandages. You each have a big bag of old clothes, curtains, blankets, and the like strapped to the back of your saddles. The woman had appeared out of the tree line just as you finished the last house, demanding your stuff. There was protocol for this -- Joey would distract her while you went for the gun strapped to the back of your jeans.

But she was skittish, this woman. She fired at the pavement in front of you as soon as your hand twitched.

And then, well.

After a few miles of steady galloping you signal for Joey to slow. The forest is quiet as you turn onto the path down the hill that will lead you back to Jackson.

"I can't believe she shot at us," the kid says. "Stupid."

You sigh. "She was desperate," you say, remembering how wild her eyes looked. "And alone. If she had people with her she wouldn't have."

"You think?"

It's been some time but you did your days alone in this world. It's bloody, it's terrifying, it's punishing. You stop trusting anyone and eventually you stop trusting yourself. Wondering why you keep trying. Without community you lose sight of what matters. You lose sight of how you can not just survive this hell on earth, but live in it.

If she had wanted to do that, instead, maybe you could have told her it was possible.

"Yeah," you say. The walls of Jackson come into view and you think about what awaits you. A warm house, an even warmer embrace. Safety, security, home. "Having people makes all the difference."

Joey waves the green flag and the gates open for you. After returning your horse and checking to make sure the kid isn't too traumatized -- frankly, he seems totally unbothered -- you walk back to the house. The sun is starting to set, painting everything golden, but you can see the clouds rolling in. Might be that snow that everyone keeps anticipating. Most mornings you hear chatter about it. Small talk about the weather persists after the end of the world.

A few folks wave hello, ask after Ellie's new dog, say they hope you've got your firewood ready. Jackson is a thing out of dreams. Solid walls, even steadier people. Good rules, smart leaders. You feel lucky every day that they let you stay here. That you've made a home here.

That home is in sight when you turn on Rancher and what you spy on the porch makes you pick up your pace.

Joel.

He's rocking in the one chair out front, guitar slung across his lap like an afterthought as he strums with his eyes closed. It'll be too cold to sit out, soon, so he spends most evenings playing while he can still stand it.

A heaviness you didn't realize you were carrying lessens a little at the sight of him.

"Hey, stranger," you call as you walk up the steps.

His gaze falls on you, the hazel in his irises more evident in the fading light of the late afternoon. God, he looks beautiful. Like everything you've ever wanted.

"Howdy," he says. The guitar goes up against the house and he stands, meeting you at the top step. "How was patrol?"

You falter, smile frozen on your face. You should tell him, but you don't know what you'd say. A stranger died in front of you and it's put your stomach in knots? It's not that he'll laugh at you, or anything like that. You just need to chew on it a little longer. And right now you're steps away from the warm inside of your home and inches away from the man you love, so you decide to push it aside.

"The usual," you muse. Joel furrows his brow just a little and searches your gaze, but whatever he finds in your eyes causes him to let it go.

"Okay," he says, softly. He taps your chin with his knuckle and turns toward the front door, snagging his guitar on the way. "You hungry? Ellie brought by some soup."

"Did she make it?"

Your layers go on the hooks by the door, your boots next to his in the hall. He heads for the kitchen.

"Hell no," Joel says, deep voice echoing through your house. "Dina did."

"So it's edible?"

You pad on socked feet over creaking hardwood and find him over a pot on the stove, bowl in hand.

"Tried a bit and it didn't kill me," he says. "Waited for you to get home to eat, though."

"And Tommy says you were raised in a barn," you tease, kissing his cheek before he ladles the soup for you.

Joel grunts and you laugh. "Hot bowl," he says. "Careful."

For some reason, his gentle caution makes your chest hurt. You think about the woman from today, how she had no one telling her to be careful. How she made a mistake, or maybe a reckless choice. How she didn't even scream.

There are many very difficult days in this life and you dealt with them on your own for a long time. It's taken practice and mounds of patience from Joel and the other people in this town who love you, but you've learned that you can let other people help you through those days. But that doesn't mean it isn't hard.

You sit at the table across from Joel and try not to let your mood take over.

"You alright?" Joel asks, frown firmly in place. "Maybe Ellie did make the soup--"

"It's good, Joel," you say, smiling a little. If he asks you how you are one more time, you'll crack. And you're not ready yet. "Will you tell me about your day?"

He sighs, no doubt seeing through your second deflection, but allows it.

"Let's see," he starts, leaning back in his chair. "Tommy had me handlin' that bullshit with the kids who went huntin'."

Last week, three teenagers snuck out with the grand idea that they'd bag an elk or something just as big and bring it back for fame and glory or whatever kids think is worth life and death these days. It hadn't gone as badly as it could have, but it was pretty bad. They'd stolen a rifle from the patrol cache and only made it a few miles before one of them slipped down a bank and broke his ankle. Joel had been the one to lead the search party when someone realized they were missing.

He's got a soft spot for teenagers.

"It's good for them to learn," you remind him. He sucks on his teeth and rubs at his jaw. You slurp on some more soup and a thought at odds with your sour mood dances through your memory -- how good his beard felt on your skin last night. Jesus. He does something to you, this man.

"Should know better," he says, oblivious to the echo of your desire. "Havin' them clean all the guns is one thing but once that kid heals up I'm tellin' Tommy we oughta start a trainin' class or somethin'. Let them get outside the walls and hunt if they want. With supervision."

"Keep talking like that and Maria will make you join the council," you muse.

He snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure as shit not doin' that."

"You'd be good at it, Joel. People listen to you."

"I have a hard enough time gettin' my own kid to listen to me," he reminds you. "Hell, you, too."

It's less of a jab and more of an attempt to get you to cheer up, and it works. You laugh at him, delighted to vex him so. As if he does anything but melt for Ellie. And for you -- both of you know just how wrapped around you he is. He'll do anything for his family. You've seen proof of it.

"If only the council had a uniform," you sigh, exaggerating your disappointment. "You'd look so handsome in one."

"Watch it," he says, eyes sparkling.

You tap his foot under the table with yours. "Just being truthful," you tease, though it rings a little hollow given the fact that you're swerving talking about your own day.

Joel hums and leans back in his chair. "You gonna tell me what happened today?"

"What do you mean?"

Even as you chew on how to swerve him once again, you find yourself going back to the patrol. The way your senses sharpened when she stepped out of the trees, how you saw all the ways it could go wrong. Her twitchy hand, her wide eyes. The crack in her voice when she demanded your packs. The echo of the gunshot and your own heartbeat loud in your ears wondering if today was the day you wouldn't make it home. When the runner leapt out of nowhere and latched onto her. How easily your life could have ended that way, too.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you," Joel says, not unkindly. "Where are you?"

You chew on your lower lip. This would be a lot easier if the words would just come to you, if you knew how to explain yourself.

"Joel--"

"Alright, that's it," he says. Joel gets up with a groan, stretching his arms high in the air, and heads for the front door.

"What?" you ask, confused, but you follow him into the hall. "Joel, where are you going?"

"We're goin' for a walk." He shrugs on his jacket and waves you over. "C'mon."

"But the dishes--"

"Will be here when we get back," he finishes. "Now, get your coat on. Hat, too. Reckon the snow is gonna start tonight."

You could fight him about it, say you're cold and tired and just want to sit on the couch. Tell him to stop badgering you, to let sleeping dogs lie.

But that's the thing about Joel -- you trust him. Outside the walls, inside your home. With your life and with your heart. You're safe in his hands. And you've been here before plenty of times. After nightmares from both of you, after hard days in town, after his fights with Ellie or Tommy or whatever it is. You walk and you talk it out. Fresh air helps, Joel often says. It's the father in him, the caretaker, the man who knows when to listen and when to push. He's taught you a lot about that.

So you shove your feet back into your boots and Joel tugs a knit hat over your ears. The sun finished setting while you were eating, Jackson now illuminated by the gas lamps and string lights hanging between the posts.

Normally you'd be content to just walk with Joel side by side, as is your usual routine. He's not a particularly public man when it comes to affection, though you never doubt that he's thinking of you. His eyes find yours in every room and he easily finds you in every crowd. By now, you've got your own language.

But, given that he's brought you out here to no doubt get you to be honest about your complicated feelings, he offers you his arm for support. You take it with a dry look that he matches.

Never one to let you off easily, this man. Not when he knows he can help, at least.

"You know what I'm gonna say," he grumbles.

It helps to talk.

It's basically a mantra in your house. Ellie says he didn't used to be like this. The total opposite, in fact. You know that it's her that brought him back to this version of himself -- he did it because she asked. And maybe you coming along helped, too. He might seem gruff and guarded to those who don't know him but it's all so he can protect who and what he loves.

And this is one of his ways -- not letting things go unsaid.

"I don't know where to start," you say. "I don't know how to explain it."

Joel rubs a hand over his jaw. "Try the beginning," he suggests. "It was patrol, right? Somethin' happened?"

You nod.

"We saw a woman," you start. You close your eyes and picture her, letting Joel lead you down the street. "She came out of the woods just as we finished the last house."

"Hostile?"

You look at Joel. His jaw is tense, as if you're not standing in front of him safe and sound. Always trying to fix hurts he had nothing to do with.

"She had a gun, yeah," you continue. "Demanded our stuff. We were ready to do the protocol but then she shot at us."

Joel stops in his tracks, pulling you with him. "She did what?"

"And missed, obviously," you remind him. "But it was a stupid mistake, since we weren't far from that town with the herd. She had to have seen traces of them and known they were there."

"Christ," he mutters. You tug on his arm and he starts walking again.

"And before we could do anything a runner tackled her to the ground."

Joel curses under his breath. "Unlucky."

It starts to snow. You look up at the white flakes falling from the dark sky as you figure out how to say what happened next.

"Go on," Joel says, softly. "This is the part that bothered you, I reckon."

"She didn't even scream, Joel," you whisper just loud enough for him to hear. "She just went down."

"Ah."

All of it comes to a boil and the words pour out of you.

"I mean, why did she shoot in the first place? She was jumpy, sure, but she was alone, too. She looked so tired, so desperate, and the way it lunged for her I know it didn't kill her on the first bite. No screaming, she just took it. She took it and gave up. I don't -- she must have had nothing, to give up like that. It's just so fucked up --"

Your voice breaks. Joel pulls you to a stop and unwinds your arms so he can put his hands on your shoulders.

"Ain't nothin' you can do about someone else's lot," he says. "She made her mistakes."

"I know," you retort, "but that could have been me."

"It ain't you."

"But it could have been, Joel!" You're not angry with him, but you're frustrated. "If things had worked out differently for me, it could have been. If I never found Jackson, if I was still out there. It could have been me."

He exhales sharply, reigning in his own desire to remind you that you're safe. That you're here, that you're with him. That he won't let anything bad happen to you.

"Lots of things could be different," he says, slowly. "Could spend days thinkin' 'bout that stuff. Years."

"I guess I'm just sad for her." The snow has gathered in Joel's hair and you reach for him to brush it away. He allows it, keeping his eyes on yours. "I think she wanted to die."

"It's a hard life on the road."

You sigh. "I know, Joel," you say. "I just -- it's been a long time since things have been that bad for me. And it was hard to be reminded, you know?"

His hands move from your shoulders to cup your face, thumbs your skin. "I know, sweetheart," he replies. "We've all been there. Hard not to think about givin' up at least once in this shit hole."

It gets a dry laugh out of you.

"But you ain't givin' up. You fight tooth and nail every single time 'cause you've got so much to get back to. And it'll get you home."

You lean into one of his palms, your lips brushing along the heel of his hand. "I know, Joel."

He's not done. "For a long time I was like that. Not carin' much how things went, so long as I got to get my hands dirty. But Ellie --" he swallows, the love he has for his girl getting in the way of his words " -- and you tie me to this damn place. Make me get up every day, make me remember how things can be good. And someday it'll be my turn --"

"Joel--"

"No, listen. Someday it'll be my turn, and I'll go knowin' I was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to get what I got. Time."

You can't take it anymore. You pitch forward into his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Now that he's said it, you realize why the whole thing bothered you so much. You don't want to die. You don't want to lose the life you have now. The home you have with this man, the way he loves you. The way you love him. It makes you feel human, it makes you feel alive.

And you feel damn bad for anyone who doesn't have something to live for.

Joel's hand presses into your spine. Maybe in a different life you'd be worried that he'd think you're silly for being so bothered about this, but he always takes you seriously. You both know how quickly you can lose something, how much it matters to make the time you have count.

"Thank you," you say into his jacket. He scoffs.

"C'mon, now." He gently pulls away from your embrace to look at you. He brushes snow from your shoulders and hat with careful fingers. "Let's go home."

Home. For so long you never thought you'd have one.

Joel must see the vulnerability in your eyes because he leans in to press his lips to yours gently. An anchoring touch, a reminder of how he feels.

"Getting frisky, Mr. Miller," you mutter when he pulls away. He snickers and you sneak another kiss as he pinches your hip through your coat.

"Home," he says again.

You couldn't agree more.

[joelmillergirl]

Fearing The Phenomena

Word count: 1,505

Warnings: sex, unprotected p in v, good ol’ creampie, passionate sex, riding the cowboy during a storm, softer Joel.

Author’s Note: Wrote this during a storm⛈️

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

When you were younger, before the outbreak, you loved storms. Your smaller, chubbier face smushed up against the window, counting the droplets of water that raced down the glass. You’d sit outside with your parents, watching the darker shades of clouds roll in, the wind steadily picking up before the thunder and lightning began.

Your favourite sound in the world was the sound of the storm raging above you as you were in bed, almost your whole body snuggled underneath your blankets, having the privilege of cuddling your endless amount of stuffed animals if it ever got too much.

After the outbreak you were left alone, having to adjust to the more violent and lonely world after being surrounded by people you loved for so long. You could still remember the first stormy season after the outbreak, the sounds and emotions coming back to you in flashes every now and then.

You were just twenty, limited survival knowledge and incapable of being alone for too long, you were amazed you had survived as long as you had. There was no one around, not where you were, the closest QZ was a state away, and you did not trust your sense of direction. You’d found yourself an old small house, it smelt faintly of mould, but it was in the middle of nowhere, you felt safe staying there for the night at least.

You had expected the rain, but not what followed along. That was the first time you’d ever been scared by a storm, the combination of the deafening thunder cracks, the howling of wind, and most importantly the fact that it was just you, shook you. You hadn’t slept at all that night, praying to anyone, anything that would listen, praying that it would end soon.

A couple years later after countless trials and tribulations with QZ’s, and other groups of people, you finally stumbled across Jackson, a small, growing town on its way to having electricity. The first two weeks of being a part of the community felt unreal, years worth of paranoia and anxiety had not vanished overnight. You slept with your knife in hand, you would have opted for sleeping with your gun but residents were only allowed such weapons on patrol.

Then, Joel came along. Your relationship had taken a while to develop, there wasn’t any rush, but sometimes you wished he’d just pull his head in and look at things clearer. He was weary of being with you, always going on about his past, how evil he was, how he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He eventually came around, setting a fair few rules for the new dynamic that hadn’t lasted very long.

He’d been with you through a lot, understanding the deepest parts of you, parts you didn’t understand yourself, and vice versa. When a particularly rough patch of stormy weather flew over town, you finally caved and told him of your irrational new fear, being met with understanding and care from Joel. He stayed in bed with you until the loudest rumbles of thunder passed, kissing you on the head before getting out of bed to help the other townspeople clear up the debris.

It was a dark evening, thick clouds enveloped the sky, every now and then there was some light rainfall, but the worst of it was expected to come later that night. By ten, the rain had started to plummet down, the windows in yours and Joel’s house rattled slightly with the heavy wind, each time sending a wave of worry through your head.

You were sitting on the couch, blankets and pillows surrounding you and a warm body behind you. Joel’s arms were loosely wrapped around you, his head resting against the couch whilst yours rested on his chest. He drew little shapes onto your arms, wrapping you a little tighter to him when the thunder and lightning started to pick up.

By midnight, the storm was at its worst, loud cracks of thunder and bright flashes of lightning occurred at every opportunity, each one seemingly louder and more aggressive than the last. “Shh.” Joel hummed against your throat, resting his nose in the crook of your neck.

“I can’t.” You whisper back, your skin burning despite the cool temperature rushing in through the cracks of the windowpanes and doors. You were pressed up against Joel tightly, sitting between his legs, like always, protecting you.

“What do you need?” He asked softly, moving to the side slightly to see your face. You frown, leaning your head back further into his chest to look at him, his brown eyes boring into yours.

You think for a moment. “Need you, Joel. All of it.” His expression softened slightly, sending you one last glance of worry before he nodded.

“Okay, baby.” He muttered, moving further down into the couch, leaning his torso and head down. With his assistance, you turned in between his legs, now facing him you move to straddle him.

You peel off your jumper, revealing your sleep singlet underneath, not bothering to remove your shorts as they were flimsy sleeping ones, easy to pull aside. From beneath you, Joel lifted his hips up slightly, taking you with it, to pull himself out of his sweatpants. He was hard, not completely yet as you lowered yourself onto the length of him, holding your shorts aside with one hand as you slowly ground yourself up and down the length of his cock.

It didn't take long for Joel to fully harden, nor for you to become drenched in your own arousal. Another loud crack of thunder temporarily broke through your calm state. “Shh,” Joel whispered, shaking his head at you, “Focus.”

With a small smile and a nod, you shift your attention back to him, lifting yourself up slightly. Joel took himself in his hand, rubbing himself a few times before brushing the head of his cock against your clit, catching your slick on him as a lube of some sort before he moved lower down to your entrance.

You took him in slowly, making sure to take in every inch, savouring the intimate moment further. His large hands rested on your body, one remaining on your hip and the other around your leg, holding you firmly against him. After a few moments of getting used to his size, you gently start to rock yourself, lifting up a few inches then sinking back down, a mixture of your arousal and his’ coating around the base of him.

“Feel’s good.” You whisper, turning your gentle bounces into small grinds, his trimmed pubic hair brushing against your clit every time. His hands moved up your body, kneading at the skin on your sides before moving up to palm your tits, grabbing them both before they made their way back down your body, his fingers settling at your clit.

