#its the casualness of her spitting quick game and him just standing there for me lmao

[firelise]

Keke Palmer as Emerald Haywood in Nope (2022)

#If I was that girl, I woulda folded ngl

[shurisneakers]

harmless (iv)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, guns, mention of war, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: good evening i’ve never been to any of the places i mention in this series so dont come @ me

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He spends the weekend doing nothing. It’s supposed to be relaxing. He finds it nauseatingly boring.

“No mini mission this week?” Steve asks him from across the couch. 

They’re supposed to be catching up on Star Wars but two prequels in and Bucky could feel himself lose his sanity. Anyone could present him with a random assortment of alphabets, call it a Star Wars species and he would have no reason not to believe them.

It’s not like he doesn’t like space. It’s just that he’s had enough of it and everything and everyone who came from it for the foreseeable future.

“No. Someone else is taking care of it.”

“Didn’t you volunteer for this?”

“I pulled myself out of the case.”

“I thought you were having fun.” 

Bucky’s head slowly turns to look at him. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Looked like you were.”

Well, he wasn’t. He likes it here at home, glued to the TV. Popcorn beside him, sweatpants on. Refreshing, calming, slow, mundane, and Jesus Christ, so fucking boring-

His spiralling is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator to the common floor. No one was allowed up there unless it was extremely urgent. Guests were barely allowed into the Tower as it was. 

It reveals the receptionist from downstairs, Marie. She’s always a little reserved, a little shy. But Bucky had seen her chew and spit out trespassers or anyone who dared to get on her nerve. He adores her.

“Hey, Marie,” Steve says while Bucky sends her a friendly wave in greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a hostage situation downtown,” she informs them. 

“Okay...” Steve drawls, waiting for a reason why this was an Avengers level threat.

“They’ve asked for Mr. Barnes by name.” She makes a mention towards him.

Bucky sits up straight. Bits of popcorn fall off his chest. 

“What?”

“They said, and I quote-” she looks down at her notepad. “‘Tell that grumpy motherfucker that I’m waiting for him and that he’s not getting out of this so easily because we have come too far.’ End quote. They’ve also told me to include a kissing emoji. And a skull.”

Steve and he look at each other.

“Well?” Steve prods. 

Bucky sighs and gets up to go get ready.

The entrance of Chuck E. Cheese is more crowded than he’d ever seen. He wasn’t even sure he’d seen people in the store before. If there were, they probably only came up till his waist. 

There are a few journalists, a few policemen standing together outside. Whispers of confusion and curiosity reigned free. 

Bucky gently pushes his way to the front. He gets a nod from a police officer who opens the door for him after a quick briefing. 

The place is darker than it usually would be. A trademark, it seemed. The blinds are drawn shut and most of the light is coming through whatever sneaks in through the crack. 

“Hey, Barnes.” Your voice is muffled by a mask that looks suspiciously like it was made out of classroom craft supplies.

There’s a person in a loose chokehold in your hand with a gun pressed against his head. Once again it looks straight out of a cartoon, purple with round disks lining its barrel. 

“What’s all this now?” He gestures around monotonously. 

“A hostage situation. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Got that part down, genius,” he bites back. “But why?”

“Fucker kept harassing me when I was walkin’ down the street.” 

The guy’s helpless gaze met Bucky. 

“Catcalling me, stalking me.” You tighten the grip you have on him. “Call me darlin’ one more time, you son of a bitch. I dare you.”

He wasn’t impressed with his pleading eyes. He kinda felt like he deserved it. 

“Why’d you do it here?” The bright colours were starting to give him a heading. “And where are the staff?”

“It’s symbolic, Bucky,” you emphasise, “He deserves to be among other rat bastards.”

Of course.

“The staff?” he asks again. 

“Gave them thirty bucks and told them to leave. I’m not a monster.”

“Right.” He doesn’t bother refuting you. “Why’d you call me here?”

“Dunno.” You shrug. “Thought it’d be fun. You having fun yet?”

You shake the guy you’re holding. He gives a small whimper. 

Bucky doesn’t want to stop you. He had chugged enough Respect Juice in his lifetime to know that this guy probably deserved a threat or two.

Hell, he’d even help but you were more than capable of handling this on your own.

“Listen,” he sighed. “As much as I’m sure he deserves it, this is technically illegal and I’m required to stop you.”

“Sorry sarge, I thought you weren’t interested in playing this stupid game with me,” you mock, voice dropping to imitate him.

“I’m not.” It wasn’t entirely true. One Saturday with Jar Jar Binks had convinced him otherwise.

“Okay, so before you leave, do me a favour and call Hawkeye. I hear he looks mighty fine when he’s annoyed.”

His face involuntarily scrunched up. You were going to replace him with Clint? Clint?

He probably took it more as an insult than he should have.

“I’m not doing that.” Bless his foul mouthed friend, but he was a little shit who was too sarcastic for his own good. At least twice a week he’d say something stupid to Bucky and then take out his hearing aids when he tried to argue back. 

“You’re leavin’ me with no options here,” you groaned, using your thumb to flip a switch. The gun looks like it powered up, lights along the side turning red.

If he let you have this, it’d be a bad look for the Avengers.

New York man dies in Chuck E. Cheese lone hostage situation, unable to be saved by same superhero who tried to fight Thanos with a machine gun.

“Tell ya what,” he says instead, “If you kill him, there won’t even be a slight chance that you’ll see me again.”

Your grip on the gun falters.

“If I let him go...”

“I might consider coming back next week.” He’s trying to spin it, make it look like he’s the one with the upper hand here. “But you gotta let him go.”

You search his face for any signs of dishonesty.

“Let him go or you’ll never see me again.” It sounds too much like Clint’s arguments with his dog who brought a live squirrel into the house. 

“Fine,” you relent, a glint in your eye. “but say goodbye to this fuckface.”

Before Bucky can open his mouth to shout in protest, you pull the trigger. The man clenches his eyes shut, face red.

He expects blood to be splatter across his face.

Nothing happens.

A barrage of bubbles floats into the room.

“I meant it literally,” you say, pushing him off you. “Say goodbye. He’s leaving.”

The man stumbles to the ground and Bucky doesn’t make any attempt to catch him. He scrambles to his knees, picking himself up and scurrying out the door to a hoard of reporters.

The door shuts behind him with the chime of a bell.

“You’re annoying,” Bucky states, giving a small sigh.