He applied pressure, slowly circling his fingers. “Good.” He whispered back, looking up at you softly. Small moans escaped from your mouth, your legs wrapped tightly around his sides. Eventually, he moved his hands back to your hips, aiding you to start bouncing back on his cock. He brought more force to these bounces, but it was still a far cry from the usual rougher sex you’d usually have.

Your ass slapped down onto his thighs, causing a satisfying sound to join your increasingly louder moans and Joel’s heavier grunts. “‘M gonna cum.” You muster up, leaning your head back in ecstasy. He started to bounce you faster, all his noises ceased as he got closer to his own orgasm, but he was focused on yours first.

He started moving his hips, meeting your bounces halfway, a step up from the slow pace you’d originally set. One of his hands remained on your hips whilst the other moved back up to your breasts, almost frantically pushing the fabric of your singlet up, eyeing off your now bare chest. He gently rolled your nipples between his fingers, the stimulation sent you over the edge, your legs wobbled and weakened, your eyes shut close, and your pussy tightened around him, aiding him to his release.

He came inside you, pulling you by the backs of your thighs as deep onto him as he could, his mouth ajar and eyes still watching yours, his hips slowing down with every thrust. When you lifted yourself up, his cum dribbled out of you, falling onto his softening cock and down your thigh. The storm had just started to fade out, wind grew weaker and rain grew lighter, creating a more soothing and relaxing atmosphere now that you were comfortable and sleepy.

Joel cleaned you up beforehand, made sure everything was okay outside by looking out the window, then joined you in bed, pressing his warm body against the back of yours. And with the soft patter of rain now on your window, and the steady breathing against your neck, you thought you could eventually start to soften up to the scarier storms.

[valentiyne]

𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 ✘ 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗆!𝗉𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝖾𝗋

TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Uncovering the truth about your little affair with Spiderman to your obvious friend Peter. What could go wrong? (Let me know if I should do a part two!)

Warnings: Mild cursing & Peter being a dork

Word Count: 1.5k (not proofread)

Copyright © 2024 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

Peter Parker stuck to himself for a majority of his time at Empire State High. I met him in middle school but we didn't meet up until eighth grade, and when I was stuck next to him in Chemistry- I knew we'd be inseparable. He was a nerd, a 4.8 GPA and enrolled in almost every club the counselors would allow.

He was a nerd, but he was also my best friend. My best friend that I hadn't talked to in two years.

The hundredth refilled coffee of the night almost dropped me to my knees. I was beyond exhausted, and it didn't help that my phone was almost dead. It was my fourth double this week, and I knew no amount of Redbulls would keep me going. There were a few stray customers sitting around the counter, reading the daily bugle or staring up at the old television playing a recap of the morning news.

Ben, a man who I've come to learn as a night shift security guard always came in before close. His hair was black with a few stray greys, mid forties with no wife or kids. He ordered a cherry pie with a black coffee and sat in silence until it was time to close.

He left a hefty tip- so I didn't mind.

"How you doing, Cherry." His nickname rolled off his tongue as he reaches down to grab his sweater from the stool. He knew everything about Peter and I, he had been here to see it all.

I shrug, dropping my dirty rag in the sink with a sigh. "I'll be okay."

"You said that two years ago when I first asked you." He teased, earning a small smile from me.

"That's what I like to see," He drops a twenty on the counter and gives a soft wave, letting the bells from the front door do the talking as he left to work.

As I lock the front door, I drop my skateboard to the floor and kick my feet up to head home. The skateboard was a limited edition OSCORP branded drop. Peter had camped out for two days to get it for me before the beginning of sophomore year, and i've treasured it every since. The train left 7 minutes ago, and I knew it would be a good forty minutes before I was home.

My headphones flowed with my hair as I pushed myself faster down the sidewalk. Queen was almost dead this time of night, aside from a few people who roamed the streets- and of course the vigilante the daily bugle has named Spider Man.

I've learned of his existence from a newspaper Ben was reading, his red and blue suit depicting on the front cover. It was something out a movie- a man who flies through the air with webs?

Peter thought it was fascinating, of course he did. He was a boy who thought everything was fascinating- except for me.

It wasn't that big of a deal, he liked Gwen. She was everything I wasn't. She had an internship at Oscorp, she was involved in the community, she was smart- if not smarter than Peter. Thank you Linkedln!

He was head over heels for her. And I was head over heels for him.

As my skateboard glided over the concrete, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket a few times. Slipping it out, I glance down to my screen to see a couple of messages from my roommate.

Just as I went to open the messages, my skateboard halted and I was launched from the board- sideways ankle and chin first into the rough pavement. "Fuck!" I cry out, my shaky hands immediately reaching for my chin. Crimson blood littered my fingers and I groaned obnoxiously, leaning down to my now shattered phone to check and see if it was still salvageable.

It was not.

Groaning in pain, I managed to extend my ankle out and look at it. It was probably a sprain, nothing that wasn't too life threatening but I knew I wasn't going to be able to skate any further.

Speaking of skating... Where the hell is my board?

I glance around the dark sidewalk, squinting to correct my vision but it was no use. My board was gone. I leaned down in pain, clutching my ankle and letting the blood drip onto the pavement below me.

I was screwed.

Peter kept his promise he had made to her years ago. He made sure she got home safe every night she worked. He watched her step out of the diner with his heart in his throat as he dangled off the side of a building. He had overheard all the conversations she had at work, not in a creepy way- he just wanted to know if she talked about him to some of her regulars.

His side hurt from a beating he took a few hours ago, a fight he had to cut short because he didn't want to miss "watching" her go home. He could have easily taken the guy out, but his mind was so lost on what went wrong between him and her. He wanted to just sleep. But the city never slept, and neither did he.

He left Gwen's apartment early this morning, almost couldn't stand the feeling of not watching and keeping tabs on the girl. His girl. It took him almost an hour to put the suit on, feeling like he wasn't strong enough mentally anymore. He wanted to walk her home as Peter, not Spiderman.

He told himself: stay away from her. Keep her safe that way.

But watching her collide with the pavement, her face hitting the hard cement and the board he had bought her going flying- he knew he had to step in.

I wiped the last of my blood from my chin with the back of my hand when a voice suddenly spoke right behind me.

"Ahem, You-Uh... You okay Miss?"

I yelped, turning around to see no one was there. My eyes traveling down the dark street and sidewalks.

Am I going crazy?

I look back down to my hands that were now stained red when the voice spoke again,

"I'm up here.." My head slowly angled upward and I see it- well I see him.

Standing ontop of a street light infront of me, I see none other than Spider Man.

"Yeah-" I cut my sentance off, my mind suddenly wandering to the fact that I was speaking to the infamous vigilante.

His head turns, his eyes on his mask narrowing at me. His mannerisms were odd, almost...familiar?

I look around, avoiding his gaze. "I fell off my skateboard... i need to get up," I hoist myself onto my right foot.

"Whoa whoa whoa", The man suddenly jumps down from his crouch position above and puts his hands on my shoulders. As his masked hands touch my shoulder, he flinches slightly. "The board isn't important, you're hurt."

My head shakes quickly, almost scrambling to get back on my feet. "No No no, you don't understand. That board, someone... he gave it to me."

The man steps back now, his eyes widening as he looks down at me. He looks... confused?

"Who did?"

I mentally slap myself in the face. He wasn't a therapist, he was a hero. I take a deep breath, "An old friend...." The breath that I let out was shaky, almost like I was about to cry.

The man now puts his hands up in defense, letting me get up onto my feet with a wince. I stumbled a bit from the unevenness, but I eventually got myself steady.

"I sprained my ankle," I say, gritting my teeth.

He immediately kneels down beside me and I limped as he starts to examine my ankle. He moves it gently, taking care not to cause any more pain. "It's not too bad," he says, "But it could use some ice."

I gave up hope looking for the board, and I let out a frustrated groan. I was annoyed. It was the last thing I had of Peter's, and now it was gone too.

"Shouldn't you be stopping a heist?" I suddenly snap, turning around to see the man standing behind me awkwardly.

He looks down at me and leans his hand back to scratch his neck sheepishly. "I saw what happened so.. I uh.. I wanted to help."

I look up at him now, feeling comforted by his presence. His posture, his voice, and everything else about him. He was familiar, but I couldn't place a finger on it.

I can't help but wonder how many other people he's helped like this. It's hard to believe that someone so extraordinary could exist in real life.

Now I just needed to figure out how I was going to get home.

[youunravelme]

to all the girls you've loved before part 1

author's note: hi! remember that time i wrote jack fics? well i'm branching out, so BUCKLE UP BABY. it should be said that this will be multiple parts, i don't know how many though so again, buckle up. also i'm pretending the trade never happened

pairing: single dad!mat barzal x reader

summary: being a nanny for rich people was probably the worst thing that ever happened to you, until you started working for mat.

warnings: children, rich people, mentions of absent parent

mat barzal. nearly everyone in new york was obsessed with him, you knew him by the awkward elevator interactions when you were leaving work and he was getting home.

you nannied for a family in his building, a mom named erin who was rarely home with two really sweet children, ages 2 and 4.

you didn't even know his name until a few weeks after he moved in when erin mentioned his name in passing conversation, saying something about an nhl player living across the hall.

"i think he's around your age," she said with a sly smirk. "and handsome too, introduced himself to the kids too. such a sweetheart."

"erin," you started. "you can't possibly know he's a sweetheart from one two second interaction."

she tsked and waved you off. "first impressions have a great impact."

you met him when you were getting off the elevator. he had a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and wore a suit, his hair was wet and strewn about in every direction. you were in a pair of sweats to combat the cold.

he mumbled a small hey and made a pathetic excuse for a smile as he waited for you to get off the elevator.

everything you knew about him, you gleaned involuntarily. he must suck at cooking given the amount of times the smoke detector would go off in his place, you could hear the beeping through the walls. and his lack of cooking skills took shape in the trash bags filled with take out boxes that he loudly dumped in the trash chute. you even knew he had a best friend named "tito" from the shouting that erupted every time said friend came over.

you thought nothing of him aside from the mild annoyance at his loud noises.

it wasn't until the fall came and the two year old turned three (and therefore went off to preschool) that things changed.

you'd just settled into your pajamas when erin called asking you to come over.

"is everything alright?" you asked.

"you remember mat?"

"hardly."

she laughed through the phone, though it sounded a little strained. "can you come over? he's found himself in a bit of a situation."

you paused. "what kind of situation?"

spoiler alert: it was an eight month old baby girl kind of situation.

mat was sitting on erin's couch while the baby, whose name was apparently ella, snoozed away in the pack and play when you walked in.

erin explained the situation as you took a seat. something about a fling he had that resulted in a pregnancy (obviously) and the mom decided parenting just wasn't for her so she dropped the baby off with mat and has blocked him on all forms of communication.

erin leant some things like a pack and play for ella to sleep in until he got a crib. but he didn't need that as much as he needed you.

a nanny.

"i know you already have a job, but i can pay well and pay you more for watching all three kids when you have them," mat begged. "i know i have late games so it would require late nights but you can sleep in the guest room if you'd like and i might be gone for a week at a time, but you can invite friends over to hang out and--"

you held up a hand. listening to the man beg and plead for your help was almost heartbreaking. "i'll do it."

he sat back. "what, really?"

you furrowed your brows. "is that a problem?"

mat shook his head. "no! sorry, i was just surprised you'd agree so quickly.

"well, it's not like it would interfere with my time with erin's girls. i could watch your baby during the day and take her to pick up the girls from school and keep ella until you get back."

he still looked unsure. "i work late nights sometimes, is that a problem?"

you thought about the fact your schedule has been empty for the past few months, that the only reason you leave your shitty apartment was because erin needed you to nanny. "i think i can manage."

he smiled for the first time that evening, looking almost near tears. "thank you thank you thank you," he said.

you nodded, a little overwhelmed by his sudden change in demeanor. "when do i start?"

day one

you hesitantly walked into mat's big ass apartment to the sound of a screaming baby.

it was six in the morning.

mat ran into the living room, hair askew, clothes wrinkled, but his baby was in a clean set of pajamas with tears running down her face.

"i don't know what's wrong," he said frantically. "she woke up and i changed her diaper but she's still crying."

you dropped your bag on the floor and made your way over to him, taking ella out of his arms and immediately bouncing her in your own. "she's probably hungry," you guessed.

"i tried that! i put the bottle in the microwave but when i gave it to her she started crying harder and--"

"wait," you stopped him. "you put the bottle in the microwave?" he nodded. "with the formula?" he nodded again. "mat, you can't do that. heat the water separately and then add the formula. and then test it on your wrist to make sure it's the right temperature." you walked into the kitchen and prepared the bottle the right way, showing mat how to do it as you went.

when all was said and done, you placed the new bottle in ella's mouth and watched as she took it without issue.

mat's shoulders sagged in relief. "you're a miracle worker."

you gave him a sheepish smile. "you can go get ready, mat. i've got her from here." he nodded and hurried towards what you assumed was his bedroom while you walked over to the couch to sit down.

ella was a cute baby, you'd give her that. no doubt taking after her father. she looked at you with wide eyes as she drank her bottle, her irises never left your face. it would've been unnerving if she had been an adult.

mat came out a little less frazzled ten minutes later. ella had finished her bottle at that point and the both of you were laid on the floor doing tummy time.

"what's that?" he pointed to the two of you once he stopped running his hands through his hair.

"what's what?"

"what's that you're doing?" he gestured again before placing his hands on his hips.

"tummy time," you smiled. "it helps build her neck muscles. also helps prevent flat spots on the back of her head."

you didn't like to judge people for their skin color, because it's racist, but you didn't think it was possible for mat to be paler until you spoke.

"she could get flat spots?"

you hung your head as ella babbled to herself.

it was going to be a long employment.

day ten

you'd finally gotten mat on a rhythm, he looked a little less scared with every day that you came over.

but today was different.

he was going on an eight day roadie which meant you would be watching her overnight several nights in a row (on top of erin's kids).

you'd done much harder jobs before, so you weren't nervous about the time you spent with ella, it was more so you feared all the confidence you built in the week or so you'd worked for mat would disappear when he came back and realized he had an eighteen year commitment waiting at home for him.

"you have my number, right?" he asked even though you got it the night you accepted the position.

"yes, mat," you said instead.

"and you'll text me if anything goes wrong?"

you nodded. you bounced ella on your hip and held her hand up. "bye dada," you said for her, smiling as she did.

mat's bags were stationed by the front door, but he made no move towards them. he stayed planted in front of you, but his hands fidgeted.

"can i--" he cleared his throat. "can i hold her?"

"of course!" you didn't hesitate to pass her off to mat, who handled her like precious cargo, but was still a little unsure about the entire situation.

once she was settled, he took his eyes off her to look at you. "you know where the guest room is, right?" you nodded. "right, just make yourself at home. i stocked the fridge, i have just about every streaming service, so you should be fine." he paused. "but if you aren't--"

"mat--"

"--you can just text me if you need anything, alright?" he turned his head to focus on ella who took her hands to slap to his cheeks. "and you be good, okay baby?" his voice pitched higher right before he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

you checked your watch to keep yourself from intruding on what felt like a special moment. "mat," you started. "you should get going before you're late."

he nodded and pressed one last kiss to the top of ella's head before passing her back to you. "i'll facetime you when i get to the hotel, okay? so i can tell her goodnight?"

you nodded and left out the part that she would probably be asleep because honestly, you weren't expecting him to remember.

"alright," he said, wiping his hands on his pants before making his way to the front door where his bags sat. "i'll see you in a week."

"bye bye dada," you said in a high squeaky voice, using ella's hand to wave just like before.

he smiled before walking out the door and locking it behind him.

day fourteen

it wasn't until halfway through mat's roadie that weariness settled in. you were constantly surrounded by children, which normally wouldn't be an issue, but between ella and erin's two kids, you were practically a full time single parent.

which sucked because it wasn't even like you got laid to even create this issue.

mat, though, true to his word, facetimed every night he possibly could. he smiled wide every time he saw ella's face and while she was confused at how your phone worked, ella smiled and laughed at the sound of her father's voice.

"what have you been up to?" he asked one evening. you were spoon feeding ella sweet potato puree for dinner while he was laying in bed in his hotel room.

"nothing really, we went to the park today, she was really happy to see a few dogs."

mat grumbled. "certainly didn't get that from me."

you couldn't help it, you smiled at his pout.

"is that--" he guffawed. "did i make you smile?"

you rolled your eyes. "i'm sure i've smiled at you before."

"you haven't!"

"and i don't blame you!" another voice piped in. "he's not funny."

when mat saw the look on your face, he sighed. "that's tito," he said like that explained everything.

"nice to meet you, tito!" you called.

"is that your nanny?" you heard him call. "can i say hi to ella?"

mat rolled his eyes but moved the camera to show you a good looking man lounging in the other bed. he was handsome in a way that mat wasn't. you couldn't really compare one to the other in the same way you couldn't compare an apple to quantum physics.

"ella can you say hi?" you asked in a small voice. ella spared a single glance to camera before screaming. you laughed before spoon feeding her more puree. "sorry," you started. "she does that sometimes."

tito looked terrified but covered it up quickly when mat cleared his throat. "she just screams randomly?"

you shrugged. "usually when she's excited or frustrated."

tito laid back in his bed and started scrolling on his phone. "babies, man."

mat came back into view. his head rested back on his pillow as he held the camera above his face. "are you both doing okay?"

you opened your mouth to reply but tito cut him off.

"you don't need to ask her that everyday!" he said.

you couldn't see what he did, but judging by the shaking of the camera and the cackle that escaped tito's lips, you'd give your left leg and say he flipped his best friend off.

you took your eyes off the camera to look at ella who was using her puree covered hands to rub at her eyes. you put your phone down and grabbed a napkin to immediately start wiping her face and hands.

"is everything okay?" mat asked. "did i lose you?"

"just had to put the phone down to clean her up. she's getting sleepy." you pulled ella out of her high chair, resolving to clean it up later, and picked your phone up.

mat's face lit back up when ella came into view. "hi baby girl," he smiled. "are you getting ready to go to bed?"

ella rested her head on your shoulder and yawned.

"well, i'll let you two go," mat sighed. "i love you, ella bean." he directed his gaze to you. "same time tomorrow?"

"i'll let you know if anything changes."

"night."