“I’m well aware of that.” You pull off the mask, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Where is the agent assigned to your case?” 

“Dunno. Last I saw he was crying on the driveway of my lair. I just figured he’d pick himself up later so I left him there.”

Bucky’s nose twitches. 

“You weren’t actually going to kill him, were you.” He shrugs with his shoulder towards the door. It wasn’t a question, more a statement. He knew you wouldn’t. 

“I could have.”

“But you weren’t going to,” he repeats. 

“No,” you admit. “I wasn’t. But I’m glad to see you showed up.”

“You held someone hostage as leverage.”

“No, no. I held someone hostage and then asked to see you. They were completely unrelated.”

“You’re evil.”

“You jumped to conclusions,” you point out. “Would you like a trampoline next time? Maybe a pogo stick, you clown?”

He has a very real gun in his holster. His very real metal death arm aches to use it. 

“No one else agreed to come,” he deflects. 

“We both know that’s a lie. You were going to come back anyway.” You stuff the bubble gun back into the bag. “I’m deliciously irresistible.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.” You give him a smirk and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you win this round, sarge.”

He doesn’t say anything. He watches you remove your heist gear, revealing normal civilian clothes underneath.

You walk casually to the kitchen, intending to leave through the back door.

“But I can’t say I lost either.” You send him a wink before swiftly pushing open the door and leaving him behind.

He only watches you leave.

It doesn’t hit him until a few seconds later that he let a criminal out of his hands when there were several policemen and journalists outside.

He entertains the idea of chasing you down and handing you over. 

It takes him only a few seconds to decide that if they wanted you, they’d have to try themselves.

Next part 

[ashesandhalefire]

progress report: i am missing you to death

alex, michael, and a lot of unsaid things.

-

inspired by an entirely out of context teaser shot of alex and a desperate need for interaction that has yet to be satisfied by season 3 canon.

-

Deep Sky provides the coordinates and the time, so Alex shows up and waits.

While he stands in the cool night air, he scans the flat terrain that stretches out to one side and the gully where the highway sits. Other than the whizzing traffic, oblivious to his insignificance, everything is quiet.

After about twenty minutes of the vibrating stillness, Michael slinks out of the shadows with his hat tucked low over his face and leans against the back of the car beside Alex’s SUV.

Blood rushing in his ears, Alex does a second quick sweep of the lot’s perimeter. Nothing obvious has changed in the shadows since he crept through the bushes to check potential sight lines, but Alex isn’t stupid. He was in over his head when Project Shepherd turned out to be just his father’s backroom hobby. Deep Sky outclasses his expertise in a way he isn’t ready to reckon with. They could be anywhere—somewhere in the lot, somewhere down the road, somewhere miles away—and Michael has sauntered directly into their crosshairs.

He left about five feet between them when he stopped to hook one ankle over the other and stare out at the traffic, and the distance is enough for deniability. Alex tightens his hands into anxious fists and forces a long, deep breath through his nose.

“Hey,” Michael says with a casual nod of his head. They stand listening to the roar of tires chewing their ways along the desert highway, and Alex waits for a sign. He checks Michael’s chest for the red point of a laser sight just in case. Nothing happens. They stand a little longer, and then Michael leans over and asks, “You got a light?”

“No. You got a cigarette?”

The corner of Michael’s mouth twitches. It stirs up a fondness that Alex has carefully and surgically distanced himself from for the last few months, and he glances around the parking lot again. Being in love with Michael is too easy. He falls into it without needing to think about it or to try, and the laziness of trusting things to fate is probably why they’ve never gotten it right. He should probably consider himself lucky. Sinking back into those feelings now, fruitlessly, after so much time has passed, will make him sloppy in a way he can’t afford.

“You shouldn’t be here. They could see you.”

Michael tucks his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugs, easy and unbothered. Or, almost unbothered. The muscles in his jaw are tight and tense. “You don’t even know what they do or if they’re looking for me. I haven’t exactly been hiding for the last year.”

“That doesn’t mean you should paint a bullseye on your chest.”

“But you should?”

Michael spits barbs like an old man working his way through seeded melon, careless and precise in equal measure. He always finds soft flesh.

“This isn’t a game,” Alex grits out, face growing hot with frustration. He watches a tractor trailer speed by on the road below and shoot a piece of trash out from beneath its tires.

“So tell me what it is, then,” Michael says, mouth turning down and voice suddenly going sharp as a knife’s edge, “because I didn’t really wait around to hear the rest of the story after Valenti said you were joining a cult.”

Alex looks over, and Michael’s brow is pinched to match the irritated wrinkle of his nose. Anger and tension leak off him like heat shimmers off the pavement at midday. He holds his casual posture, ankles crossed and hands tucked, but his eyes are furious.

“It’s complicated.”

Michael scoffs. “You know what, I shouldn’t bother. I should just drag your ass home, no questions.”

And now Alex’s temper flares: “Try it.”

“You think I wouldn’t? To save you?” He laughs meanly. “I’d have you over my shoulder so fucking fast—”

“I don’t need to be saved.”

“Obviously, you do.” Michael pushes off the car. The brim of his hat catches the light from the lamppost and casts half his face in shadows. “We have enough problems on our hands right now. We don’t need to poke the bear.”

“This bear poked first,” Alex says, equally furious. He checks behind Michael before hissing through his teeth, “They kidnapped Mimi. They drugged Jenna Cameron. Turnabout is fair play.”

“This isn’t turnabout! This isn’t even revenge. You’re joining their club. You are flinging yourself into a pit, Alex. A big, dark, deep pit, and when you get far enough in, none of us are going to be able to get you out. We’re gonna lose you. For good. And for no fucking reason.”

“Not for no reason,” Alex says. A tingle of shame trickles up the back of his neck. He knows he’s unprepared, going in without an exit strategy. But he can’t sit on his hands and do nothing. It makes him nervous and paranoid to be idle. “They know things.”

“Who gives a shit? Who gives one fucking iota of a shit about what they know?”

Alex frowns. “You have always wanted to know more—”

“Not like this! Not at the risk of—” Michael puts a fist to his forehead. Then he pulls off his hat and takes another step closer. His voice is softer when he speaks. “Why are you so hellbent on doing this, huh? This isn’t just your dad anymore. This is bigger than that.”

“I know.”

“They are gonna swallow you whole, and what’s the point if you’re just gone?”

Alex draws another long inhale through his nose. The weight of the thick, ugly ring on his finger feels like an anchor dragging him down. The memories of Caulfield crumbling to pieces in a cloud of fire are heavier. “If there’s even a chance that they know something, what choice do I have? I’m not getting caught off guard again. I owe you that much.”

“Bullshit,” Michael says with a jerk of his chin. “Doing it is one thing, but don’t pretend you’re doing it for me.” A pair of low-riding sports cars scream down the highway behind him, bobbing and weaving through the minimal traffic with their engines blaring. One falters behind a gas tanker and then chases its companion off towards the horizon with an roar. “If you had any interest in doing something for me, you would stay.”

Cold uncertainty creeps into Alex’s chest, and no number of layers can keep it out. He wants to ask: would I be welcome? Because he hasn’t felt like he would be in a long time. He had showed up, again and again. Sometimes, he had been wanted, and sometimes, he hadn’t been. The haze of open mic night had cleared for an instant, and the future had been visible, tangible, workable, and then, just as quickly, had vanished into the air. He had been left with Isobel’s obvious, humiliating pity, her mouth turned down as she stood to listen through the last note. That door had been closed. And yet, he wants to ask: would I be welcome? Dignity be damned.

“Are— are you asking me to stay?”

There must be something in his voice when he says it, no matter how hard he tries to control the pathetic wavering and the sunken surprise on his face, that means something to Michael. His whole body eases forward as if carried by an invisible current before he catches himself and says, “I’m done asking people for more than they’re willing to give me.”

“But you would ask? If you thought—?” Alex pushes. “You would want to ask?”

The corners of Michael’s mouth turn down and his gaze narrows almost imperceptibly, but Alex is watching for it. The more Michael closes off, the more Alex feels himself splitting open. Something bright and electric stirs in his chest.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t,” he says, waiting for the moment when Michael’s eyes widen, just slightly, just enough to understand. It comes, exactly as expected, and Michael sways closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d ask. I’m not about to beg, but I’d ask.”

He’s gotten Michael to beg before, but never for something as serious as love. On his back or on his knees or in the bed of his truck, Alex has heard him plead and bargain for things he wants in the neediest, most desperate whispers, but that had been all carnal, base pleasure, and he had known Alex wouldn’t tell him no. Here, he’s talking about a different type of submission, the kind that humiliates someone like Michael, someone who has never been given enough. Michael won’t beg, and Alex needs to be asked, and a lot of time has been wasted between them thinking that one is the same as the other.

He can’t say he’ll stay. He’s too far in to back out. And, even if he could do it, staying doesn’t mean riding off into the sunset. It means more of the same: the secrets, the conspiracies, the mysteries, the agonies, the scraping open of old wounds in last-ditch efforts to heal them. But it also means Michael, so everything else is white noise.

Michael sees it all play out on his face. He sets his hat on the roof of Alex’s car and then turns to lean against the hatchback. He sighs, and Alex can tell that more weight than usual is resting on his shoulders. It’s not just Max dragging him under. His whole body sags with it, and the sharp focus that’s been in his eyes begins to recede as he drifts away towards the call of whatever nightmare is lurking at the back of his mind.

“It’ll be okay,” Alex says because he lacks for anything else to say, and Michael  stares at his boots with a sad smile. His throat bobs as he swallows down whatever it is that’s too hard to talk about with so little time left to say it, and then he turns to look at Alex.

“Your dad was a piece of shit,” he says, like this is some sort of revelation, “and you’re you.”

The words, said like an accusation, should probably turn his stomach, but they’re also said with a reverence that pushes Alex’s heart up into his throat. Whatever is happening has rocked Michael to his core far beyond how Alex knows to help.

“Less of a piece of shit, I hope.”

Michael stares at him, flexing his hand, and then says, with a nod, “Significantly, yeah.”

“I guess that’s the best I can hope for.” Alex laughs, and then he tips his head back to look at the starless sky. “I’ll take being afraid of being like him over being proud of being like him any day. At least it means I’m going in the right direction.”

Jesse haunts Alex differently than he haunts Michael. To Michael, Jesse is another human face that did something terrible to him, just more proof that looking for another planet to run to is a good idea. Jesse is a more specific phantom for Alex, much harder to let blur into the background of the general awfulness of life. There are reminders of his father all around town: placards, photographs, the sign for the street they lived on, a six-foot statue in town square. Those can be faced much more easily than the hints of his father that Alex finds in the mirror: the deep-set wrinkles in his brows, the cut of his mouth when he frowns, the tone of his voice when he yells, the shape of his thumb. To be a little less like him every day is an exhausting but necessary struggle.

Michael smiles, and Alex, mystified, thinks maybe he managed to help after all.

“Your plan wasn’t really to drag me home over your shoulder, was it?” he asks to distract from how Michael carefully swipes a finger at the corner of one eye.

Michael huffs, and the car jostles. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just wasn’t about to let you go without—” He licks his lips and says, “I wasn’t about to let you just go.”

Alex scuffs his shoe against the loose gravel. “Couldn’t get Kyle’s hubcaps off this time?”

Guilt settles over him after he says it. Guilt and something else, something like the relief of setting down a heavy burden that’s been carried too long.

“I thought you were making a mistake back then, too.” Michael takes the comment in stride, accepts it, and reaches out to touch the ring on Alex’s hand. He pinches it carefully, Alex’s fingers curled into the heat of his palm, and rolls his thumb until the ring twists to expose the thinner underside of the band. He strokes, skin then metal then skin, over and over. “Flinging yourself into some dark pit that you’d never come out of again.”

Alex wants to tell him that this is different. He can’t.

“Do me a favor, okay?”

Hand slipping up over Alex’s wrist and into the soft corner of his elbow, Michael crosses the final inches of space between them and pulls Alex close. In the dim light of the parking lot, they might be mistaken for the sort of strangers who meet in shadowy corners for quick exchanges of misery with rough words and rougher touch. But then Michael, trembling, touches the lapel of Alex’s jacket and presses a long kiss to his cheek.

He keeps his mouth there, breath hot and soft, and, before he gathers himself enough to continue, Alex says, “I’ll come back.”

Michael laughs, but it sounds like a gasp for air. “Not even gonna let me ask?”

Alex hums. “I’ll come back.”

“Yeah, you’ll come back,” Michael warns, “or I’ll come get you. And it won’t be fucking subtle.”