"night, mat."

he ended the call and left you to take ella to bed.

day twenty-seven

nearly a month into working for mat and everything was going great. ella had gotten used to you which meant she knew you would come back when you left the room. the first two weeks, she cried every time you left. and if you had to guess, it probably had something to do with how her mother treated her.

and mat, well, he was embracing the father role well enough for someone who thought he was an unattached bachelor not even a month ago.

as far as you go, you were still getting used to the workload of erin's kids and ella. and while you would never breathe a word of it to anyone, you preferred ella over erin's kids.

your roommate and your boyfriend took some time to adjust to your new hours, but your roommate was excited when you contributed more to groceries and apartment needs. as far as your boyfriend went, he was still getting used to the idea of you being gone all day and sometimes even weekends, but even he admitted ella was the cutest baby he'd ever seen.

you were plating yogurt and some smashed peaches for her morning snack while holding her on your hip when mat walked in the kitchen, hair wet from a shower.

"hey," he said. "how is she?"

at the sound of his voice, ella turned in your arms and made a grabby motion for him. "you tell me," you said, handing her off to him. almost immediately, ella rested her head in the crook of his neck and popped a thumb in her mouth.

a smile crossed his face at the way ella fit so perfectly into the lines of his body.

"you're good at this," you remarked.

he laughed. "i have no idea what i'm doing."

"does anyone?"

"you seem to have it figured out."

the laugh was out of your mouth before you could stop it. "well then, let me go audition for broadway. i'm a better actress than i thought."

neither of you said a word, but you continued to stare at each other until his phone dinged. mat shifted ella around until he could fish his phone out of his pocket. "oh it's my mom." he scrolled through the texts when a figurative lightbulb appeared over his head.

"what?" you asked.

"my family is coming into town to meet ella next week so that might affect the hours you have." a flash of panic must've been present on your face because he quickly spoke again. "but your pay will still be the same! i don't want you to worry about that at all. i might still need you throughout the week."

"okay!" you smiled before moving ella's morning snack to her high chair. mat peeled her off of him and placed her in the seat before taking the chair next to hers.

his phone dinged again.

"oh," he said.

"what is it?"

"my mom wants to meet you."

"oh."

[rotandguts]

✶ ┄ DRIVING IN CARS WITH BOYS

danny (evil dead rise) x fem!reader

summary: a workplace camaraderie spurs a string of late night drives with danny, each one bringing you closer to realising your feelings for one another.

word count: 8.3k

warnings: 18+ mdni, nsfw, semi-public sex, car sex, oral (m receiving), masturbation (f receiving), lowkey sexting lol, degradation if u squint tbh, mention of masturbation (m), DANNY IS 18+

A/N: okay so, i’ve just want to discuss how i’ve written danny but i just want to emphasise that i don’t want to erase the fact that he’s literally trans. i don’t have enough expertise writing from a trans point of view imo as i’m a cis female and i don’t want it to be offensive or tacky in anyway. so for this purpose i’ve just written danny as having a dick but i know how difficult it is for the trans community, especially trans youths and those with low income to receive certain types of gender affirming surgery and don’t want to just dismiss that. i hope that’s okay with everyone if anyone has any advice or anything lemme know!

publishing date ―  may 22nd, 2023 |  © rotandguts

✶

When Danny first got his licence, he took any chance he got to drive the family’s Buick Roadsmaster. While not as impressive as some of the vehicles his classmates had, the fact he was even able to access a car with the income his family possessed was enough for him. It also explained why he was still living with his mom while attending college.

To help his mother he’d taken to working at the local Henrietta’s pizza joint, making enough to just make ends meet. In combination with whatever DJing side gigs he could get, he was slowly starting to save up. Aside from monetary gain, the part time job also gave him a new social life. Everyone who worked there was a little older, working to save during college like himself. It gave him the chance to speak to others in a space away from class, and the job itself was pretty easy anyway - due to his ability to drive he’d get sent out on deliveries most of the time.

Normally he’d be fine with this, getting paid hourly plus keeping the tips he got from going door to door (minus the occasional inconvenience from a few annoying assholes or prank calls). But he started to actually miss joking around in the kitchen or front desk with his co-workers. Danny was by no means unpopular, he had his own small friendship group from high school that kept him steady, but meeting new people he genuinely got along with was nice.  He was generally of a shy disposition, not one to reach out to others naturally, but a fiercely proud friend when you got to know him.

One person he began to miss in particular, was you. He’d recognised you from a few of his old high school classes, more on the quiet side like himself, usually folded over scribbling into your textbook. You were the only other person around his age working in Henrietta’s. He remembered that in school you kept to yourself but had plenty of friends on the committees you were on. Danny had remembered you were involved from an assembly talking about yearbook and prom committee, he thinks. He only attended after being threatened with detention if he skipped out to smoke under the bleachers with his friends. At work, you were the most talkative person there. He could tell how you had easily adapted in the extracurricular groups you were a part of from that skill alone.

Danny couldn’t really say he had ever tried to talk to you in school before, but when you both got to talking you would later admit that you hadn’t really made an effort to approach him either.

You had been working at Henrietta’s for similar reasons as Danny, you had initially joined in high school to save money to support yourself in college. After working there the past few years now, you’d seen classmates from both high school and college come and go but never really struck up a true friendship with them other than a wave or smile in the school hallways. All the other long term workers were post-graduates unable to put their diplomas to use and while it was handy for getting invited to college parties - you certainly felt a disconnect.

But then there was Danny.

Shy, kind, attractive Danny. You would be lying if you said you’d never noticed him in school. He was that one quiet cool kid that everyone just kind of liked. Good taste in music, if you could remember correctly. As soon as you got home from your first shift together you’d made sure to stalk all of his socials, he was kind of artsy - not quite goth but not quite full blown skater boy. He was rarely seen on his own Instagram, instead filling with pictures of his friends or gigs he’d been to. You bit your lip, growing only more curious about the blonde boy, head filling with speculation about his taste in romantic partners or what he’d be like behind closed doors.

You remembered the first day he’d walked in with the hairstyle he sported so casually now. He wore it so well compared to the dark brown mop he used to have. You’d never really noticed the boys or girls in your class before as being particularly attractive, but Danny walking in with that haircut and his new skater-ish look was like a breath of fresh air.  

This bubbling attraction was never indicated or acted upon until both of you were on kitchen duty during a quiet Sunday night shift. Danny had found that you liked to playfully bicker, it was like vocal tennis to you. Each of you began to find things to make the other flustered, never hitting too below the belt.

Both of you had been tiptoeing on a dangerous line, comments almost falling into uncharted territory. Running out of options to make him squirm, you turned around and admitted, “I actually remember when you came into class with that mullet for the first time. I thought it was super hot.” He froze, not sure how to respond. Were you actually flirting with him? Was this just part of the joke? Instinctively running his hands through his hair, he thought of a quick response.

“Thanks, I guess. Yeah, I liked when you had streaks in your hair.” You had briefly followed the TikTok trend coming back to high school after lockdown, two platinum blonde streaks framing your face. You raised your eyebrows. “Daniel! You’re like, totally obsessed with me!” You giggled, tucking hair behind your ear. Danny, blushing, shrugged and diverted his eyes to the task at hand.

“I could literally say the same for you. Still think my hair is super hot?” He smirked, looking up at her across the small divide of the work station. “Yeah, I do.” She smiled back.

From here, a light flirtation began to intertwine with the duo’s constant bickering, quickly leading to them becoming close. Their co-workers had begun to notice that they’d swap shifts in order to be together, not that either of them would admit that. As long as they were getting the work done, nobody cared. They were a dynamic duo in the workplace, known to close the building in record time and maintain high sales during quiet days. Slowly, you had both began to be left in charge of the store on a Sunday closing shift.

Naturally, he’d offer to give you a ride home. You didn’t live too far from him and if his mom had found out he’d left you alone to get a bus or walk home she would’ve killed him. It was a win-win, and he was always grateful for the time he spent with you alone. Along the way, there would occasionally be a late night detour to McDonalds or whatever fast food place that would be open at the time, both of you sick of pizzas after long shifts spent in the kitchen.

In the parking lot within the safe confines of the family car, you’d gossip about classmates and co-workers and sing loud to your heart's content to whatever CDs he had lying around. Sometimes he’d play his new mixes for you, eager to hear your thoughts. One night after playing you his newest mix, nervously playing with the clutch, you placed your hand on top of his.

“I really appreciate you playing me these by the way. Like genuinely, I really like them.” You smiled, and he smiled back. It was no secret that he was very shy about playing others his music, the only time it felt natural was when he did do a DJ gig somewhere (thanks to the fake ID his aunt Beth got him). He was desperate to play it cool, but his hands clammy at your touch indicated otherwise.

“Thanks man.” He started the ignition, leading you to jump slightly and remove your hand. He could still feel the ghost of it when he began to drive away, willing you to place it back again. But the soft feeling of your palm never returned.

“Really… Thanks for everything, Dan. It means a lot to me.” You continued, your eyes on the road now like his should have been, only distracted so he could take short discreet glances at you. “I’m glad we met.”

“What was that?” He teased, pretending not to hear her. She lightly nudged him, “Har-har, very funny.”

“Yeah whatever. Really glad you’ve become my passenger princess,” You turn around to look at him through eyelashes, head pressed against the headrest. You couldn’t help but note how good he looked with the dimmed lighting of the street lights at night.

“The only reason I keep you around is ‘cause you keep leaving your shit in the car all the time, so I have to hang around you ‘cause my mom gets pissy that all this random junk is here.” Danny begins to joke around, picking up a lip gloss you’d left a few shifts ago. “Shit! I was looking for that!” You grabbed it off him, pulling the mirror down to apply it. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, jokingly.

By the time you got to your door, you almost didn't want to leave the car. A lingering thick silence grew and every small creak or sound the car would make emphasised it even further. Despite all these late night car rides or the occasional video call, you barely spoke during the day. It wasn’t like you were purposefully avoiding each other, you were doing different majors and had classes spread across the campus. Nonetheless, you found yourself missing his company.

“I really really meant what I said, Danny.” You promised, “Not teasing you, I promise.”

A faint smile on his lips, he replied “I know.” Silence again for a moment.

“I like teasing you.” He’d said it so quietly you didn’t even know if you’d heard him correctly. His eyes shifted to your figure, your own eyes now glued to the view of the dark empty street from the windshield. You could feel your chest growing heavier, and the burn rising to your cheeks. He continued, “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Without thinking, you turned to look at him again. “Yeah, you too Daniel.” You parted from him with a light smack to his arm.

Getting out the car, you sped to your front door. You were dying to turn around to catch his reaction, he always did such a good job of appearing so stoic and then crumbling at the very last moment at any sort of praise sent his way. As much as you tried to resist it, you couldn’t help but glance back at the boy. He was watching you from the car window, rosy cheeked and eyes hopeful.

But you couldn’t just leave him with that. As much as you desperately wanted to appear cool and mysterious, there was a part of you that clung to any interaction with him you could get. It’s what made you both so reluctant to hang up on each other during the occasional late night video call, only thwarted by Ellie politely reminding Danny he was keeping the other members of the household awake with his laughter.

Running back to the car trying not to trip over your own two feet, you hoped he couldn’t sense your own nervousness. You bang on the window, with Danny already in the process of rolling it down.

Air cold and still, lights dim.

“Thanks for the ride.” Leaning in, you pressed your glossy lips earnestly to his warm cheek. For a moment as you pulled away slowly, you could feel how close your faces were to each other. His breath on your face, you waited for anything to happen. “Y-yeah, no worries man.” Rushing back to your home, you couldn’t tell if you’d accomplished your goal or not. On one hand, he was flustered - it was obvious. But on the other, you’d almost wished he’d done something, anything, to keep you talking to him.

A few days went by with you beginning to narrowly miss each other at work, he would finish as you started or likewise. You hoped it wasn’t purposeful, although you’d admit that you hadn’t bothered to change any of your shifts since that night.

Legs hanging off the bed, you had been relaxing after a long day of kind-of studying. The fact you’d bothered to get the textbook out at all had seemed like a cause for celebration for you. Toying with the thought of teasing Dan via text, you were surprised to find the boy had already texted you.

DANNY

outside.

(sent at 23:04)

now

(sent at 23:05)

Alert, you stumbled your way to your bedroom window, legs still half dead from just lying around. And there it was, the trusty family Buick parked right outside. You could see his arm hanging from the window, fingers strumming something onto the car door. Those fingers had been thought about many times when Danny was on your mind. Long and kind of skinny, you imagined how they looked on the record decks he spent so much of his free time over.

Spinning the record, a single digit softly pressing down on the smooth ridge. How did he control them? Was he soft when he did it? Did he tug the record ever so slightly? Was he a little messy with his strokes? How much pressure did he apply? Did the rhythm depend on the listener?

This was going too far. And plus, you were keeping him waiting.

“Hurry the fuck up, I’m starving bro.” He whined as soon as your figure appeared in your front doorway.

“I ate already Dan,” Still searching for an explanation.

“Okay? Damn, you can watch me eat then! Just hurry up!” He nudged the horn, causing you to both jump. “I didn’t think that would be enough pressure to be honest, that kinda scared me too.” He admitted.

He was a little rough, you thought. Good to know.

“Why the fuck are you here, dumbass? I’ve got class in the morning.” You folded your arms, still not making any effort to get in the vehicle.

“I miss you, obviously.” He shrugged, as if it really was the most obvious thing in the world. It was like you could hear your heart ping inside you when he said that. You were starting to hate the recent way he’d been making you feel. He was certainly winning the teasing game.

You rolled your eyes, you were going to fight for this. “Danny, if you want to fuck me that badly you just need to ask.”

“Fuck off, I’m starving. I thought you loved me.” He pouted. Damn, he was good. Maybe this was all it was to him really, just a game. Maybe this is how he’s trying to set boundaries to imply you should just be platonic. Secretly, you hoped he wasn’t.

You huffed, “Fine.” And now both of you were driving to god knows what fast food place.

“Is your mom not pissed at you just taking the car all the time?” He shrugged off the question. “As long as I’m paying for the gas, she doesn’t care.” You hadn’t actually met her, despite hearing stories about her.

“Does she get annoyed at you coming home so late?” You were lightly prodding, not necessarily to simply tease but just to get a better picture of what it was like for him. He seemed once again unbothered when he responded, “I’m really good at staying quiet.”

“Aren’t you meant to be a DJ?”

“Yeah, but I guess I’ve had practice in other ways.”

What. The. Fuck.

Respectfully, you didn’t know what to do with that information.

“Gross, I don’t need to hear about all that.” You lightly hit his shoulder, almost frowning selfishly when he didn’t even take his eyes off the road.

“Hear about what?” He feigns ignorance, but you swear you can see a flicker of a smirk on his mouth. “Your sex life, Daniel!”

“Woah woah woah - I never said anything about sex! That’s just all your perverted thoughts, assuming the worst in me.” There it is, there’s that smirk he was so desperate to hide. You try to fight it with an eye roll.

“Dick.”

“God, penis on the goddamned brain! You’re so fuckin’ filthy, babe.” He was obviously joking and yet there was something there that had you squirming in the car seat. “Shut up. You win tonight.” His face warms up at your comment, you can’t find it in your heart to truly hate him for it. Your comment only happened to foreshadow what was to come.

By the time Danny gets and finishes his food, you’re both sitting in silence in some darkened car park. This is no different from the usual after work trips, but something really seems different in the air.

The silence was peaceful, almost kind of soothing. For a second, it felt like you two might be the only two people left at the end of the world. Of course, this wasn’t the apocalypse and the biggest hurdle in your life at the moment was the internal battle with your feelings for the boy seated beside you.

His hands were still gripping the steering wheel but the car was in a static standstill. You hoped he was just as nervous as you were.

“I’ve been thinking about what you were saying, by the way.” He finally spoke, causing your head to turn to him.

“I say a lot of things, Dan. Gonna have to be more specific.” A smug smile greeting him when he turned around to meet your waiting eyes. He sent a blank look your way, taken out of context it would’ve seemed like he was actually fed up with you.

“Like, the whole spending time with you thing. I’m glad we met too.” You couldn’t help but bite your lip, looking at him through long lashes, an almost siren’s gaze. “Danny, it seems like you’ve gone all soft on me.”

He almost cringed at your words. If there had been one thing that Danny had been when he’d been thinking about you recently it definitely wasn’t soft. He prayed that you weren’t secretly a mind reader, but you could tell you had prodded enough from the way the atmosphere shifted.

“I like going on these drives with you, it helps me clear my mind I guess.” Danny continued to play with the leather of the steering wheel. As bad as it sounds, he’d found a spot he could lightly rip up with his nails and it became his new fixation when he was fidgeting. “And I was maybe wondering if you’d like to go on more of them. With me… not just like after work or anything.” He stuttered, kind of scared to meet your gaze again. One thing he hated was how much you made him squirm. You had a specific talent for making him nervous, but at the same time the feeling was so addictive that he didn’t want you to stop.

“Is this like you asking me on a date?” Brows raised, your fingers fell to the hem of your shirt subconsciously doing the same fidgeting that Danny was performing in front of you.

“No! Not like, I don’t mean anything like pervy or that despite what I was, like, joking about-” He moved in defence, his hands raised as if to block her joke from reaching him.

“I’m fucking with you. You know I love our drives, they’re our drives.” You said it with such conviction that despite not really saying anything he completely understood what you meant. These little trips no matter how far they went felt special to them.

He softly chuckled, feeling like whatever barrier he’d been putting up was falling. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Danny.”

“It’s okay! I’m a little obsessed with you too! We can be mutually obsessed with each other - that’s how friendships work!” For a moment, you realised that maybe the way he spoke to you - the way you spoke to each other - was what kept you coming back to him. He was attractive, sure, but something was so free about the way you could speak around each other.

But also, god, he was so attractive.

He leaned back against the headrest, you took the time to appreciate his soft jaw. Those damn pink lips. As much as you’d been trying to not admit it you were desperate to feel them on your neck. There was nothing more you wanted right now than to lean over and kiss him with such ferocity that you’d both forget your own names.

You most definitely shouldn’t be feeling these ways. Aside from him being a friend, he was a co-worker. Relationships like that always ended so messily.

“I think I pity you actually, why do you have to stay so quiet, Dan? Couldn’t have been good if they didn’t even make you moan.”