It sends a shiver down his spine to think of Michael storming a place as infinitely large as Deep Sky feels. If it comes to that, he’d be better off left behind. But as the thought comes, Michael’s grip shifts and the tentative press of their sides becomes a full-bodied hug that envelopes him like a warm breeze. His nose turns into the side of Michael’s neck: rain, crisp and fresh; gasoline, but faint; smoke, from his fire pit.

“I’m not really going anywhere. It’ll be fine.”

Michael squeezes, and Alex squeezes back. Everything else he wants to say is too big for this moment. And, selfishly, he wants to know that Michael will wait to hear it. He scolds himself for the thought, because they’ve each done their share of waiting miserably at the wayside, but then he lets it stand. Michael squeezes again, fingertips digging into separate points as he clings.

Alex cups a hand to the back of his head and touches his curls. He thinks about what it would mean to kiss Michael now, to kiss someone that he loves, who loves him, and imagines a tower of precariously stacked dominoes. Michael laughs wetly, and Alex lets go first, fingers lingering reluctantly.

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 2)

read Chapter 1 here

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k (exactly the same as last chapter, i’m proud of myself lol)

warnings: just fluff and ~pining~ for now

thanks again to @evnscvll for making this moodboard-- and this series is for her 3k celebration challenge so def check out her writing!

You should’ve known that you wouldn’t be able to force yourself to write, but after a quick shower to wash off the day’s journey, you decided there was nothing better to do but sit at the desk and hope for inspiration.

Your husband had never been very supportive of your writing, which is why you had struggled to complete your latest novel.  He, like your publisher and many of your readers, wanted a sequel to your last book, in spite of the fact that you were adamant it was impossible.  It was a complete story, even if the ending was ambiguous.  There was no room for growth in the characters or the world of the story; just because readers wanted more didn’t mean that they would actually enjoy a forced product.

The publisher and your husband, however, shared a very strong opinion: the fans won’t care if it’s forced, and neither should you as long as it sells.  But, they weren’t writers.  You were.  And you knew there were different stories you needed to tell… if only you could find the words for them.

You were a few pages in when you heard the stairs creaking outside your closed door.  There was a quick knock at the door; you answered with an offer to come in.  

“I was just wondering if you wanted some coffee,” Mrs. Alberti explained as she crossed the room, standing beside you at the desk.  You nodded with a quick thank you as she set the cup and saucer down onto the wood.  “Oh heavens, he’s working on the house again,” she suddenly groaned, motioning out the window.  

You leaned over and nearly spit out your coffee when you saw Sebastian outside.  He was only wearing some much-too-tight jeans, driving a hammer down onto wood as the sun cast orange light over his body.  He was glistening with sweat, which was probably pretty uncomfortable for him but he looked damn good anyways.  

“Is he always… like that?” you shuddered.  

“Maybe I didn’t just hire him because he was cheap,” she shrugged, handing you a cloth.  “Go soak this in cold water and bring it to him, he looks overheated.”

You should’ve questioned why she was giving you chores, but you just took the rag and did as she asked.  He didn’t notice you walking out to him at first, but stopped when he did see you, waving quickly and setting down his hammer.

“For the heat,” you explained as you handed it to him.

“Ah, mulțumesc,” he nodded, accepting the rag with a smile.  

As he wiped the sweat from his face, you found your gaze trailing over his arms, down his chest and abdomen.  Jesus, how could this guy eat Mrs. Alberti’s cooking every day and still have washboard abs?  When you looked back up to his face, he was looking right at you with a grin-- oh shit, had he caught you ogling?  But then again, maybe he wanted you to ogle.  Why else would he be doing housework so… shirtlessly?

“Wh-what are you working on?” you asked him to break the silence.  He gave you a puzzled look.  “Er, the wood,” you motioned to the work he was doing, “why?”

His face softened with understanding.  “Construiesc un cadru nou pentru fereastră,” he explained, motioning vaguely to the house, “��n partea de est a casei.”

“Right…” you nodded, realizing that you had no idea what he’d said.  Clearly you hadn’t thought this through.

“Aici, permiteți-mi să vă arăt,” he said, grabbing a board and walking past you, motioning for you to follow him as he slung the rag over his shoulder.  You figured you looked like a lost puppy trailing behind him like this.

He stopped when you reached the wall of the house, and grabbed part of the window frame; it creaked and moved as he wiggled it, clearly on the verge of falling off.  Then, he held up the new board he had been hammering and you realized that it was going to replace the rotting portions of the frame.

“A intelege?” he smiled.

“Da!” you answered, and he laughed.

“Cred că asta contează ca român,” he shrugged.

“It’s good you’re fixing the window.  I’m sure Mrs. Alberti appreciates everything you do.”

“Bătrâna îmi plătește rahat, dar sfârșesc trăind aici gratis.”

“Well, I should let you get back to it,” you decided as you stepped back with an uncomfortable smile.

“Nu te voi mai ține, sunt sigur că ești ocupat,” he said, and though you had no real way to interpret it, his tone didn’t seem to indicate that he was trying to stop you from going.

With a little wave and a heavy sense of god why am I such a dork?, you left him and returned indoors.

First nights in new places were always sort of surreal, but this was definitely less weird than the sleeper car of the train.  You’d felt like a proper stowaway then, but you had a stronger feeling of belonging here… even if you didn’t quite feel like you had any place to call home at the moment.

As you laid in bed and looked at the room turned on its side, you found yourself missing your room.  Your real room.  It had been designed and decorated somewhat meticulously, but most of all you missed the things about it that you hadn’t put that kind of thought into: the random earrings on your bedside table, discarded casually before you went to sleep; the layers of blazers and skirts draped over the chair in the corner; the still-slightly-visible coffee stain on the corner of the rug, even though you’d spent hours trying to get it out.

Meanwhile, this room was so obviously not a space that people lived in, but just a space people passed through.  Though nowhere near as sterile as a traditional hotel room, it had the same emptiness even with its personality-- specifically, a reflection of someone else’s personality rather than your own.

All that said, sleeping was pretty easy once you got yourself comfortable in the fluffy mattress, even if you were aware all through the night that you were not at home.  So aware, even, that you weren’t surprised at all when you woke up in the new space for the first time.  What you were surprised by was the sounds of heavy rain against your window, immediately dashing your plans for a morning jog.  As much as it seemed apropos to type by the window instead and soak in the moody weather, you decided to head downstairs for a cup of coffee first.  Already having forgotten where you had left off, you grabbed the pages you'd already written to reread with your breakfast as you slipped on some comfortable clothes and made your way down the creaky steps

Passing through the living area, it was impossible not to notice Sebastian sitting in one of the chairs, staring intently at a half-played chessboard.  Stopping for a moment to try to determine what he was doing, he moved a piece and you realized he must be playing with himself.

Against himself, you interrupted your own thought, he's playing against himself… important distinction.

“You play chess?” you asked, pointing to the board.

“Şah,” he replied.  

You pointed to the chair across from him.  “Can I join you?” 

“Luaţi loc,” he offered as he gestured to it as well, nodding in approval.  You smiled and sat down as he reorganized the pieces back to the starting position.

“Negru?” he asked, pointing to the black pieces-- “Sau alb?”-- he pointed to the white.

“Um, black,” you decided, pointing to them since they were already on your side anyways.

“Tu primul,” he prompted you, and you moved your pawn.  He moved his, and after that, it was long stretches of silence between moves.  It didn’t feel awkward anymore, though; even between two people who share a language, chess is usually a silent affair.

“Check,” you announced as your bishop came into range of his king.  He looked up from the board and gave you a puzzled look.  “The bishop, see?” you demonstrated, tracing a line through the air over the diagonal squares which led from your piece to his.

“Ahh,” he nodded, stroking his chin as he considered his next move.  It called additional attention to the shadow of stubble which dusted over his jaw.  

He maneuvred a rook in the path of your bishop, and you settled back into your chair and you pondered your options.

The next hour went by oddly quickly.  Not in a rushed way, just in a way that made you wonder how it had already been an hour.  

“Şah,” he informed you as his knight threatened your king.  You weren’t sure if it was supposed to mean ‘check’ or ‘checkmate,’ but since you were able to capture his knight with a pawn, it was definitely just a check.

Instead of mourning his knight, he grinned and moved a rook forward, capturing the aforementioned pawn and trapping your king for good.  You gasped a little as you realized you’d fallen right into his trap.

“Şah-Mat,” he declared triumphantly.  That definitely meant ‘checkmate’; you could tell by the smug look on his face as he crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair.

“You got me, man, that was sneaky,” you smiled.  Offering your hand for a shake, you looked up at him: “Good game.”

He grabbed your hand and shook it, squeezing just tight enough that you wondered if you were the only one noticing a certain energy to the air.  “Bun joc,” he replied with a nod and a smile.

He let go of your hand after lingering just a little too long, his fingers brushing over yours for an electric moment.

Now the silence was awkward again, as the two of you sat in the high-backed chairs, staring across the table at each other.

“So, you really don’t speak any English at all, huh?” you considered aloud.  He looked back at you vacantly.  “English?  Even one word?” you lifted one finger as a symbol.

“Halloo,” he replied-- apparently a broken attempt at ‘hello.’  You laughed a little.

“Yes, that counts!  Did you learn any English in school?”

“Televiziune,” he replied.  

“Ah yes,” you nodded, “I know what that is.  Television; I’m a big fan myself.”

“Puteți vorbi un singur cuvânt de limba română?” he asked you, raising one finger as well.  Turnabout is fair play, after all.

“You mean other than ‘da’?  Or ‘salut’?” you asked with a laugh.

“Pentru a fi corect, acestea sunt cuvinte,” he shrugged.

“Teach me,” you requested.  “Just one word.”  

You looked around the room, settling on a lamp.  “What is this?  In Romanian-- română?” 

“Lampă,” he replied.

“Okay, well, that one isn’t very exciting,” you frowned.  “Um, what about this?” you bent down from your chair, picking up one corner of the rug.

“Covor,” he answered, leaning down with you to run his hand over the soft shag.

“Covor,” you repeated, surely butchering it.

“Da,” he smiled.  Okay, maybe you didn’t butcher it so bad, or maybe he was just being nice.  

“Can you teach me more?” you asked, hoping it wasn’t too demanding.

“Uhhh,” he stalled, looking around the room.  Finally, he pointed to the fireplace.  “Vatră.”

“Vatră, fireplace,” you tried to memorize it as he said it.

You pointed to the window.  “What’s the window called?”

“Fereastră.”

You pointed to the stairway.  “Scară,” he informed you, smiling a little.  You hoped this wasn’t boring for him, because you were actually having a bit of fun.

You pointed to his feet.  He furrowed his brow a little and lifted one, grabbing his shoe.  You nodded; “Pantof,” he explained.

You grabbed your blouse and shook it a little, appreciating the puffs of cool air that rolled down your chest;  “Bluză.”

You pointed to him; “Sebastian.”

You already knew that, but it was interesting to hear the way he said it versus Mrs. Alberti’s pronunciation.  “Yes, that’s an English name too,” you told him, “but pronounced differently…”

You wondered if your name had another pronunciation or translation, so you pointed to yourself; “Frumoasă,” he said, a little slower, a little more thoughtfully.

“Is that the Romanian equivalent to my name-- or does it mean ‘woman’?” you asked.  He just smiled vacantly.  

“This,” you pointed to the book, “what is this called?”

“Carte,” he answered.  “Engleză?”

“Book,” you replied.

“...book…” he said slowly, contemplatively.

Suddenly inspired, you grabbed the loose pages of manuscript that you’d laid on the small table beside you.  “Book,” you repeated, flipping through the pages.  He seemed confused.  “My book,” you clarified, pointing back and forth from yourself the papers.  “I’m writing this-- that’s why I’m here.”

“Ah!” his face lit up with recognition.  “Ar trebui să scrii o carte!”

“Yeah,” you nodded.  “I’m a writer; or, I’m trying to be.  My last book did… better than my first, at least.”  

“Ce fel de carte este?” he asked.  You looked at him with confusion to indicate you weren’t sure what he was asking.  “Uhh, book… este--” he made a sad face, rubbing under his eyes like a cartoon character’s weeping-- “sau--” he fake-laughed.

You laughed, actually, at his charades.  “It’s a thriller, it’s crime--” you thought for a moment, then made the motion of stabbing someone with a knife. 

His eyes got wider.  “Este… erotic?” 

You choked a little, realizing that your hand movement was… more ambiguous than you originally intended.  “No!” you blurted out suddenly.  “No, it’s… crime, mystery--” 

You looked around and saw a magnifying glass resting on the side table by your chair; grabbing it, you held it to your face and gave your best quizzical look.

“Oh!  Crimă!” he grinned.  “Detectiv?”

“Yes, yes, there’s a detective,” you sighed satisfactorily, “and absolutely no handjobs.”