“I didn’t say they couldn’t make me, I just said I was good at being quiet.” You both paused for a moment, where did you go from here? You could open Pandora's box, and let out whatever tension you’ve been feeling or you could stay within the safety of his friendship.

“Was hard for them to stay quiet though.” Your chest tightened, you felt like all of the air had disappeared in the car.

Holy shit.

“I’m sure they managed just fine.” Managing to choke out a swift comeback, trying to appear as sardonic as you possibly could. “Yeah, my hand sure helped.”

Another blow to the system. He was good at this.

He shifted, like he was preparing for his next hit. “You talk too much to be quiet, I think.” Another stab to your chest, screw him. You were going for the kill.

“Maybe I just need a helping hand.” Your eyes shifted to his own hands, still on the wheel. He’d noticed. He was coming for blood.

“That can be arranged, sweetheart.” If this was Mortal Kombat, his streak would be unreal. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle me.” You countered, you were ashamed to admit you were losing the fight. “I think I’m a little too wild for you, Dan.”

“Prove it.”

The killing blow.

If this was a film, this would be the part where you pounce on each other and fight for dominance with your tongues. But this is not a movie, and as passionate as that sounds, the thought of your tongue as some sort of roman gladiator kind of made you feel icky.

All you could do was respond with exhaling a breath you never realised you were holding, kind of amused. You tilted your head as if to say, ‘touché’.

And that was that.

He got you home safely as he would any other night, watching you as you entered the house. Through the peephole, you could see him linger for a moment staring at your door. He rested his head once again on the headrest, this time looking exasperated. Running a hand through his platinum hair, he started the engine and left.

Bed sheets twisted in hand, you weren’t proud to admit just how much of an effect his words had on you. But lying there, your fingers softly playing with your clit, you didn’t really feel guilty either. You thought once again of his own fingers on you, a little rough with you. The rhythm of them as they throbbed within you, he’d know exactly what tempo would ruin you.

Initially you were concerned about looking him in the eyes the next time you saw him, but when you got another good look at him that feeling quickly went away. He was intoxicating to be around. How were you this down bad for him?

The rides continued as normal, if not more frequently now. Always tiptoeing on the line between playful banter and the most delicious flirtation you’d ever partaken in was like whiplash. But you couldn’t stop.

Speculation about the other's sex life could be tried and tested, each playful answer given offering a thrilling image that would be used to fuel lonely fantasies behind bedroom doors.

After you had to travel to Oregon for a family emergency, contact with Danny again grew to a halt. It wasn’t like you were desperate to speak to him all the time but in the moments you weren’t busy, he was usually at work, in classes or looking after his sisters.

DANNY

miss u u massive fucking loser

(sent at 22:37)

YOU

die

(seen at 22:39)

miss you too

(seen at 22:39)

how is life without me?

(seen at 22:39)

DANNY

sucks

(sent at 22:39)

going to strangle bridget if she comes into my room one more time perhaps

(sent at 22:40)

as soon as ur back in the state ur getting ur cute little ass into my goddamn car and i am going drive u all around the city

(sent at 22:40)

YOU

that’s kidnapping?

(seen at 22:40)

DANNY

cry about it

(sent at 22:40)

what did u do today my beloved?

(sent at 22:41)

YOU

shopped for lingerie

(seen at 22:41)

It hadn’t been a lie, you had visited the local mall and picked up some stuff - some of it had just happened to be nice underwear.

DANNY

HOT

(sent at 22:42)

send pics

(sent at 22:43)

There was a great potential here that you had to consider. Danny could literally just be joking, this wasn’t too far out of the things you usually teased each other with. But, at the same time you wondered if this would be a good way of getting back at him for making you squirm. Would you be crossing a line if you sent one or two unsuggestive pictures to him?

When the pictures were delivered, two of you in different sets of lingerie, he almost dropped his phone. You’d be the fucking death of him.

After a few minutes of no response but the screen indicating they had been seen, you began to panic. Fuck, what if this had all back fired? Were these unsolicited despite what he had said? Were you too dumb to read between the lines?

YOU

heyyyy you good lol

(sent at 22:52)

sorry if that was too much

(sent at 22:53)

Still a few more moments of no response. Until, both turned to (seen at 22:56).

DANNY

no sorry! i was helping my mom with make dinner

(sent at 22:56)

YOU

dinner at 11pm?

(seen at 22:57)

DANNY

we’re a hungry bunch

(sent at 23:00)

Biting your lip, all you could do right now so far away from seeing his actual reaction was take his word for it. Your phone pinged with a new notification.

DANNY sent a photo.

It was similar to what you’d sent, with him being shirtless and in his boxers. He’d taken it from a mirror, kneeling on the floor - tattoos on display. The things you would do right now to be in that room on your knees were unspeakable.

YOU

cold in there?

(seen at 23:02)

DANNY

freezing

(sent at 23:02)

need someone in new lingerie to come warm me up i guess

(sent at 23:03)

Initially, you typed out ‘good luck with that’ but paused before you hit send. You couldn’t just let this escape you anymore.

YOU

i’ll be home soon

(seen at 23:06)

After that, you could hardly wait to see him. None of your other chats after that quite reached that level of promiscuity. You were craving even more of him after seeing him like that. No longer did you need to imagine what he looked like under the uniform.

It wasn’t long until you were back in Los Angeles and already getting ready for him to come pick you up. You’d thrown on a cute white milkmaid summer dress, trying to look effortless despite you having the outfit planned for your return since that night you exchanged pictures. The new lingerie was incorporated as well, of course. Even if nothing came of all this, you were going to go out there knowing you looked damn good. A red cardigan was added on top, giving enough coverage for the hot LA nights.

You practically jumped into the car when he pulled up outside your house, shouting to nobody in particular that you would be out late tonight.

Cheshire cat-like grin on his face, just being beside him again made you remember just how much you missed him. “Hey,” He began, starting the ignition.

“Miss me?” You winked, hand softly playing with the back of his mullet for a moment as if you were greeting a pet. “You don’t know the half of it, babe.”

“Where are we heading for food?” You enquired, nothing had really been planned beyond just seeing each other. “Well actually, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come to mine for dinner tonight. My mom is working super late so, um, she invited you. Means we can still go on a drive til she gets home.”

Beaming, you immediately started nodding. “Oh my god, Danny! You’ve been talking to your mama about me.”

“Not like we spend most of our time with each other.”

“You’re obsessed! How long have I been saying this?” Smug assertion rolling off your tongue so easily, you realised you hadn’t actually answered the question. “Yeah, I’d love to come.” He smiled.

“Where are you thinking of going in the meantime?” You began to play with the hem of your dress, lifting it ever so slightly to expose more of your thigh. His eyes flickered to the new skin on show, thinking of you in those photos again. “Um, takeaway milkshakes in the park sound good?”

“Sounds great, actually.” And so off you went.

He picked strawberry, you picked vanilla. You were sitting in covered darkness, the overhead light of the car on to allow you to see one another. Sneaking glimpses of each other as you finished the drinks, giggling when you caught the other.

“What’s in Oregon?” He asks, all you’d been talking about up to that point was the workplace gossip you’d missed during your time away. You shrugged, “Parents are from there. I grew up there actually, I go back and forth occasionally.” You stopped to take a slurp of the sweet beverage.

“My great aunt is ill but its whatever. We’re not close or anything with that side of the family, it’s still sad I guess, but I don’t know. Just not like, to be a downer or anything, y’know?” The boy nodded beside her, “Yeah my mom’s family is kinda distant.”

You knew about his asshole dad disappearing. He spoke about him so little that you didn’t want to pry when he was obviously going through shit that didn’t really concern you. “Her mom, my grandma, she was kind of nuts.”

“Bummer. Fuckin’ stupid family shit, am I right?” You tried to lighten the mood. “Yeah, such a pain in the fucking ass.” He smiled. The mood had obviously taken a nosedive, so you attempted to liven it up a bit.

“I actually lost my virginity in Oregon a few years back.” Hand filing through your hair to push it back from your face, you shook your head. “Was like this stupid guy that knew my cousins. It was terrible.”

“I think I’ve got you beat, mine was in the bathroom at some random gig I went to with a girl from school. We never spoke after it.” Your face dropped, evidently feeling sorry for him. “Don’t feel sorry for me, man, neither of us were feeling it.”

“Wow, I don’t even know where the weirdest place I’ve had sex is, honestly.” Thinking through the few escapades you had partaken in, you realised most had been in homes when parents were out.

“That gig one was probably mine. Actually, I got a blowjob under the bleachers in senior year once, that shit was crazy.” Jealousy struck through your heart, who gave him it? He answered the question for you, “It was Brenda Glemmer.”

That bitch.

“Wow, someone’s jealous.” You hadn’t realised that you’d involuntarily said that last part out loud. “She was a dick to me, my hatred is not blowjob related.” Failing to convince him, he rested a hand on your shoulder in comfort. “Sure thing, babe.”

Rolling your eyes, you suddenly remembered your craziest experience of all. “Actually, I think I have you beat! I once got ate out in a graveyard!”

“Jesus christ, I’m not at all surprised you give such goth gf vibes.” He smirked, finishing his milkshake. “God, what I would’ve given to be that guy.”

Cheeks heated, “Fuck you!” You exclaimed.

“Not if I fuck you first!” That earned a smack and more giggling. He continued, “I knew you were into kinky shit like that.” But when the giggling died down, the deep wanting returned.

“Ever had sex in this car before?” You found yourself staring out into the blackness of the park, your heart beating the fastest you thought it may have ever beaten.

“No, can’t say I have.” His hands are clutching the wheel again. “Thought about it, though.”

“Oh really?” You were on full autopilot mode now, the words exiting your mouth only coming out as an act of self preservation in case you pass out from nervousness.

“You know I’ve thought about it.”

You turn to look at him, and there he was, already waiting for you. “You really should do something about it then.”

“Maybe I’m worried the girl I like doesn’t want it like I want it.”

“I think she needs it more than she needs to fucking breathe, Danny.”

And that was that.

Lips desperately pressed to one another, needy to taste what you had been anticipating for months now. His face was just as warm as yours, the heat only adding to the feverish feeling.

You tasted like vanilla and sweetness, like sunset and cinnamon. Your hands knotting with his hair, he begged you to tug on it with a groan, you had to comply. It had been a while since you had last kissed anyone, but none had ever even come close to this. Laced with absolute desire and greed from both sides, taking whatever you could both get after wanting it so badly for so long.

His hands began to gently pull the cardigan from your shoulders, throwing it to the backseat before dipping his fingers under the straps of your dress. It was here, unfortunately, you had to stop him.

“Nuh-uh, not here. Too creepy.” You bit your lip, worried that you were out of options.

“I think I know a place.”

Hastily reversing, he sped off in the direction of his own apartment building. The underground carpark often lay abandoned after around 10pm, leaving it an ideal place for a potential late night escapade. His mom would get a ride to the front of the building, meaning if she did come home there would hopefully be zero crossover, especially with him having the remote with him in the glove compartment.  

Right hand dropping to rest on your thigh, you couldn’t help but notice how good he looked with one hand on the wheel, brows furrowed in concentration.

For a moment, it was like neither of you really knew what you were going to do when you got there. You were kind of spoiled for choice, not really ever having a place to yourselves with you both still living with parents. This car granted multiple opportunities - or as Danny was thinking, interesting positions. He needed to try them all.

You could feel your arousal pooling beneath you, while Danny continued through the traffic, you crossed your legs over and began to grind your thighs together for temporary relief. Eyes flicking from the road to your sexually frustrated figure. Slowly, opening your legs ever so slightly, he holds the hem of your dress and lifts it back, exposing the underwear. He recognised it immediately, licking his lips.

“You’re fuckin’ bad.” You smirked at his words, “Like it?”. You feign innocence, twirling a strand of hair with your finger.

Danny groans, moving the hand from your thigh to brush his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, really, really like it.” His fingers go back to trace along your entrance, underwear soaked already. You couldn’t even feel embarrassed, not when the fingers you had been imagining on you for so long were touching you like this.

Your hand hovers over his own, and you press his digits into your cunt. You emit a dark sigh, a noise that makes Danny want to pull over and fuck you on the sidewalk out in the open. Guiding his hand against you, working you up into the unspeakable rhythm, you begin to knead your breast with your other hand. Feeling delirious with goosebumps growing on your skin, you lean forward to press kisses against his neck. Tongue flicking under his silver chain that you’ve been dying to taste for so long. “Stop distracting me,” He groans, without doing anything to stop you.

He was pushing a little harder on the peddle, doing everything in his power to not get lost in the view of your cleavage, knuckles white wrapped around the wheel.

After what felt like a lifetime, the car pulled into the darkened garage. He fumbled with the remote, almost dropping it in a rapid attempt to press the button. The buzz of the gate finally indicated, the shutter lifting.  With that, you guessed your fate was sealed.

Danny made sure to park in the far back, if anyone did come down here they would hopefully have a hard time noticing the pair.

As soon as the keys were turned, Danny was pulling you into his lap. You started to rock your hips on him, not applying too much pressure in a further attempt to torment him.

“Too scared to take me upstairs to meet mommy right now?” You teased, running your hands through his hair. He made no effort to hide how much pleasure the sensation was giving him. “Just absolutely desperate to fuck you right now, if I’m being honest.” He was almost breathless, struggling to get the words out with you grinding on him the way you were.

You smirked, his right hand travelling from your hips, to your breast, to your neck. “So, so pretty.”

You stopped him, desperate to ask him a question that had been playing on your mind since it happened. “Were you really helping your mom with dinner when I sent those pictures?”

“Fuck no, they were saved to my camera roll the second they came through.” You scoffed. “I fucking knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah. As if it was hard.” He holds your hips down onto his own and for the first time you feel the thickness under you. Both of you breathing wildly, grinding into each other, knowing there's still far more to even come. It was exhilarating.

“I think I know something else that might be really hard right now.” Here you were, working yourself up on his lap. You were sure your wetness had soaked through his shorts. “Wonder whose fault that is?”

Your lips were back on his, and immediately it was like another hit of the most powerful drug. The way he moved with you, his grip on you was egging you on even more. You wanted to be so bad for him.

His fingers once again fell to your underwear, pushing them aside to feel just how wet you really were. “Fuck.” He murmured, beginning to rub his thumb over your clit. “Danny,” You moaned in retaliation.

Without warning, he sunk his middle and index fingers into you. Slowly pulsating inside you, you gasp for air. Falling back and-

BEEEEEEEP

The sound of you pressing against the wheel causes you both to jump, but also causes Danny’s fingers to go further inside you - leading to another moan.

You both giggle, not stopping with the new depth and pace as we works up into you. “I seriously need to stop doing that.” You fall against him, forehead placed against the other. “Wanted to feel you for so long.” He mumbles.

“Mhmm?” You were in too much bliss to properly respond as he nodded, “Feels good?” You nodded in return. He starts to suck on your neck, biting the areas you react the most to. You thought this feeling of closeness was unobtainable, yet here you were with him.

Pressing a light kiss, you whine when he removes his fingers from beneath you. He lifts his index to his mouth, licking it. “You taste fucking amazing,” Danny smiles at your wide eyes. “You want a taste?” Again, you nod. He places the two fingers in your own mouth. “Suck, baby.” He commands you and you follow without hesitation. His jaw goes slack at the sight of your sucking his fingers, tongue making little circles around his fingertips to show what you’re capable of.

Letting them go, you mumble, “I think I wanna go in the back seat, Dan.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, wanna taste your cock.” Well, that’ll do it. You’re practically launched backwards through the small gap to get to the back of the car. Danny instead swings the driver side door open, ejecting the chair forward and climbs in on top of you. Pinning you down, you reach for his dick as his hands grip your waist. Kissing you with a ferocity somehow not even present in the kisses from before, he presses you against him.

Pulling away to gasp for air, with your help Danny yanks his sweater and baggy t-shirt off in one fell swoop. His shorts get thrown on the floor, leaving him in his boxers. He reaches for the zip of your dress, pulling the straps down and ripping it off your body right from under you. “I’ve been thinking about you in this everyday since you sent me that picture.” He plays with the straps of bra, noses touching and breath light on your face. His soft eyes on your figure, taking a moment to take it all in.

“Well, maybe three times a day.” You softly smack his chest as you fall into him, giggling as he plays with the hooks at the back. You shake the bra off and reach for your underwear, leaving you totally exposed. Danny, giving a second to take in the view of your naked body, pulls down the waistband of his underwear. From the immediate sight of his cock, precum dripping from the tip, you’re compelled to lick it.

On your knees beside him in the back seat, you lick a stripe up the length of him before taking him in your mouth. You stay like this, head bobbing as he grabs a chunk of your hair and gently guides you with the other hand on your head. With a little difficulty, you look up at him, his head thrown back on the headrest and his mouth stuck in the shape of an ‘O’.

“Stop, stop. Fuck, c’mere.” He picks your torso up by your arms and guides your lips back to his, before pulling your legs over so you’re now straddling him.

Rubbing his length against your clit, he begins to suck on more bare spaces around your neck and chest. You hold his head as you rock into him.

“Danny, I can’t- I need to feel you now.” He nods hastily, and positions himself under you.

You lower yourself onto him, letting out a guttural moan at the feeling of him filling you. You wrap yourself around him as he grits his teeth, holding your hips as you start to ride him.

Face buried in his neck, you whimper as you set a steady pace, fingers twisted tightly in that blonde mullet you loved so much. Your knees dig into the seat, you can feel yourself coming undone.

He rips your head from the crevice, getting a good look at you as he starts to take the lead and rolls up into you.

“Such a pretty baby,” His hand wraps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks. The hand drops to your neck, as his other wraps around your thigh, giving more guidance. “Keep talking,” You struggle out, fucking yourself into him at this point. By this point the windows are fogged and you’re sure the car is rocking by now.

Your fingers wrap around his hand on your neck, begging him to hold it a little tighter, a little rougher. He tuts, before connecting his hand to your backside with a loud smack.

“You’re fuckin filthy, you know that?”

“Yes, yes, Danny, fuck!”

“Fuck, you’re better than anything I ever imagined.” With two taps to your waist, you both stop. You’re evidently growing weaker, all fucked out on his dick. He flips you around so your back is lying on the seat. You’re all sprawled out in front of him, hair kind of crazy, but he swears to god he’s never been more attracted to any human being ever.

He presses himself down on top of you, balancing his weight so you’re not crushed but something feels so intimate about the way he’s on you.

Smiling again, he plants out of time kisses onto your lips whenever he can. Forearm above your head to keep him balanced, palm lovingly on your crown to support you. His eyes watching your face closely, this was it. Fuck, this was really it.

The feeling that could only be explained as a tidal wave of wet hot rising, Danny’s pace guiding it to where it needed to go.

“I’m gonna, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He whimpers, picking up his pace while still visibly shaking. You pull his forehead down to yours as he continues to work his hips into you. Your thighs are holstered far above his hips, offering a perfect angle for you both. The feeling of him filling you up was enough to send you over the edge.

“Dan, shit, me too.”

“C’mon baby, needed this for so long. It’s always been you.” With those finishing words, you couldn’t hold back any longer. Body shaking with the orgasm rippling through you, Danny beginning to come down from his own.

For a while, you both sat in the corners of the back seat, as if you were boxers in a ring. Your eyes stayed trained on each other’s bodies as you caught your breaths.

You crawl over to him, finally resting in the space between his legs as his arms wrap around your body.

“Do you think it would be awkward if I could stay the night?” You finally announced. You turned to face him. “It wouldn’t be, like, weird if we slept in the same bed, right?”

“My dick was literally just inside you.” His palm resting on your jaw, lovingly stroking his thumb over your cheek. “And? Maybe you hated it!” He shook his head, “That was the best thing I’ve probably ever experienced in my life.” He left a kiss on your jaw, where the ghost of his fingers still lingered.

His mom probably would be fine with her staying as well, seeing as she wasn’t really judgy with the whole boy and girl sleepover thing.

“Just a fair warning, my sisters are a fuckin’ pain in the ass.” He shook you off him, beginning to locate both of your scattered clothing and collect yourselves. “That’s cool. I’m excited to meet them.”

For a second, he watched you get ready, still eyeing your body. Your neck and chest were covered in purple markings left by him. He smiled wistfully, appreciating his work along with your figure. You clocked him watching and rolled your eyes, “Perv.”

“You’re cute.” He skimmed his hands over each one, as if it was the world’s most abstract dot-to-dot puzzle. You realised just how many hickies covered you. “Fuckin’ asshole.” Before he could grab it, you snatched his sweatshirt from beside him, offering you more coverage than your cardigan would allow. “How the hell am I gonna cover these up when I see your mom?” Danny shrugged once again, still finding the whole situation amusing and honestly, kinda hot.

“Just say it’s a birthmark,” He began to press soft kisses on each hickey. “Or maybe I’ll just have to keep one hand around your neck at all times.” You lightly smacked him, but it didn’t deter him from the task at hand. Your gaze softened, lifting his chin up so you were both eye to eye.

“So obsessed, huh?” He nodded at your words, stealing another kiss from your lips. You’d let him take as much as he wanted of you. “You know it.” And another, and another, until he was kissing every inch of your face as you tried to bat him away.

Leaning into his ear you whisper, “Maybe later, you can show me just how quiet you can be?” He almost growls at your statement, you press a finger to his lips. The promise of more to come was exhilarating to the both of you. He parts with a soft bite to your neck, softer than the ones offered earlier.

He held your hand all the way to the apartment, and in the elevator you nestled into his neck. The feeling of him, his scent, so strong all around you was enough to make you totally intoxicated with the mere thought of him. Looking up, you catch him looking down at you, soft smile playing on his lips.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

[justlookfrightened]

Warm greeting

Filling a prompt from @shygryf: Tater and Bitty are papped and speculation abounds (can be pre or post cup)

Jack laughed when he first saw it.

He was at the St. Martins’ house, having a cup of coffee with Marty and Thirdy, listening to the girls play in the den while Gabrielle was at work, wondering what it would be like to have a house and a couple of kids.

He’d never really thought about that, not before this summer. Now, though, he was out of the closet — could never go back in the closet — and Bitty had been living with him since May, and it was … delightful.

Sure, it had been an adjustment. The condo felt crowded sometimes, with all of Bitty’s things everywhere, but that had gotten better when Tater had finally given up the guest room and taken his 6’4” body back to his own condo, and then, a couple of weeks later, back to Russia to see his family.

And sometimes Bitty chattered on, usually about nothing, or about baking, when Jack was craving silence.

But they’d gotten better at communicating what they needed when they needed it, and Jack had found his thoughts turning to a future that maybe … just maybe … included a family. With Bitty, who was already so good with kids. Marty and Thirdy’s kids all loved him.

He should really talk to Bitty about it before he got carried away. They’d never talked about having kids. Why would they? Bitty was so young, only a few years from being a kid himself. He still had two years of school to finish before they could even think about getting married.

Or maybe … Jack had known other players who married women who were still in college. It worked, they said, because the academic year roughly matched the hockey season, so they were busy at the same time.

Jack also knew a lot of players who got divorced after a few years.

“Earth to Jack.” 

Marty was waving his phone in front of Jack’s face, trying to call him out of his daydream.

“Looks like Tater got back okay,” Marty said, once he had Jack’s attention.

The phone showed a picture of Tater at the airport in Boston, arms wrapped around Bitty and lifting him into the air. It was from a local news site, and noted that training camp was around the corner.

The sheer joy that Jack read on Bitty’s face made him laugh.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I had a meeting with my agent this morning, so Bits went down to pick him up. I know he was a little worried.”

“Tater?” Thirdy asked.

“No, Bitty,” Jack said. “Well, he said Tater was worried, too, but … I didn’t see it.”

“About what?” Marty asked.

“About Tater going back to Russia,” Jack said. “After the Cup. Or, I mean, after I kissed Bitty. Because people knew Tater was staying with me … staying with us … and the way Russia has been cracking down on gay people. That’s why Tater didn’t do a statement in support of us or anything.”

Tater had wanted to, Jack knew. Bitty had talked him out of it, after a long phone call to his old skating coach in Georgia, who apparently still knew people in Russia. She didn’t actually know Tater’s family, but Bitty said they had friends in common.

“Figure skating’s a small world,” Bitty had explained. “Even smaller than hockey.”

“I was surprised by that,” Marty said. “I never thought he’d be homophobic.”

“No, he’s not,” Jack said. “But his mother and sister are still in Russia, and he wanted to see them, and he was already staying with me. So he decided to have his Cup day there, like it was important for him to bring it home to them, and then work on getting things in place for his mother and his sister to move here this year. He just found out last week that their visas were approved.”

Jack didn’t say how much work had gone on behind the scenes, with George, with his American mother, with the U.S. State Department to make sure that Tater’s closest relatives would be admitted.

The next time Jack saw the picture, it was on the phone Bitty was holding out across the breakfast bar while Jack did the dinner dishes that evening.

Tater had come for dinner, full of plans to look for a place for his family to live in Providence, to have everything ready when they arrived. 

“They’re not going to live with you?” Jack asked. 

“No, no,” Tater said. “Me, I’m keeping my bachelor pad. Anyone I date, they need to get along with my mama, yes, but not over the breakfast table. You understand?”

He left, wiped out from traveling, as soon as the meal was over. Bitty was sitting at the counter and scrolling through his phone when he sat up, eyebrows at his hairline, and said, “Really?!?”

Now the picture was on what Jack recognized as a gossip site, and the caption underneath said, “Moving on? The man seen greeting Providence Falconer Alexei Mashkov at Logan Airport sure looks a lot like Eric Bittle, who Jack Zimmerman said was his boyfriend after kissing him on the ice following the Falconers’ Stanley Cup win. But Zimmermann and Bittle haven’t been seen in public together for weeks. Did Mashkov steal this puck bunny away from his teammate?”

Jack almost dropped the plate he was holding.

“Puck bunny? Osti de tabarnak!”

He set the plate down and took the phone from Bitty to read it again, saying as he did so, “I’m calling my lawyer. I’ll get them to take it down.”

But his phone was already ringing.

Shitty.

“What the fuck, brah!” Shitty started. “Did you see —”

“We saw,” Jack confirmed. “I’m calling my lawyer. Puck bunny?”

If Jack was furious, Bitty was incandescent with rage.

“How could they do this!?! This could ruin everything! I have to call Tater.”

Bitty tugged his phone out of Jack’s grip and looked at the post again. 

“After everything Tater did all summer to smooth everything over. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have hugged him, but I was so glad he made it back okay … and I didn’t even see anyone with a camera. Fuck, it’s my fault. What if his family can’t come anymore?”

Bitty was almost wailing now. Jack knew he was upset — Bitty didn’t usually use casual profanity like that — and he knew that he shouldn’t call Tater in that state.

“It’ll be okay,” Jack said. “You really think the Russian government looks at trashy gossip sites from Boston?”

“You really think they don’t?” Bitty retorted. “And I don’t know what your lawyer’s gonna do.”

“Tell them to take down the caption?” Jack said. “Sue them for defamation?”

“For what? Implying that I broke up with you and started dating Tater?” Bitty scoffed. “I love you, but the media law class I took last year — you know, for my blog? — I don’t think that’s actually defamatory.”

“Puck bunny?” Jack said in disbelief. “I mean, I saw the photo before, but it was one of the news channels talking about training camp. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Once again, you might see the caption as derogatory, but … they’re gonna say it was intended to be humorous. And we were in public, so no expectation of privacy. I hate it as much as you do, Jack, but you know they can take photos on public property.”

That, in fact, was why Bitty and Jack had not been seen in public together for weeks. Bitty had had a minor breakdown over not even being able to go to the grocery store without photos ending up online.

“But they still might take it down if they get a call from a lawyer,” Jack pointed out. 

“Yeah,” Bitty acknowledged. “They might. I’m just kicking myself for not being more careful. I’ll call Tater.”

Jack went to the closet he called his office to call the lawyer while Bitty called Tater.

“Tater? I’m sorry to bother you — I know you’re exhausted,” Bitty started.

“I’m fine,” Tater said. “You need something? Forget something?”

“No — I, um, I have to give you some bad news,” Bitty said.

“You alright?” Tater asked. “Jack’s alright?”

“No, we’re fine. It’s, well. It’s that there was a picture taken. Of us. On the sidewalk at airport.”

“Yes?” Tater said, sounding a little mystified. “I saw the photo hours ago. You look very cute. I look very strong.”

“Well, yes, but some other place posted it, and the caption makes it sound like you ‘n’ me … like we’re dating,” Bitty finally managed to say.

“Okay?” Tater said. “I know that is not true. You know that is not true. I’m sure Jack knows it is not true.”

“But what about … you don’t think it will cause problems for your mother?”

“Mama? No,” Tater laughed. “Mama — she told the people in Russia that she needed to come to the U.S. to — how to say — set me straight. That I was forgetting the ways she taught me and she and my sister must come so I remember.”

Tater paused.

“Don’t worry, she can’t wait to meet you! She just said that so they would let her come here. I saw the photographer and I thought the picture might help, yes?”

Bitty thunked his head gently on the kitchen counter.

“Tater, are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am sure!”

There was another pause.

“They called you puck bunny!” Tater shouted.

“Just saw it, huh?” Bitty asked.

“They should not say that about you!”

“Yeah, Tater, Jack is on that. As long as you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Little B. Going to bed. Maybe tomorrow you, me and Jack all go out together?”

[yeyinde]

WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go."  "Why?" You asked, blinking at her.  "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore. 

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach. 

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap. 

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement. 

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it. 

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him. 

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home. 

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear. 

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz. 

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores. 

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches. 

Gaz was unique, different. 

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community. 

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood. 

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright. 

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it. 

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant. 

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him. 

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear. 

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head. 

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon. 

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten. 

You think about him often. 

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name. 

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play. 

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull. 

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere." 

You leave, and you don't look back. 

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed. 

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat. 

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead. 

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to. 

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you. 

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses. 

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed. 

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing. 

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her. 

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror. 

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away. 

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay. 

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea. 

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet. 

It's a dangerous place to get caught in. 

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock. 

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen. 

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst. 

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil. 

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head. 

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock. 

All is quiet—except the sea. 

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea. 

Another step. Another. 

For a moment, you're free. 

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality. 

It's peaceful. 

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back. 

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing. 

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine. 

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue. 

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love." 

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself. 

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw. 

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic. 

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue. 

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat. 

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?" 

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face. 

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet." 

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time. 

You blink. Blink again. 

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before. 

They didn't say anyone new moved to town. 

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?" 

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him. 

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar. 

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard. 

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway." 

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty. 

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins. 

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay. 

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do. 

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm. 

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north. 

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company. 

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think. 

You wonder if he was expecting you. 

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question. 

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts. 

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water." 

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big. 

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick. 

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body. 

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders. 

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory. 

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly. 

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice. 

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh. 

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath. 

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you. 

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush. 

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud. 

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you. 

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire. 

You should. 

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer. 

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own. 

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest. 

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words. 

"So I did." 

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil. 

"Got some time tonight?" 

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read. 

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love." 

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?" 

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead. 

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of." 

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes. 

And so, you kiss him. 

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips. 

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you. 

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest. 

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw. 

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm. 

You never want to let go. 

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left. 

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth. 

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking." 

Price shudders. 

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips. 

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you? 

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls. 

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver. 

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no. 

It can't happen. It can't.  

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together. 

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out. 

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor. 

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag. 

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more. 

"Waiting for a ride?" 

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears. 

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead. 

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat. 

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision. 

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe. 

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark. 

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you. 

Like he knows. 

And maybe, he does. 

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell. 

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard. 

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom. 

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror. 

You can't remember if it's you. 

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic. 

Stupid. 

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths. 

The door rattles. Clicks. 

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke. 

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror. 

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him. 

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared. 

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders. 

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price." 

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so. 

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out. 

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter. 

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear. 

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees. 

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner. 

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does. 

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much. 

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern. 

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend. 

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know. 

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers. 

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter. 

The woods are dangerous. 

You don't want to go. 

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together. 

"You want to, don't you?" 

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway." 

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering. 

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea. 

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion. 

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato. 

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision. 

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry. 

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase. 

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head. 

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it. 

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge. 

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge. 

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed. 

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave. 

One slip, you think. Just one. 

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince. 

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him. 

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest. 

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go. 

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces. 

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to. 

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet. 

Two more. Two more. 

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go. 

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside. 

You don't know why you're here. 

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body. 

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead. 

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived. 

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic. 

You are—

"Foolish." 

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug. 

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb. 

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear. 

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped. 

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves. 

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure. 

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?" 

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw. 

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love." 

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all. 

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears. 

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know. 

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep. 

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers. 

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine. 

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?" 

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams. 

"Did you ever give me a choice?" 

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head. 

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine. 

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin. 

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you. 

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair. 

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance. 

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood. 

When he speaks, the world falls silent. 

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go. 

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins. 

You don't know what you're doing. 

The whispers in your head go silent. 

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go. 

You think of him, and you know. 

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there. 

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems. 

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go. 

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee. 

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly? 

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul. 

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever. 

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm. 

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home. 

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting. 

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow. 

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver. 

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow. 

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin. 

"Welcome home."

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." 

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her. 

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name. 

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse. 

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me? 

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

[crystalandparrot]

Rottmnt x Reader

Chapter 1

Please don’t steal or use ideas without permission :)

This is an AU! The reason will be explained in later chapters, but in this AU, the yokai and mutants are fully integrated with humans. The hidden city mainly consists of Yokai and mutants with the occasional human visitor or partner.

Donatello is an independent scientist who still goes by Othello Von Ryan. He found out through trial and error that he was not made for a group laboratory. Now Donatello mainly confides himself in his lab at the lair, he's expanded of course, a man of his caliber shouldn't have to deal with such a small area. He's made great strives in the scientific community, solving some of the world's leading problems. Having won numerous awards, he still finds himself unfulfilled somehow.

Michelangelo is a successful artist, both on paper and in the kitchen. He records himself on the internet, hoping to inspire young minds to fulfill their dreams, no matter how they may look. He prefers to try anything and everything he can, gaining many new skills and discovering new things about himself. Although his desserts were delicious, the feeling of being alone only left a sour taste in his mouth.

Neon Leon. Successful actor, known for being one of the first openly Yokai actor. He inspired other Yokai's and mutants to remove their disguises and embrace what makes them unique. Leon made the world laugh with his one liners and his comical timing. His range is crazy, going from musicals to action, his talent knows no bounds. Although he has romance on the screen, he couldn't hope for something a little more...real.

Raphael (and don't skin me for this), the sweet turtle, became a guidance counselor for trouble youths. You know those kids that throw chairs? Yeah, Raph helps them. More often than not, Raphael recommends the wrestling team, which Raph just so happens to coach. Raph's helped a lot of kids figure out how to reel in their anger and get to the root of their problems. Raph's even managed to give a few select students permission to cut class and go to the weight room if they felt too angry. But no matter how many people Raph's saved (and no matter how much Raph spoke in the third person), Raph couldn't help but feel like there was one more person he needed to help.

April O' Neal. Some say she's the greatest hands on reporter of all time. With Sunita as her partner and camerawoman, the two get dirty, discovering the real problems that people won't report. April's most successful and controversial paper, "Yokai, Mutants, and Humans, oh my!" gained incredible popularity after people read just how many Yokai and Mutants were feeling neglected. Due to April's paper, the government passed a law, allowing Yokai and Mutants to come up to the surface and reveal themselves with no prejudice. It's still an ongoing battle to give everyone the fairness they deserve, but April and Sunita O'Neil fight for justice.

(Y/n) (L/n). Oh wait! That's you! You're a kind hearted soul who's just gotten a job at the School's library. You must really love the Dewey Decimal System...oh you have a nickname for it? Wonderful...You're a creative soul with a passion for helping. You have a myriad of skills, all of which may not have helped in getting this job, but they might help in getting something else. Your day starts off, relatively normally...