~

shamelessly tagging the people who liked chapter 1!  @mariahthelioness29 @navybrat817 @navegandoaciegas @mandalorianspace @2smittinkittin @maizyistrash @honeygingergemini​ 

[sloppy-butcher]

I will sacrifice my first born for a part 2 of dare you with joey

well anon, hand it over. give me the baby

edit// this thing is long like godDAMN i need to relax. hope yall enjoy it :)

Part 1: Dare You - Joey x Reader crackfic

Double-Dare You

The Legion (Joey) x Survivor!Reader

The pallet dropped against the concrete wall with a loud whack followed by a disgruntled shout. Joey reeled backward, his head aching from the collision with the wooden object. At the moment of successful contact, you spun around to the killer and passed him the biggest shit-eating grin you could conjure. Joey catches your elation and decides to ignore the pain to instead focus on you. 

“Y’know, I’m still waiting for an answer,” Joey said, his tone casual as if this were a conversation taking place between equals in a normal situation. You rolled your eyes amazed by how stubborn and oblivious the man appeared to be - he would not drop the topic for anything, not even as he chased you with a hunter’s knife poised. “When are you going to take me on that date you promised?” This earned a chuckle from you, fully swinging round to face the masked man with your arms crossed over your chest.

“You’re joking, right?” He tilted his head feigning ignorance. Your smile stretches to an impossible brightness, how exactly this killer always made you feel so giddy and playful was beyond your simple understanding. Perhaps it was because you had never experienced a killer who was so talkative and lively, this being such a unique situation that against your better judgment you decided to humor it and actively encouraged his behavior. It was fun. “And where,” You shake your hands in the air, “would I take you on this hypothetical date?” Joey hummed, standing straight with his knife tapping under his chin in a contemplative manner.

“That should be for you to decide really. Though we could always go check out some cool places. These realms,” he gestures to the weepy forest around you both, “are ten times cooler when they are empty.” You raise a curious eyebrow, demanding an explanation without uttering a word. He sighs and lifts his foot to kick the pallet. “I mean, that cowboy saloon place is pretty awesome on its own. All old-western and shit. But it would be even cooler if it was just us two.” At the sound of the wood splintering, your instinctive reaction was to flee to another pallet leaving the man's comment to fall of deaf ears. Joey followed but stayed far enough behind to not have his skull caved in with another hit. You bring the new pallet down between you two and once again spin around to the killer.

“Tell me again why exactly I have to take you on a date? I don’t remember doing anything wrong.” You spit at him, venom dripping from every syllable of your inherently rhetorical question. Joey smirked under his mask - oh you were a feisty one alright. Cocky and proud even when kneeling at the feet of a predator. Rather than kicking the pallet, Joey let it sit between you two, making it an honorary truce-table. You would not run if he did not chase. And he only wanted to talk. 

“Because you harassed me. Remember?” You shake your head in a mischievous ‘no’ earning another grin from the enthralled boy. God, you were good. Doing absolutely nothing at all but dragging him in all the same. “You smacked my ass,” Joey deadpans, “And you never made up for it.” 

You smile at the reminder of your triumph from a few trials previous. Though you were scared pant-less at the time, looking back now only filled you with the taste of sweet victory. You would not let anyone convince you to do anything like that again, not even Meg with all her stupid, little games even if it did somehow end up with the outcome of befriending a killer. 

“I don’t see why I have to pay anything for that little smack,” You toss your head and throw him a coy eye. You practically see the man shake from restrained laughter and knew that you had him wrapped around your little finger. You could easily manipulate him just as he could easily kill you. You shudder at the glimmer of the knife in his hand but decide to focus on the conversation rather than his purpose being there. “It was a harmless little thing.” You pull your hand up to your mouth to nonchalantly hide your growing grin.

“It was twice.” Joey retorts matter-of-factly. He watches as you release your tense posture, throwing a hand on your hip and rolling your eyes. 

“Oh please, that is nothing really. Besides,” Your gaze falls down to his knife again and you feverishly swallow your mounting fear. “You have done far worse things to me.” At your words and pointed implication, Joey’s confidence plummets to the ocean floor. Of course, you would never trust him willingly, not after all he has done. And though he knew full well that he could just take you if he truly wanted to, Joey denied his animalistic urge in favor of keeping the peace. He wanted to keep your fire - preserve that genuine playfulness that he oh so enjoyed lest he shatters it by forcibly caging you. 

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” Joey’s voice has lost all semblance of the peppy court-fool it was just moments before, catching you off-guard in its sudden change. He lowers his hand that holds his weapon, moving it behind his back so that it was out of your view.  His head drops, the ebony eyes peeking out from underneath his mask glistening with unmistakable remorse. “But, when I say that I don’t want to hurt you. Please know that I mean it.” You wanted to scoff, to call his bluff and his terrible acting skills but something about his tone made you hold back your comments. There was a pure genuineness in his voice that flickered a light of hesitation in your head. Maybe it was your nativity or that stupid part of your brain that always wanted to see the good in people, but you believed him. You believed that he did not want to hurt you. At least not now. 

“What about my friends?” You ask through your dawning affinity, guarding your words with the last ounces of your resistance to him. He was pulling you into him, dragging you down into those deep-as-night eyes. 

“I will let them all go. But only today. Next time I…” Joey turns his head away from you, embarrassed and partly ashamed that he could not even offer you a solid answer. “There are things you don't know. I can only spare you sometimes before It gets angry.” He sighs and his shoulders deflate, making him look pitiful and small. You frown and feel yourself unconsciously step towards him, reaching out to try to comfort the killer. “Please believe me.” 

“I do. I do believe you.” You spoke without thinking, stepping closer to the pallet, and to him. He instantly raises his head at your words and approach, surprised by your forwardness but nonetheless delighted. “For some reason, I do believe you. But I can’t…” You pause, shaking your head free from the intrusive thoughts daring to bubble over, “I can’t be alone with you. Not yet.” Joey understood that completely and a little too eagerly, nodded his head in agreement. 

It wasn’t much but it was a start. And he was beyond happy to be given this opportunity.

“For now, I suppose.” You cringe inwardly as the idea formed in your head and moved into words. “I suppose you can smack my butt if it will even the odds.” Joey nearly fell over at your suggestion. He bit back a laugh and had to spin around so that he could compose himself. You watch as he doubles-over, clutching his stomach while emitting sounds of stifled giggling. After a few minutes, he straightens and faces you again, his expression and tone stone-like. 