Having just moved back to New York after living in the Hidden City for five years was...different, to say the least. Saying goodbye to the nice old tortoise Yokai you had been staying with, you headed out, bags in hand. "Bye, Mrs. Shapiro! Call me if you need someone to water your plants!" You said, waving to the wrinkly tortoise.

"Oh, goodbye dear. I'm gonna miss you. Oh! Drop by Erin's on your way out!" The tortoise Yokai, Mrs. Shapiro, waved a long clawed hand at the you.

You nod with a smile and shut the door behind you. Heading down the street, you waved to friendly Yokai and mutants that walked past. After seeing the street clear a bit, you pulled your phone and headphones out of your pocket. Popping in the earbuds, you played your favorite playlist you found on Spotify. It was titled, 'Jammy Jams', the description being 'Songs for elite music listeners'. The playlist and many more like it, all with a theme of some sort, Studying, Building, (crime fighting?) Jogging, all came from one account by the name of Othello.

As you scrolled through the playlist, you saw the little notification. 'Othello is listening to Weird Science'. With a shrug, you tapped the notification, the song blasting through your headphones as you matched where Othello was in the song. Definitely an oldie, but it fit him...or her...or them—it fit the vibe! As you continued scrolling, adding some of the songs to your own playlists, you didn't hear the three voices yelling nor the shocked gasps of the onlookers that quickly moved out of the way.

A sudden PUSH and you were on the ground, groaning next to a stranger as Technologic blasted through your headphones.

"C'mon, Dee! He's getting away!" A turtle Yokai with dark hair in a half up, half down bun, ran in place and pointed to the direction that they needed to go. He wore an orange mask, had stickers and paint all over his shell, and in his hands sat a Kusari-fundo.

"No, no, I'm fine, Michael." The turtle Yokai next to you, (Dee?), stood up so suddenly, you thought he teleported. He wore a purple mask that wrapped around his head, his-tech goggles sitting on top. On his arms were multiple hi-tech screens and buttons that wrapped around his arms on large bands. Looking on the ground, he spotted his phone and your own, both faced down. He quickly swiped one up, and tucked it in his pocket, "May this be a lesson never to text while running!" The turtle pointed up at the sky almost heroically.

"You crashed into me!" You said defensively.

The turtle Yokai made a noise of surprise and looked down at you, as if suddenly noticing you for the first time. "I was actually referring to me." He muttered, coughing awkwardly. Without warning, two metal arms came out of his...shell? It had to be a shell, right? But it was more purple and armor like. The cold metal of the arms shook you out of your thoughts as they lifted you onto your feet.

"Oh, uh, thanks." You said, now just as awkward as the Yokai in front of you. "Don't you have to—" you pointed your thumb behind you, where the other turtle was freaking out.

"Donnie!" The orange clad turtle whined.

"Right." With a bit of showmanship, the purple clad turtle picked up your unlocked phone off the ground and handed it to you. As you took it, you noticed how he made sure your fingers did not touch. "Adieu, madam." He gave a slight bow and left, joining his accomplice in their efforts.

You giggled as he left, the whole interaction being odd. You looked down at your phone, the screen dimming. You tapped it to ensure it stayed unlocked and reopened Spotify...except, why were the apps in a different format? And your headphones were cutting out, and the background is different, and...what's the use? You know the truth, you switched your phone.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

New Beginnings

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: New city. New job. New school. New apartment,. New neighbors. New beginnings.

Square Filled: choose your own au for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

This is a new start for you. New city. New apartment. New neighbors. New job. A fresh start from your old life. Growing up, you’ve always been a small-town girl with hopes of moving to a big city to chase her dreams. Back home, everyone knew everyone’s business. Like when Shelly from church was caught having an affair with the pastor. Her husband found out that day and both of them had to leave town to avoid the scrutiny of everyone else. Or like the time when your sister got pregnant and only told a small group of people only to go to work the next day and people knew.

Small-town folk aren’t for everyone which is why you left while you could. The only problem is that all your family is back home. You know no one in Quantico, Virginia. You guess that’s the best part about it. You can reinvent yourself and create a whole new life separate from what you’ve known.

Before moving to Virginia, you got yourself enrolled in night school for graphic design since you’ve always wanted to be a designer. You’ve done some work for your town like making websites for businesses and making some ads for smaller companies but you want to know more so you can do bigger and better things.

Tomorrow, you’ll scout the city and find a coffee shop to make your second home, find the nearest grocery store, etc. Right now, all you’re focused on is getting all your boxes out of the moving truck so you can return it before the deadline. You’re doing it by yourself but you don’t have a lot to do. You never had a lot when you left your hometown but it’s still a lot for one person to do.

It takes you all day to get everything inside your house, and the only thing you’re able to unpack is your bedframe and mattress. It’s going to take all week to get most everything set up which is fine because night school doesn't start for another two weeks.

You live in a building that sits in a circle of other buildings with a huge courtyard in the middle. The courtyard consists of a dog park, a pool, a volleyball set, and some outdoor furniture where people can sit and eat. Your building is right across from another so you can see into people’s apartments if their curtains are open.

Your phone rings and you answer it while admiring the other buildings.

“Hey, mom.”

“Y/N! Did you get in okay?”

“Yeah, I just set up my bed. I’ll start unpacking tomorrow.”

“I’m sad you’re so far from us but I’m happy for you. Does that make sense?” she chuckles. “Anyway, your dad and I will come visit as soon as he gets this new promotion. He’ll get some time off and we can always use the vacation.”

“Yeah, by then, I’ll have seen some places we can go to. You like history and Virginia is a history-rich state.”

“Okay, I just wanted to know if you got in safe. Your dad and I are going out with the folks from church. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

The building across from yours is close enough to where you could communicate with another resident if you shouted but you’re not going to disturb others, especially at night. The sun is still up but is quickly going down, leaving the sky with pretty colors. There is a young man sitting on his small balcony with a book in his hands minding his own business. Every apartment has a small balcony where people can sit and enjoy the fresh air, but most of them use it for storage.

The young man runs his fingers down the pages of the book and flips through the book at a shocking speed. Is he really reading that fast? He must feel your eyes on him because he looks up and makes eye contact with you. You give him a small wave to which he returns before going back to reading.

You look at the boxes inside your room and see a label on one of them that reads: ARTS AND CRAFTS. You open the box to see thick small poster boards you were using for a project back home. Next to them are your markers so you grab the black one and a handful of poster boards. You write “Hi, my name is Y/N” on one of them before going back outside.

The man looks up just as you hold up your poster board for him to see. You wrote the letters in a thick font so he is able to read them from where he’s at. He reads what you have and leaves the balcony to go back inside his apartment. The smile is lost from your face at the thought of making him uncomfortable but then he walks back out with poster boards of his own. He writes something down on his and shows it to you.

Hi. My name is Spencer.

You like reading?

I love it.

You new here?

No, been here 13 years. You new?

Yes, I came from Kansas.

Job?

Graphic Designer. You?

FBI.

Sounds exotic.

Spencer smiles at this. Some of his nighttime preparations are to read for an hour before bed, and he was at the forty-five-minute mark when you two started talking.

I have to go. Talk tomorrow?

Tomorrow.

Spencer packs up his poster boards and heads back inside, and you follow suit a few minutes later. You’re going to need to buy more poster boards if you want to continue talking to him across the courtyard. Tomorrow comes and you end up finding a grocery store, a coffee shop, and a place that sells a lot of poster boards.

Spencer must have a day job because you didn’t see him at all while you were unpacking. You started with the kitchen and barely finished with it by the time Spencer got back from his job as an FBI agent. Wow, imagine that. A real-life FBI agent. You’ve only seen them in movies and TV shows so it's kind of cool you get to say you know someone in that field.

You sit on your balcony and wait for him to come out. Ten minutes go by and you see the light in his place turn on. Five more later, he walks out on his balcony with poster boards in hand. He doesn’t look too good. Yesterday, he had a natural glow about him but today, he has a sort of sadness about him. Still, he’s out here talking to you because he enjoys your company even though you’re in separate buildings.

You okay?

Rough case.

You want to talk?

Can’t. Open investigation. Of course. Duh. He flips the poster board over and scribbles something else on it. How was your day?

Good. Just school. I graduate Fall 2027.

Field of study?

Graphic Design.

Anything I’d see of yours?

You grin and write down a website you helped design before showing it to him. He takes one look at it and types it on his phone. He admires your work and thinks it’s amazing work. You have real talent.

I like it. You’re talented.

Even from where you’re at, you can see how sad he is. You’re not sure what he’s dealt with today or what he is going through, but you hope to make it better at least a little bit. You have to use two posterboards for this to get your message across.

Don’t let your job strip you of who you are. No job is worth it if you’re losing yourself.

You got Spencer to smile.

Same to you.

As the days progress, you and Spencer make it a nightly routine of talking to each other through poster boards. During the day, you’re unpacking boxes and getting your home ready while Spencer is at work dealing with the worst of the worst. His job isn’t easy but seeing you every night lifts his spirits.

That is until he stops showing up. You gave him a couple of days without bothering him since he might be caught up in something for work, but after seeing his light every night without him coming to the balcony, you know something is wrong. You don’t know who he is fully, but you do know that he would come talk to you if he was feeling up for it.

“Any sights of your secret lover?” one of your best friends, Marcy, says over the phone.

“No, he’s still held up in his apartment,” you say and look out the window to his.

“I bet he’s not even an FBI agent. Maybe he lied to you,” Rebecca, your other friend, says.

“I don’t think so. Maybe he just needs some time alone. I don’t know a lot about him. He can only fit so much on small poster boards.”

“It’s giving You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift,” Marcy chuckles.

“I think you should go over there and talk to him face-to-face.”

“Yeah, I have to agree with Bec. It’s not like he’s your next-door neighbor. If it doesn’t work out, you don’t have to see him in passing.”

“True,” you bite your lower lip. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Let us know how it goes,” Bec smirks.

“Oh, I will. Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” both girls say at the same time before hanging up.

You turn back to Spencer’s apartment and see the light peeking through the curtains. You count the number of floors he’s off the ground and the number of apartments he’s at from the wall so you know where to start. You’re not sure what you’re going to do when you get there but you’ll think of something on the spot.

You have some cookies left over from when you made some a few days ago, so you box those up and make your way over to the building across from yours. Your keycard works for this building even though you’re not a resident in it because you’re a resident overall. Once inside his building, you make your way up to the fifth floor and the tenth apartment from the wall.

Here goes nothing.

You knock twice on the door and wait for someone to answer it. It might not even be his apartment but you’ll try all of them if you have to. A few moments later, Spencer opens the door with a confused look on his face. When he sees you, his eyes widen slightly.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“What?”

“You’re more beautiful in person.”

Your cheeks heat up at his compliment.

“I brought you some cookies. I hope you’re doing okay. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighs. “Work has just been… yeah, it’s not fun sometimes.”

“I can only imagine which is why I brought some cookies.”

“Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” you smile.

You walk inside and immediately notice all the poster boards he’s been using to communicate with you. He’s saved every single one of them and that brings a smile to your face. You never thought you’d meet someone this quickly after moving to a new city, but you’re glad you did.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[saturnville]

in the dirty south, II.

pairing: cowboy!coriolanus snow x black fem oc. warnings: old slang, sexual innuendo, flirting, sorta forbidden infatuation if you blink. shy!oc. content: while at a town fair with her family, delilah finds herself heavily infatuated with the new face in town. an: I'm not sure if I'll make another part to this. it depends on if I get more inspiration, but idk I like cowboy coriolanus.

tags: @snowlandsontopp @babyzzlove @hlstead @rosewine-5 @unicornqueen05 @thegabbyh @neeville @fastlikealambo @urfavesim @cherry2stems to keep your spot on the tag list, you are expected to interact!

The fair was just as lively as she remembered years ago. The sun was still beaming and the hustle and bustle ramped up by the minute. It was a beautiful sight of organized chaos. Tents and booths set up along the strip with excited members of the community engaged in every aspect. Small children chasing one another and giggling as they slid against the pavement, adults chugging beer like it was water, and young men and women engaged in an intense game of cornhole. Delilah smiled. It was light-hearted moments as such that made her days better.

Her mother had retired inside Turner's to combat the heat exhaustion she felt coming on. Luckily, the poundcake and milk were long gone, save for the slice Delilah saved for Coriolanus, so there was nothing to keep her outside. Delilah on the other hand, chose to sit perched underneath the tent with a fan in one hand and a cup of water in the mother. People watching would keep her amused for the time being.

As her dark eyes scoped the area, they landed on Coriolanus, who was engaged in a game of cornholl with Ezra and another young woman. Her eyes narrowed. The woman, who recognized as Lyra. They'd gone to school together years prior, and to say Delilah was fond of her was an understatement. She was a beautiful girl--dusty brown hair and fair skin with brown eyes--but she was mean. Delilah didn't like mean. But Ezra did.

She hummed to herself as she watched Ezra visibly melt as Lyra batted her eyelashes before throwing the sand-filled bag on the wooden plank. It seemed to get intense as Coriolanus grinned cockily after scoring, what she assumed to be, the winning point on the duo.

Delilah chuckled. Competitive just like every other man she knew. As if he could feel her heavy gaze on him, Coriolanu turned his head slightly. He tipped tipped his hat, which made her wave shyly.

Coriolanus said a few words to Lyra and Ezra before jogging over to where Delilah sat under the tent. "I hope you saved me a slice of cake." He took a seat next to her, knee brushing against her own. She said nothing rather slid the intricately folded napking that covered the poundcake toward him. Coriolanus smiled.

"Thank you." He unwrapped it and dropped a piece into his mouth, moaning softly at the taste. Delilah's body stiffened at the sound. Something within her was awakened. It didn't go unnoticed. Nor did the increased speed of her fan. Coriolanus raised his eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Just fine," Delilah replied. She turned to face him. "How do you know the boys? They're like my brothers and no offense, but they've never mentioned you before. Y'all get along like y'all have known each other for ages."

Coriolanus took in a breath. She was shy yet straightforward; he could respect it. The story of his relationship with her "brothers" was complicated. When he was exiled from the Capitol and thrust into District 11, he was alone. No familiar faces, no family, and no friends. But when he was stopped by Elijah, Malachi, and Ezra while walking to the fields for his early-morning shift, they'd become colleagues. Friends. Brothers.

"We work the fields together," Coriolanus said, turning to meet her tired eyes. "Stopped me on my way to work one morning when I moved to 11. Didn't have anybody. They became my somebody."

Delilah nodded. She thought about the mess he'd gotten himself in, and wondered how bad it had to have been if he was forced to move to the Districts. No one would move to the Districts from the Capitol. She loved being part of 11, but even she wouldn't pass up on the opportunity to experience Capitol living if it was an option.

"What about you, Miss Delilah Mae? Very pretty name, by the way." Coriolanus leaned toward her, his lips close to her ear. "Do you have somebody?"

Her fan stopped moving. Her fan stopped moved and her eyes cut to his. She'd never realized how pretty they were. They were like gentle waves in the sea. Could her boats sail across them and bask in their essence? She could only imagine.

Delilah brought her cup to her lips. Still stained red, they wrapped around the rim as she took a gulp. A singular droplet fell from the corner of her mouth and traveled down her cheek and neck until it slipped down the valley of her breasts. Coriolanus followed its route.

"No," she finally replied. "I don't. Why--you tryin' to be my somebody?"

A sly smile played on his lips as he shrugged. It wouldn't sound so bad. Getting to know the pretty girl with a whole lot of mysteriou treasure buried deep beneath her shy nature. He hoped to get lucky and find the gold.

Coriolanus brought a hand to her face and wiped away the remnants of water that rested there. His thumb and index finger cupped her chin gently. "I just might be, darling. Only if you let me."

[i-think-i-thunk]

steddie racing au

Okay so I have some family that do drag racing for fun and I went to see them recently and it had me thinking about a steddie au. Also bear with me cause I only know a little bit about this lol. Also also, this turned out to be really long, sorry.

So Wayne Munson buys a racetrack in the late 60s/early 70s just outside of Hawkins

He's slowly working on fixing it up and ends up with a bunch of project cars

Word gets around town and pretty soon, local car and motorcycle guys start showing up

Even some from nearby towns

They all start meeting up on the weekends, bringing their families and kids, having barbeques, etc.

Needless to say, they become a really close little community

Something something Eddie's dad sucks and he ends up moving in with Wayne at like 9 or 10 years old

Cue Wayne suddenly having a traumatized kid that he hasn't seen in years and has no idea how to take care of him

So he starts taking Eddie to the track and of course lets him name it (Hellfire Raceway)

All of Wayne's friends step up and welcome little Eddie to the group

The guys teach him how to fix up cars and bikes and show him the ins and outs of racing

The moms take one look at him, decide he needs to bulk up asap and cook more food for him and Wayne then either of them have ever seen

Plus, the kids teach Eddie how to be a kid again

Eddie grows up covered in oil and grease and dirt, spending all his free time tinkering with things and helping Wayne maintain the track and learning to race

As he's learning to restore and maintain cars, he teaches himself how to do different paint jobs and straight line detailing

And he gets to be good, really good

Eventually racing starts catching on in the rest of Indiana, and the different tracks start having competitions with each other

The Hellfire community is slowly but steadily growing

In communities as tight nit at these, new faces are easy to recognize

So when one Steve Harrington shows up with nothing but his beamer and an odd girl at his side, people are shocked

He's spoiled, rich, entitled and cocky

Or at least, the old Steve Harrington was

This Steve is different

He's quiet and reserved, only offering a small wave and a smile every now and then

He starts at the bottom like everyone else

Works his way through the time trials as he learns

A few months in, Eddie starts to get curious

He's been watching Steve stumble his way through racing

He's also happened to notice that Steve doesn't seem to know much about car maintenance

One day, after Steve's car fails on the runway, Eddie helps him and Robin steer it off the track and offers to look at it

Cue Eddie and Robin having a very animated conversation while Eds tinkers with the beamer

After a couple attempts, Robin finally manages to rope Steve into the conversation too

And wouldn't you know it, Steve's actually a pretty good guy

They end up talking for a few hours and when Eddie walks them back to the track, he takes the time to explain scoring and the different types of racing

Maybe he introduces him to some of the guys

The summer is coming to an end, and Steve and Eddie are avoiding the topic at all costs, afraid of what it might mean, worried that autumn will mark the end of whatever it is they had going

Maybe Wayne has a mechanic shop that he and Eddie run during the week and in the off season

A few weeks after the track closes, Steve shows up to talk with Eddie while he's working in the garage

Watches in awe as Eddie works on engines and paints intricate details onto beautiful cars, always with a steady hand

And Eddie is ecstatic, constantly trying to show off for Steve and flashing a bashful smile when his natural clumsiness shows

Then Eddie starts showing up at Family Video to talk with Steve and Robin

Steals a few snacks and definitely doesn't flirt with Steve

Then Eddie is invited to their weekly movie night where he meets the kids and the rest of the crew

Gets real close with Jonathan and Argyle (maybe some background Jargyle)

Starts DMing for the kids and teaching Will and Erica as he goes

Steve, Robin and Eddie are rarely seen without each other at this point

Wayne is skeptical at first but becomes fiercely protective of Steve and Robin once he really gets to know them

Endgame steddie obviously

They bring the kids to the track the next summer and end up their own little cheer squad

Chaos and antics ensue of course

Maybe they work their way up to the pros or maybe they stay and take over the shop and track together. But either way, they survive everything the world throws at them. They buy a cute little house and grow old together.

[ladykailitha]

Well Met By Moonlight Part 5

Hi guys, I want to thank everyone who commented on the most recent Royal Pain and all the people that commented on the Midsummer's AU. I saw some that I hadn't seen comment in awhile and it made me so happy to see them back. I missed you all.

Here we have more of Wayne being badass. I know it feels like he's the main character right now, but trust me it will shift to the younger members soon enough.

And I got the chapter two to work finally, so I will be linking to the original from now on.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

***

Sun down on the following Saturday saw Wayne Munson in front of the whole town. Businesses closed. Only the hospital, fire and police station remained opened and they only had the most basic of crews.

Behind him on his left were Steve and Nancy and on his right were Billy and his bride, Heather. In front of him were the five boys that had attacked Steve.

Mayor Roberts stood between the two sets holding a microphone, he too was flanked. Sheriff Danny Powell stood on his right and Jim Hopper stood on his left.

“Welcome everyone. It is a sad day in Hawkins when we have to meet like this. I know it is hard on the lives and livelihoods of the people of this fair town. But a sickness has come to this town. The mindset of those not like being othered, seen as monsters and demons.”

The crowd murmured and hummed.

“But this town was not founded on those ideals. It was founded on peace and brotherhood between all its people. The humans, the vampires, and the werewolves. For nearly one hundred and fifty years this town has stood as testament to kinship that it has fostered. Which is why it is with much trepidation I have made the decision to let Sheriff Daniel Powell go as police chief of our fair town.”

The murmurs became more angry and sharp.

“He was told by several members of this community that these five boys before me were up to no good. That they would cause harm. Vampires and werewolves alike came to your sheriff with concerns and he waved them away. Regular people such as yourselves came to him that these boys meant serious harm to the supernatural members–nay to your neighbors and still he waved them away. Is that the type of man you want to protect and defend your town?”

Sheriff Powell looked down in shame as the crowd let out small cries of distress. Because no, that wasn’t what the town wanted. Most of them had thought him a good man. But this cast doubt on that very image. If he would turn a blind eye to a threat to a supernatural person, would he do the same to a black man or woman of ill repute, just because he didn’t care for their kind?

“Jim Hopper has graciously offered his assistance in stepping back into his old position of police chief. He will hold it until it is time to elect a new sheriff and with hope he will run then, as well.”

Hopper smiled and shook his head. “We’ll see,” he growled.

Mayor Roberts smiled back. “I will now turn the time over to Wayne Munson.”

Powell moved off to the one side and Mayor Roberts and Chief Hopper moved to the other. Wayne stepped up and an eerie silence descended on the crowd.

“It appears I’ve been too soft on this town,” Wayne growled, his voice reaching every corner of the town hall without the aid of the microphone. “Hunters think they can just come into my town, my territory and hunt people like a pack of feral dogs.”

The boys were forced to kneel in front of the crowd. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they bowed their heads.

“These are the children you raised,” Wayne told the crowd. He picked up something from the table next to him and held it up. “A foot trap made of silver. Considered inhumane to animals used to trap a nineteen year old boy, not much older than themselves. Yes, Steven Harrington is no average boy, but he is young nonetheless.”

He threw a few feet in front of the crowd, it clanging noisily to ground, the people in the front leaping back. He picked up the shattered pieces of the cross they had nailed Steve to.

“They bound him in silver to a wooden cross!” Wayne snarled. He threw the pieces after the trap.

The whole crowd gasped in horror as the pieces clattered to the floor. He picked up the final object off the table and held it above his head.

It was a metal bat. Not silver, but deadly all the same. The tip was rust red. Wayne threw to the ground as he had done the others. “They were beating him with this.”

“These are your children!” he growled. “Have I not been good to you? Have I not been kind?”

There were murmurs among the crowd.

“You have forgotten you are are under my protection!” Wayne roared. “Without me the pack and coven would have free rein of the town, like the roving gangs of old. You are fortunate that the current alpha and Dominus are generous. Do you not recall the terror that ruled under alpha Jack Sullivan before I tore his pack to pieces? Do you not remember the children that were be experimented on under the Dominus Dr Martin Brenner? Before Billy Hargrove came and cleaned out the lab and the coven that reeked of death?”

The crowd was stock still. Pin dropping would sound like thunder in that hall.

“Five years for Brenner,” he continued. “Ten years for Sullivan. Mere drops in the bucket of time for someone as old as myself, but to you? Far too long. That they were able to hide from me their ills for as long as they did, was an abomination. But they were summarily dispatched when I did find out.”

The crowd became restless.

“So I have passed judgment upon these youths,” Wayne said. “The two younger boys, Joshua Bentley and Chance Nelson will learn the ways of the pack and of the coven. Spending six weeks with each sect to unlearn the hate you taught them.”

The crowd let out a sigh of relief. That was good punishment for the two boys.

“Andy Duncan will be tried as a child,” he continued. “For criminal mischief and conspiracy to commit assault. It is likely that he will be forced to spend his time at a youth facility where he will remain until he turns eighteen. Then it will be up to the courts to move him to an adult facility or release him.”

The crowd took up the murmuring again as this was a little more harsh then the other boys, but still lenient.

Wayne grabbed Jason and Patrick by their collars and hauled them bodily to their feet.

“As for these two boys,” he snarled, “the mayor wants to try them as adults for use of an illegal trap,” the boys rolled their eyes, “assault with a deadly weapon,” Patrick gulped, but Jason was still smug, “conspiracy to commit murder,” Jason was mentally counting the number of years he would get and tilted his head like it was acceptable while Patrick turned white, “and for attempted murder.”

Jason looked shocked for the first time, he didn’t think they would go for the attempted murder charge, he had been told by his lawyer that it was unlikely because of how young they were. “And because of the laws of this town are unique, they will also be tried for supernatural hunting. A crime punishable by death.”

Patrick fainted and Jason threw up. Josh who had been sitting nearby, leapt out of the way of the vomit.

“But I am merciful,” Wayne continued, slowly lowering the unconscious Patrick to the ground. “They will spend time with me for six months and then I will make my own recommendations to the judge on the charges to proceed with.”

That was when Jason fainted, right into the pile of his own sick.

The crowd’s relief was palpable. Everyone was murmuring with agreement and elation.

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” Wayne concluded. “I am merciful, but test me one more time and you too will face my wrath.”

“Go!” he barked and everyone in the hall turned and fled.

All that was remaining was the mayor, Sheriff Powell and the six supernatural beings.

“Will you being staying in our town?” Wayne asked Powell.

Powell shook his head. “No. I got a job lined up in Chicago. I wasn’t meant for small town politics. I put my own prejudices ahead of the lives of the citizens of this town.”

“You still gonna be a copper?” Hopper asked.

Again he shook his head. “No, I can’t risk making the same mistake in a bigger town. I’m going to teach self-defense.”

They all nodded.

Mayor Roberts patted Powell’s arm. “You’re a good man who made a bad decision, don’t let this moment define the rest of your life.”

Powell nodded. He gave the mayor’s shoulder a squeeze and walked away.

“There goes a deeply troubled man,” Nancy said. “Do you think he’ll be all right?” She hugged her sides.

“Chicago is the best place for him to find that out,” Billy said. “It will either consume you or learn enough about yourself to survive.”

Steve put his arm around her and she leaned into his comfort.

“I hope the town can heal from this,” Mayor Roberts said. “There has been so much pain and hurt in this town in the last decade. I’m not sure how much more it can take.”

Wayne shook his head. “This town survived two world wars and a Great Depression, it will survive this.”

Mayor Roberts smiled sadly. “It is good to have such a long perspective, my friend.” He squeezed Wayne’s shoulder and slipped away, leaving behind the three vampires and three werewolves.

Hopper scratched the back of his head, sheepishly. It was strange look on the werewolf. “I’ve never been police chief and not the alpha before.”

“I prefer it,” Billy said with a low growl. “It means the werewolves are a little more even in terms of power in this town.”

Steve nodded. “I agree. It’s better this way. The sheriff needs to be supernatural in the way that the mayor must be human. A vampire sheriff would be weak during the day and even having a thrall as deputy would divide the power in a way that would make them weak. But a werewolf being sheriff ensures that everyone has a say.”

Wayne nodded back.

“Thank you for coming out, Steve,” he said, “I know this wasn’t easy for you, reliving your trauma.”

Steve scoffed. “If I didn’t, I would look weak and open myself and the pack to further attacks. Not just from the anti-supernatural quarter either. Other packs would think us easy prey. Vampires would attack us to feed on.” He glanced over at Billy and Heather and sneered. “I don’t have the favor of the current Dominus, not like our previous one did.”

Hopper looked down at his feet.

Billy smirked. “Come on, Heather,” he drawled. “Let’s go, babe.”

Heather simpered. “Anything you want.”

Billy licked his lips slowly. “Promise?”

She giggled and they walked out, with his arm around her waist as he whispered dirty things to each other.

Wayne watched them with a shake of his head. There were some disadvantages to having such a young Dominus. With a sigh he turned back to the werewolves.

“Thanks for doing this, Jim,” Wayne said, patting his back. “I know it’s not easy to come back this job, especially since you were hoping to spend more time with Jane.”

Hopper sighed. “I just hate that I have to step up in this way.”

Steve kissed the top of Nancy’s head. “Let Hop take you home, I still have some things to go over with Wayne.”

Nancy nodded and slipped out from under his arm.

Steve and Wayne watched them go.

“I was always surprised you made her alpha female,” Wayne said thoughtfully. “Not after what happened between you.”

Steve hummed. “I didn’t have a lot of options. It was either Joyce or her and I didn’t trust Joyce.”

Wayne nodded. “Who would have you picked if you had your choice?”

Steve smiled fondly. “Robin hands down, but right now she more valuable to me as a keeper then alpha female.”

“You really do have a good head on your shoulders, Steve,” he said, his smile crinkling his eyes. “Now, go reassure my boy that kiss on Nancy’s head was friendly, eh?”

Steve frowned. Wayne pointed to the back of the hall where a solitary figure waited.

Steve shook his head. “Has he always been the jealous type?”

Wayne laughed. “No, just when it comes to you.”

Steve hopped down from the stage and strolled over to Eddie. He wrapped his arms around the other boy and kissed him deeply.

“Oh,” Eddie said with a blush.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “Only you, okay?”

Eddie nodded.

“Come on, sunshine,” Steve said, his voice low and gravely, “I’m going to spend all night showing you how much I’m only yours.”

“Point me in the right direction, big boy.”

The two went off, not as giggly and overt as Billy and Heather, but just as heated, and definitely more in love.

Wayne looked up at the ceiling. “If there is a god, watch over those two, please. They are going to need it.”

***

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​ @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @goosesister

[library-ghoulette]

day 21 // somno & feral/primal

Prompt list thanks to @kroas-adtam 💜

Pairing: Phantom x reader

Rating: Explicit, minors DNI

Words: 2323

Tags: noncon/extremely dubious consent, female reader, masturbation, somnophilia, heat/breeding cycles, feral ghouls, rough sex, demon sex, coming inside

Summary: A new Sister of Sin, you learn the hard way why you're supposed to keep your window locked tight during ghoul mating season.

A/N: Please note the updated tags and warnings for this one! I feel like Phantom frequently gets the cinnamon roll treatment, so I wanted to write him being not so sweet.

You can also read this--and all my other fics--on ao3!

You expected that there might be a learning curve, when you ran away from your old life to begin a new one in the service of Satan. But you hadn't expected there to be so goddamn many rules.

You were expected to follow orders immediately and without question. Make your bed and say your morning prayers. Report for your duties precisely on time. Maintain perfect attendance at your religious education classes. The Abbey ran like clockwork under the meticulous care of its prioress, the intimidating Sister Imperator, and her word was law, not to be questioned.

Even when the rules seemed overbearing or nonsensical, you were expected to bite back anything other than, "Yes, Sister."

Luckily you had your fallen angel—the older, more experienced Sister assigned to guide your transition from your old life to your new one—and you could grill her all you wanted. Much to her occasional chagrin.

Like now, as you troop up the stairs to your cells after dinner, and in the midst of her almost daily reiterations of the rules, she adds a new one: "Make sure that you keep your door and window locked after curfew, starting tonight."

It's annoying enough that you're subjected to a curfew—you're not a child, and when are all of these supposed Sisters of Sin supposed to be sinning?—but the window thing really annoys you. The rooms are musty and old, and you've gotten into the habit, now that the Spring weather has turned warmer, of sleeping with your window open to let in some fresh air.

"Why do we have to keep our windows locked?" you ask. "We live on the third floor. No one's going to get in without a ladder… or wings."

Your fallen angel regards you seriously. "It's mating season."

"Well, I don't think any wild animals are making it up to our rooms, either—"

"For ghouls," she cuts you off. "They go into rut every Spring. And when they do, they're dangerous. Territorial, unpredictable… and horny. Well, hornier."

"…oh."

You haven't had many interactions with the ghouls. You haven't been at the Abbey that long, and the ghouls are… Well, they're a bit insular, a bit set apart from most of the humans who live and work here. They tend to run as a pack, their bond to one another so strong that they seemingly communicate without words.

They're a strange mix of unnerving and captivating, but you suppose that's true of any group of preternaturally attractive people with a better than you vibe. Even if they are demons, they don't seem particularly dangerous.

Especially not the one you've seen in the halls a few times now, with his slight stature and tumble of dark hair that always seems to be hanging in front of one violet eye. The one who caught you looking and gave you a small, shy wave in return. Phantom, you think his name is? In any case, you can't imagine him being dangerous.

Your fallen angel seems to read your thoughts, or perhaps just the disbelief written across your face. With the weary air of someone who's had to explain this exact thing to many dumb postulants before you, she says, "You haven't seen them in their true form. They're different when they're in rut. Even the older ones have trouble maintaining control over themselves, and the younger ones are downright volatile."

You've reached your twin doors—your cells connect with a shared bathroom in the middle—and she pauses with a sigh, searching for the right words.

"People have been injured before," she says, holding your gaze and wringing her hands. "Just… don't risk it, okay?"

"Okay," you agree.

"Good. Now, lock your window, and sleep tight. I'll be right here if you need me."

The soreness and exhaustion hit you as soon as you're alone in your cell. Your body is as unaccustomed to the grueling pace of the called life as is your mind, and by the end of each day, all you want to do is to fall face-first into bed and sleep for a week.

You shower, letting the hot water soothe both your mental and physical pains. When you emerge from the bathroom, waving steam out of the air as you go, your eyes fall on your window. Surely it can't hurt to open it for just a little while…

There, that feels immediately better. The breeze is warm and fills your plain little room with the freshness of Spring, the verdant scent of growing things and the world waking up. You stand in front of the window, breathing in the delicate perfume of the cherry trees that have only this week burst into full bloom, toweling you hair dry.

It's not exactly curfew yet—at least, you don't think it is—so you leave the window open as you cross to your dresser and pull out your favorite silky little nightgown. The fabric skims deliciously over your bare skin as you slip it over your head.

You lie back on your bed without bothering to pull back the comforter. You haven't forgotten about your fallen angel's warning—if anything, it keeps playing over and over in your mind. You keep thinking about her description of the ghouls, of how they become territorial, unpredictable, horny.

You try to imagine what Phantom, who seems so sweet, would be like, transformed into an insatiable… fuckbeast, you guess. The word makes you giggle at yourself, but the image it conjures unspools warmth low in your belly.

You trail your hands down your body, skimming over your hardened nipples under the silky fabric, and part your own thighs to slide your fingers between your folds. You find yourself slick with arousal, and it doesn't take much work, rubbing your clit in just the way you like, to get yourself off. As you come you imagine Phantom, skilled hands gripping your hips as he drives into you, peering down at you with pleasure and amusement as you fall apart around his cock.

You're sleepy when you come down from your orgasm, and in the haze of tiredness and dreamy afterglow, you pull the covers up over yourself and drift away, forgetting your open window completely…

You wake to the unmistakable pressure of an unfamiliar weight at the foot of your bed. Even without opening your eyes, you know you are being watched—you can feel the rake of some inhuman gaze on your skin. You feel it as surely as you hear the panting, each rough exhalation of breath as whatever this is… What is it doing?

You risk cracking your eyes open just a bit, just enough to peer from between your lashes at the intruder. At first you think you're hallucinating, imagining that a dark shadow is something solid. But as you wake up more fully and your eyes adjust, you discern form. You notice the swirling purple energy, the pinpricks of light that twinkle like distant stars all along the humanoid form.

You discern the cords of lean, strong muscle that run down its arms—and you follow that working line of muscle down, to where the creature is stroking itself with one hand, frantically pumping its fist up and down over its— oh God, over its cock. You can't make out the details in the gloom, but you can tell that it's huge.

You let out an involuntary whimper, and at the sound, the creature's eyes latch onto yours in a flash of violet eyeshine. You squeeze your lids shut again and bite your lip to silence yourself, even as you feel the creature grab your comforter in a clawed fist and the bedsheets begin to slowly but inexorably creep down your body, exposing your bare shoulders, your breasts…

Your fear screams at you to run, but another voice inside of you tells you to lie still, whispers that running is pointless. How far do you even think you would get, because the monster catches you and does whatever it wants to you?