“Yes. I think that would suffice.” He narrows his eyes cunningly, “For now.” With your mouth agape in shock, you scoff and throw your arms up.

“Dude! I was joking! I didn’t think you’d actually agree to it?!” You feel your face begin to heat up. The man tilts his head ever-so-slightly and you could physically see his enjoyment growing at the expense of your humility. From the way he was standing so assured in his next decisions, you had the dawning realization that there was no way to talk him out of it now. Sucking back your pride you bite your lip and glare daggers at the man.

“Fine. Just,” You twist your body around, presenting your ass to him. How embarrassing. How humiliating! Every inch of you burned from excruciating pain, birthed from the pure absurdity of the situation as it finally rested upon your shoulders. “Just make it quick!” You practically shout over your shoulder, your face now a burning furnace you were sure was bright enough to light up the night. Joey was overwhelmed by your willingness to oblige and for a second, contemplated if this was even real. Just minutes before he was chasing you, begging you to so much as to stop and talk to him, give him just one single chance to try to reach out. And now, in the most brilliant and wonderful course of events, you had offered yourself to him! His fingers itched, his heart pumped louder than gunshots. 

“Close your eyes.” Joey reactively says without planning or action. He only realizes his command when he notices your confused expression. “Please, trust me.” Your face flickers, shifting between utter bewilderment and denial. Then something clicks and you agree, closing your eyes and squeezing them shut. Joey goes to break the pallet, its job as instigator between debating parties no longer necessary. You flinch at the sound and fight the inherent urge to run from it and the monster behind the noise. Suddenly you feel him closer, the brushing of fabric against your bare arm lets you know that he was standing right beside you.

Ordinarily, killers breathed obnoxiously, panting loud and hard like hungry wild boars with their teeth bared and frothing saliva dripping from their bleeding lips. But as the man neared you, coming closer than you had previously ever allowed him to, he was quiet and gentle as a bee. Buzzing around slow and tentative, asking for you, a sweet flower, to open up and let him rest. He held back that part of him that had scarred you so many times before, confining the violent boar in favor of being human - if only for a moment.

Joey’s heart threatened to pump straight out of his chest, the hammering so boisterous in his ears that all he heard was thumping and all he saw was you. Your lip twitches, your eyes furrowed shut tense as his shadow covers your face. He slowly lifts up the bottom of his fabric mask, careful about his movements so as not to alert you. You were so much like a rabbit, frightened and easily spooked - he could not risk losing you now that he was so close. So close - close enough to…

In the blind obliviousness, you grow impatient, wondering why he had not already taken his chance you return his ass smack tenfold. But as you went to open your mouth to curse his slowness, a pair of lips land ever-so precariously on yours. Light as the cool breeze of a winter’s morning, so soft that you doubted they were even there. It was only when you pushed up into them did you realize their fullness. The man was kissing you - if you could call this weak excuse of a peck a kiss. He was scared to force himself on you, scared to chase you away if he let loose his full eagerness to consume you, and in doing so barely even allowed himself to touch you. You appreciated his controlled reluctance and as your boldness grew, so did your pressure into the embrace. You deepen the kiss and you feel the man shudder.

After a few seconds, the man pulls away gasping, his hot breath cascading across your flushed cheek. You stand there a moment longer with your eyes closed, unsure of what to do after this peculiar sequence of events. You feel the man move his lips once more to your tender face and place one last kiss on the corner of your mouth. 

“The name’s Joey by the way.” He whispers into your skin, his voice a creamy, dark mess. The power you had over him, even in something as simple as a shy kiss, was immeasurable. Joey knew he couldn’t be around you for much longer lest he does something regrettable so begrudgingly he lowered his mask and stepped back. He looked you over one last time before sprinting off into the foggy abscess in that unnatural speed of his. You watch the whiteness consume his form and scream after him, 

“That was not part of the deal!” But Joey was long gone before the first word had even left your mouth. Suddenly you couldn’t wait for that date.

[ashtonangst]

Bet. / Ashton Irwin

Hello friends and welcome to ashtonangst’s first ever full on smut! This was something I typed up at midnight, during my prime thirst hours. Thanks to @kindahoping4forever​ for proofing it for me and hyping me up xoxo luv u 

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: R

Warnings: blink-and-you’ll-miss-it masturbation and daddy kink; dirty talk; oral (m+f receiving); teasing; unprotected sex in a committed relationship

Let me know what you think!

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

     The book sat heavy in your lap. Unopened, begging to be read. The fantasies within its pages were nothing compared to the ones you couldn’t stop thinking about.

     It was a dare. You were fed up with Ashton’s incessant need to be fucked (not that you protested often). It was as if his hands had a libido of their own. You’d dared him to go one week without touching you--or himself. General displays of affection were permissible, but absolutely nothing sexual. The winner of this dare would choose what the other did to them. When you gave him this challenge, you knew he would cave. He always does. Except this time it was different.

     After a year together you knew what made each other tick. You shared the same fantasies and carried these out often. This time, Ashton decided to use this knowledge to his advantage. He started walking around in nothing but his (and your) favorite pair of lounging shorts. He made a show of adjusting himself to let you know he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Then, in his practice sessions, he invited you to watch, knowing how much you loved to watch him make perfect rhythms from his head. He waited until you were up and focused on other things to go for his daily canyon jog. He made a show of stretching (his “warm ups”) in that tank top--the white one that he knew drove you mad--until you were practically drooling at the sight of his muscles flexing under the fabric. 

     One particular day, closer to when the tension was so thick you almost thought you could give in, he caught you ogling at the combination he’d chosen for his workout: the dreaded white tank and the tightest pair of black athletic shorts he owned, a combination that was sure to send warmth between your thighs. 

     “Like what you see, love?” he smirked, choosing his playlist for the workout. 

     “I always do, but don’t think you’re gonna win this one this time, baby,” you retort, trying not to stare as he made his way over to stand next to you while he prepared his water bottle. He chuckles softly, screwing the lid onto the container and flexing at the same time. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you trying to get me to cave. My willpower has always been stronger than yours, you know this.”