You struggle to keep your breathing even, to remain calm, even as the protection of the covers is stripped away, even as the creature bends down low over your leg and you feel the crackle of energy along your bare calf as it… as it sniffs you, inhaling your scent.

Apparently it likes what it smells, because sharp claws grip your thighs, digging into the soft skin, and the creature presses its face against your center, breathing you in through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

Its touch is electric, its breath hot against your flesh, and in spite of your terror—or because of it?—you feel your cunt clench with arousal. You're even wetter than you were earlier, imagining Phantom creeping into your room, desperate with need…

Wait. You crack open your eyelids again, enough to take in the snuffling form crouched over your body. Despite the horns and the claws—and the skin made out of space, you guess?—there is something familiar in the creature. Something about that flash of purple in its eyes… Yes. Even though it seems unbelievable, you know with absolute certainty that this monster, this demon, is the same boy from the hall, the one who waved at you, with that sweet, self-conscious half-smile before turning away.

He's not shy now, not turning away, as he wrenches your thighs apart and licks a broad stripe up your cunt with his long, forked tongue. It's animalistic, less concerned with your pleasure than with wallowing in your pheromones, but nonetheless a whiplash of pleasure cracks through you. It's hard to hold still, to keep from moaning aloud as he licks you again and again, rutting against the mattress with each stroke of his tongue.

Finally he wrenches away from your pussy and crawls up your body, pawing at you with careless claws that sting deliciously as they draw blood. He brings his face to the side of your neck, almost like a human lover would to kiss you in the midst of passion, but he only grazes his fangs against your skin and breathes in your scent.

For a panic-stricken moment you fear he might tear out your throat, but he only emits a low, rumbling growl before wrenching away from you. And then, with shocking strength, he flips you over onto your stomach and tears away your nightgown, leaving you exposed.

If you had any questions about what would happen next, they're answered swiftly when he presses the head of his cock against your entrance. Even as wet as you are, dripping both with your own arousal and his thick saliva, the size is intimidating. Helpless to escape—and, you admit shamefully, no longer that interested in trying—you angle your hips up to accommodate him as best you can.

Somehow, the bulbous crown of his cock breaches your body's resistance and he fills you. You let out a gasp at the stretch, more than you've ever taken before, and try to adjust to the overwhelming pressure of him inside you.

But he isn't finished. You realize with horror that you've only taken his tip, as he works more of his length into you. There is nothing human about his cock, and your body thrills at the alien sensation of each ridge and bulb that drags along your inner walls, hitting spots you barely knew you had.

Finally, he bottoms out with a grunt, and you have a moment of relief that there is no more to take.

That moment ends when he begins to move.

He sets a relentless pace, pounding into you with a ferocity you've never felt before. He holds you down and presses you into the mattress as he uses your body. You can no longer remain quiet, helpless to keep in your cries, but the creature, the nightmare, atop you is oblivious, lost in his own pleasure and in his desperate need to mate.

You teeter at the razor-thin edge between pleasure and pain, barely knowing which one you're feeling until he hits something inside of you just right and everything comes together as you begin to fall apart, your pussy spasming around him and driving him over the edge of his own orgasm. He growls and digs his claws into your hips even harder, and his cock kicks inside of you, his spend filling and overfilling you. You can feel it, thick and warm, spilling out of you and coating your thighs, just before the full crest of your orgasm overtakes you, and everything fades to gray…

When you wake up again, it's to the morning sunlight filling your room and the sound of birdsong streaming in through the window. The open window.

You curse, and for a split second you remember the intense dream you had the night before. But as soon as you move and feel the spasm of soreness throughout your lower body, you know it wasn't a dream. You roll over carefully and reach down, investigating your swollen pussy with tentative fingers. You're still slicked with cum—you say a little prayer of thanks that you take your birth control religiously—and it's dried all along your inner thighs, which are also covered in scratches. As is—fuck—the rest of your body.

You flop back onto your pillow with a disbelieving little laugh. Well. You guess your fallen angel wasn't exaggerating the threat after all. You're a complete mess.

And it was the best sex you've ever had in your life.

You stumble toward the bathroom, stopping on the way to slide your window shut and lock it carefully. Even now you know that last night won't be the last time you conveniently forget to close it before bed.

But… maybe not every night, not until summer has come and mating season is over. You have to get some rest, after all.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Today I wanna take a break, because it is Pride Month and we lost an icon sadly far, far too quietly. Made me realize I don't think I've really heard much about Lynn Conway in queer circles for a long time. And honestly? That's fucked. If anyone deserves to be held up as a trans luminary of the past century it's her. I wish I had the knowledge of computer chips to fully explain how landmark her contributions were in her career, but truth is her story as a trans woman is what's truly fascinating.

If I have the details right, tried to transition during college in the 50s but ran into hurdles. Then got a job at IBM, fired when she sought out Harry Benjamin (another important name y'all need to quit glossing over) and was one of his patients in the late 60s. Transitioning before 30 and if I may say, being quite attractive...even when I was coming out in the 00s the general wisdom was if you could go "stealth" and just start over you should. Which Lynn did. Then went on to make some groundbreaking waves in computer chip design and really had this hellacious 30-year career as just a woman breaking barriers in tech. Keep in mind no one knew she was trans, ain't no way she'd have ended up working with Reagan's DoD on some Cold War defense tech if that was public knowledge.

Then at the end of her career, a new chapter began. Got out ahead of realizing some people were about to make the connection to her time at IBM so came out publicly through a website I remember being a pivotal find in my own journey. It was one of the best collection of resources out there and her story was one of the first ones I saw where you could transition and not be stuck in some small box forevermore because of it. You can shrug off the blowback and get on with your life. Ever heard of Blanchard & Bailey, the Autogyneophilia guys TERFs love to quote? Conway was a prominent academic speaking out against their dodgy methodology as well. Her lengthy and through takedown of that Man Who Would Be Queen book is fuckin legendary. Honestly, if you can find the old archived pages from her website it's worth a read. We don't really have many stories of like, a long life after transition without also being a mainstay of the community the whole time. There's a lot she'd get roasted for today, but generally for the wrong reasons because holy shit is my revisit showing so much honesty and stuff I've needed to hear at a similar point. We get so focused on the actual coming out and exploring and transitioning phase people miss that's just the baby steps on a lifelong journey. I miss how straightforward this old guard could be. In my experience queer youth today love it but it will absolutely enrage the late-blooming final wave of my own generation who lack so much perspective on how little the difference makes at this point.

I know it's fun to raise up queer names who were outlaws and radicals, everyone loves the (false) story of Marsha Johnson throwing the first brick at Stonewall more than her tireless decades of boring organizing. We like our fabulous and festive faces, but honestly...younger generations of trans folk should probably pay a little more attention to stories like Lynn Conway's where we actually do sometimes get to just have a "normal" and highly successful bulk of our lives after the identity struggle. So far ahead of her time it took until my own generation for us to see the whole having an experience more like hers.

[cultofdixon]

Take Your Time

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • People are assholes and go for something that you’ve had your whole life when it comes to making you feel small. But thank god he’s not one of them • ANGST/SFW • TW: Insecurities / Bullying

Requested by: Anon

Alexandria

New place, new people

Same type of assholes, but not all of them at least.

Except when your biggest insecurity is a permanent part of your life.

The entire interview Y/N tried her best not to answer the questions Deanna was asking in full or she’d find herself struggling. Deanna was nice and patient but Y/N couldn’t help but get the feeling that this could’ve gone faster. She’s wasting her time. More around those lines.

Daryl looked up from his hands when he heard the door open and shut, only to notice Y/N saddened expression but when she noticed his piercing blue orbs looking at her she gave him a small smile.

“Was she mean?”

“No, n-not really” Y/N shrugs bringing herself to sit beside him while Glenn entered after her. “S-She made me n-nervous”

“I can see that” Daryl stated the first thing on his mind and felt as if he said something wrong. “Uh. Well. She makes me nervous…too…”

That soft quiet laugh of hers escaped her lips when the archer scrambled but listening to such was music to his ears.

As the group was being lead to the two houses they were provided until further inspection on the group, even if 90% of their weapons were turned into the pantry. So they can’t do any harm…for the most part. Y/N felt a tad uncomfortable which brought her to look around their surroundings and found one of Deanna’s sons that she brought up during her interview staring right at her. She lingered toward the back of her group watching the son approach her as she felt incredibly small compared to the tall individual.

“See your group is finally settling into their new digs” He smiles, as his appearance seemed friendly but Y/N’s anxiety got the best of her thinking something might happen. Guess you tend to feel that way after once thinking friendly people with a new community weren’t going to turn into cannibals.

“Yeah” Y/N shyly states watching the man’s shoulders relax.

“My name is Aiden. What’s a beautiful woman like yourself named? Besides possibly Angel” his flirting could use some work.

“Y/N”

“Do you only answer in short one worded phrases?” He laughs a bit as Y/N didn’t really want to answer him in full sentences if she had to.

“Y-You make me r-really n-nervous” Y/N’s neutral expression turned into a frown and even more anxious demeanor. “L-Like your mother”

Aiden bites his tongue when listening to her speak as he kept a smile on his face for more reasons than to look friendly to the new comer.

“Well. Sorry about that, hope to see you at the party”

“P-Party? Wow. I-It’s really l-l-like the old world”

“Mhm” Aiden did his best to contain it right then and there but left before he could crack.

A crack that turned into out roar of laughter at the party Carol convinced Y/N to go.

Arriving was the easy part to this party. All the strangers locking onto the new comers, especially Y/N, only made her want to leave. But Carol stopped her the first two times she tried to leave. Her wandering gaze was looking for a certain someone but ultimately lead to disappointment when he never came to view at that party.

“Y/N!”

The unfamiliar but familiar enough voice brought Y/N out of her thoughts watching Aiden wave her over to the small group of only new people. When she got closer, Aiden wrapped his arm around her shoulders resulting in her giving a “help me” look to Carol and Rick. Carol only gave her a thumbs up before turning back to Rick.

“If she gets buddy buddy with the sons, we might be able to persuade if needed”

Rick was going to respond but he watches from the corner of his eye Y/N blow up and shove Aiden off of her. He brought his full attention to the scene about to walk over to check on her but all that happened next was the group of Alexandrians laughing and Y/N storming out of the party.

“Take your words back, Carol” Rick states as Carol frowns watching Y/N exit the house. Before she even thought about going after her to check on her, and know who she has to beat up. But Maggie quickly noticed her storm out and went to check on her.

When Maggie returned with no Y/N, Glenn gave her a worried look as she brought herself close.

“She’s fine”

“She say what happen?”

“Yeah but that’s her business. I’ll check on’er again before lights out” Maggie wrapped her arm around her husband looking in Aiden’s direction before back at Glenn. “I don’t trust him, Glenn. Keep an eye out alright?” She whispers to Glenn who subtly turn to who she’s referring to before nodding and kissing her forehead.

The next morning came and Daryl was making his way to Aaron’s garage when he spotted Y/N sitting alone at the gazebo drawing away in a hard cover sketchbook she found in Carol’s house. Daryl remembers the one she lost in the prison and how she’d draw every chance she got after chores and runs she went on. But that wasn’t the only thing he focused on, he couldn’t help but notice the change in atmosphere as he drew closer.

“Mornin’”

His voice startled her at first but she relaxed once she saw who it was.

“M-Morning” Y/N replies quieter than her usual and her smile when Daryl first approached her had faded.

Daryl decided to sit with her a moment ignoring his bubbling feelings because something was off with her. So he wasn’t going to leave her.

“Aaron’s got this bike frame in his garage…you don’t gotta help me but you wanna just. Hang out?” His hint of a smile peeked out when hers returned with a nod. “Alright, cmon”

The two did their own thing in silence, it wasn’t awkward but Daryl couldn’t help his anxious feeling when Y/N wouldn’t talk. She’s usually very talkative with him…

________

“Hey D” Y/N smiles kneeling beside Daryl while he worked on his bike in the court yard of the prison. “Find the p-piece you needed?”

“Mhm. I could use an extra set of hands handing me tools if yea don’t mind”

“Nope! H-Happy to help” She smiles shuffling to get comfortable sitting on the floor while going through the tool box they found in maintenance.

After handing Daryl a few tools here and there, Y/N decided how was the time.

“Can I ask yea s-something?”

“Shoot” Daryl slid out from under to sit up and wipe off the grime on his hands with a his rag.

“Do yea t-think you can help m-me learn how t-to shoot a bow?” Y/N felt a bit off given how bad her stutter can get when she was anxious. But Daryl didn’t show any signs of annoyance or anything. He likes the girl, he doesn’t want to ever make her feel bad.

“Yea found one?”

“Glenn did. J-Just thought..”

“If yea like…I mean if yea ain’t busy later…we can go out and shoot. I’m more than happy to teach yea” Daryl felt himself smile more than his usual twitch of a smile as he couldn’t help the giddiness he felt when she lit up.

“Really?” She smiles even brighter as he nods confirming such. “Ah! You’re amazing D”

________

What he’d do to see that smile of hers

Daryl brought himself from under the bike looking over to Y/N seeing her slow her drawing and an uneasy feeling builds in his chest.

“Hey, mind handing me tools when I need’em? Listen back at the prison?”

“S-Su-…Yeah” Y/N frowns setting her sketchbook down on the work bench before bringing herself to sit on the ground beside him with the tool box in front of her.

Working in silence for a few hours only made the archer worry for the girl even more. He was getting impatient with not knowing what could be wrong, hell it could be nothing. It’s never nothing, what is he thinking?

“I…have the n-night w-w-…watch” Y/N felt her body tense when she struggled to get that out as she puts away the tools Daryl wasn’t using anymore watching him help her. “W-Wh…”

“I’ll walk yea…if yea don’t mind”

He didn’t receive a no but still kept a respectable distance in case she wasn’t entirely comfortable. But Y/N felt safer with Daryl.

As the two made their way toward the front gates, it was Aiden coming off his shift and Daryl knew then that something happened with the eldest son given Y/N immediately hid behind the archer.

“Sup Dixon”

“Hey” Daryl glares a bit but given the time of night, Aiden couldn’t really tell. But he did know Y/N was there.

“Yknow you’re a big dude. But not big enough to hide her.” Aiden scoffs watching Y/N immediately book for the watch tower making the man laugh a bit. “How did you handle that for so long?”

“What yea mean?” Daryl growls watching the man defensively hold his hands up backing up slightly.

“I think you know what I mean. I don’t understand why any of yea kept her around when she can’t get a full sentence out of that broken record of a voice box she’s got”

Without another thought, Daryl’s fist met Aiden’s jaw and that was the end of that conversation. He’ll hear about it from Deanna later but he has his priorities in the moment.

________

No one thought anyone could break Daryl’s hard exterior, but whenever he was around Y/N? The man man was puddy in her hands.

“You’re gonna want to lower your aim. Be eye level” Daryl helped Y/N adjust her aim as she instinctively adjusted her stance before drawing the arrow back.

When she landed the shot, Y/N couldn’t contain her excitement as she screams happily startling Daryl a bit but even he couldn’t help his own excitement.

“Nice shot”

“I-I-I can’t b-believe I—-Ah” Y/N stopped herself abruptly feeling her face flush from embarrassment. “S-Sorry”

“For what?”

“Uhm. My s-stutter”

“Why would yea apologize for that?” Daryl looks at her confused watching her shrug with a bit of a pout. “Hey. Don’t worry about it, sunshine. I wanna hear everythin’ yea gotta say”

Y/N smiles happily when he said that.

________

Part of her wishes they were back in that moment

Daryl quietly enters the watch tower listening to the sobs coming from Y/N as he instantly brought himself to kneel in front of her resting his hands on her knees.

“Y/N, what’d he do to yea? Do I need to do more than just punch’em?”

“Y-Y-You…p-…” Y/N stopped trying to talk as she hid her face in her hands. Daryl wasn’t having it as he carefully brought his hands to hold her face making her hands go to hold his wrists watching her sob.

“Hey…hey hey” Daryl frowns wiping away the tears that fell. “Cmon. It’s just me. I’m here…what did he do?”

“A-At the…” Y/N tried to stop again but Daryl softly shushes to try and calm her enough to stop her crying.

“The party? Is that what yer trying—“ He watches her nod while he continued to take care of the ongoing tears. “What happened at the party?”

“H-He…he was m-m…mocking m-m-me” She cried. “a-and called m-me a f-f-freak in front of o-others”

Oh he’s going to kill this guy Daryl frowns sensing there was more to this, watching her sniffling lessen and the tears slowly stop. “What else, sunshine?”

________

“S-Stop it!” Y/N snaps at Aiden who couldn’t help the laugh to escape his lips.

“M-M-Make me” He smirks getting a laugh out of his brother, Spencer and their friends at the community watching Y/N’s face get heated.

“Y-Y-You’re a f-fucking b-bitch!” She snaps shoving the man. “N-No one l-likes a f-fucking bully”

That was met with silence before an out roar of laughter between the group as Y/N had enough of being there. She shoved Aiden out of her way so that she can leave the party.

________

Yeah. He’s gonna fucking get it Daryl did his best to contain his anger in that moment as he moved his hands sitting on the ground before bringing his arms around Y/N pulling her close to his person.

The archer held her the entirety of her shift, nothing exciting was going to happen that night anyway.

Daryl kept her close for as long as she needed, even on the walk back to Rick’s place where they both had a room in. He stopped at the steps leading to the house to check her once more before they entered.

“You…wanna spend the night with me? I uh. Don’t want yea to be alone tonight”

“Y-You don’t mind?”

“I never mind when it’s yea, sunshine” Daryl gave her a shy smile watching hers finally return after the days without it. The two entered the house together and went to spend the night in Daryl’s.

•

Daryl made his way to Aaron’s garage alone the next morning seeing Aiden on his walk over to the house.

“Hey! You were a fucking dick last night for pu—-“ Aiden was suddenly pushed into the bush in front of the nearby house by Daryl who took out a cigarette after doing such. “WHAT THE FUCK!”

“Sorry, spasms” Daryl chuckles lighting the cig and returning on his way to his bike.