     “I know,” he breathes, coming to stand behind your chair at the kitchen island where you were enjoying your morning coffee. “But never underestimate a man’s desire to have his girlfriend writhing under him in complete and total ecstasy,” he places kisses up and down your neck in the process--just barely staying within the guidelines of the dare. “I can’t wait to have you screaming for my cock...begging me to fuck you raw because you were just too fucking greedy to win at your own game and you’re mad that I haven’t let you cum all night.” He leans up, walking towards the door and grabbing his belongings. You frustratedly sigh at his absence, the filthy words that came from his mouth only seconds before making you want just that--right then and there. 

     That’s how you ended up trying to read the latest novel on your list to distract yourself from the growing need you felt deep in the pits of your stomach. The further your eyes scanned the pages, the more the words ran together, eventually forming pages and pages of black lines. Between those lines was Ashton, his cock hitting in those just-right places, coaxing you to your fifth orgasm. Eventually you blink yourself out of this fantasy. 

     You were the one who suggested this little game, you weren’t about to lose at your own game. That was until you found your hand traveling farther and farther down your body, until it disappeared under the waistband of your panties, finding your clit with ease. As you slowly started to rub yourself, you’re drawn out of your own fantasies by the sound of Ashton’s keys jingling in the lock. You quickly compose yourself, and before he has the door open you’re waltzing into the kitchen to place your mug in the sink. You give him a coy smile, “hi, darling. Looks like your workout went well.”

     “It was very nice, thanks for asking. I kind of bit myself in the ass, though, from my stunt this morning. I couldn’t stop thinking about licking your pussy until you’re cumming all over my mouth.”

     You look up at him with wide eyes before a smirk forms on your lips. “Ashton Irwin, are you admitting defeat?” 

     His shoulders hang in mock surrender. “Only if it means that part of your punishment for losing the bet is that I get to taste that sweet pussy of yours.”

     You slowly approach him, giving him the same lust-filled eyes he’s giving you. “Think about how good I taste while you’re showering. Then I’ll think about letting you eat my pussy.” He hums with lust thick in his throat as he heads toward the shower. You smile to yourself, knowing you’re not going to give up so quickly.

     You’re nowhere to be found when he’s showered from his late-morning jog. You’re out grabbing the groceries he forgot to pick up, he thinks. He also wonders if he’ll have time to hide the evidence if he spurts his own load all over his clean shirt, his shorts, and the sheets. Just as you had been so rudely interrupted earlier, he, too, found himself scrambling to act casual as he heard the sliding door to the garden snap shut. He smiles at you as you make your way back into the shared bedroom. “I wasn’t admitting defeat, you know. Just letting you know what I’m going to do to you once I win our bet.” 

     You give him a curt smile. “Fine, let’s add three more days onto this bet.”

______

     The week passes with relatively little tension. Sure, it’s always there, but the two of you were too stubborn to admit defeat and give into your own desires that the bet was still on and going strong. That is, until you hear Ashton’s weak groans as he’s in the shower. You immediately know that he’s launching weak spurts of his cum onto the shower wall. He’s caved. You knew he always would. You pity him, really. 

     You were getting close to inserting your own two fingers into your warm and aching pussy at this thought when you decided to make his punishment an anti-punishment--reward him for holding off for a whole week with the promise of your sweet, sweet pussy on his tongue at the end of it. 

     As always, he’s only wearing a towel when he emerges from the steamy room. “Enjoy your shower this morning, baby?” You know the answer to this question, but he still stops dead in his tracks. “I at least hope you rinsed your cum off of the wall. That shit’s a bitch to clean once it’s dry.” 

     He turns slowly on one heel. “Do you think this is fun? Is this your sadistic way to prove to me that you’re the dominant one in this relationship? Daddy gets to touch himself any fucking time he wants to.” The switch had flipped. He tried to be submissive to the woman who makes his heart soar--to make her happy, to fulfill all of her desires--but he needed her too badly. He had to have his way, that’s just how it’s been the entirety of your sexual relationship. 

     You gulp, unsure of what to respond. You notice he’s begun to grow hard again, and finally admit that he’s too sure of himself to let you win this game. You both want it now, you’re both going to get it now. He turns to dig through his drawers, searching for an outfit for the day. “Let me help you, baby,” you speak, but it’s barely audible over his rummaging. You come off of the bed and pad closer to him until you’re standing behind him, kissing his back. “Come to the bed, please, baby.” He turns and looks at you, lust and exhaustion clouding his eyes. He bounds over to the mattress, deciding to stand instead of sit. “I know you're tired of my game. Truce?” 

     He nods quietly, and the silence is deafening. He’s not going to give you the satisfaction of winning, but he’ll take the loser's prize. Never breaking eye contact, you sink lower until you’re eye-level with his now fully hard cock. He watches in silent awe as you salivate when you finally drop the towel he’d loosely tied around his hips. His cock springs free, the tip red and needy despite his quick jerk in the shower only minutes before. You take it in your hand, its weight fits nicely in your hand, your favorite feeling. You look at him watching you as you lick a thick stripe up the underside of his cock, making it twitch on your tongue. You hum as you take him fully into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you take every inch of him. 

     He’s amazed. He loves that pretty mouth of yours, and fuck, does he love having his cock put in it. He gathers your hair into a loose ponytail, just enough for him to see the tears develop in the corners of your eyes. Your free hand fondles his balls, just the way he likes, causing his hips to snap, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. You pull off of it with a breath, a string of spit connecting your chin and his tip. With doe eyes you rasp, “fuck my face, you earned it.” He groans in delight, his cock twitching in your hand for the umpteenth time. He tightens his grip in your hair, causing your scalp to sting. 

     He puts the feelings of the past week into every thrust into your throat. He watches the tears fall from your cheeks, but the hum in the bottom of your throat tells him you’re enjoying this, too. His thrusts become sloppy, his moans growing louder. You feel his cock jerk on your tongue in the same instant that he’s pushing your head still on his cock. His load comes hot, thick, and with loud moans of praises and thanks. You stand, humming with pleasure as you wipe the last bit of his cum from your chin. He’s breathless, but the look on his face tells you he’s far from spent. 

     “Lay down. Strip. Spread,” he gruffs out. This is a new reaction that sends sparks through your body. You quickly oblige, excited for his repayment. As soon as he catches a glimpse of your glistening pussy, he’s holding down your hips in preparation for his assault. “So wet for me, baby. You haven’t touched yourself, not even once, this whole week? What a shame, such a pretty pussy,” he tuts, running a finger through your slick folds and taking your nipple between his teeth, sucking harshly. He lets go with a loud pop, but follows it with firm slaps to each sensitive breast, earning a whimper from your lips. “I bet you thought about this every day...having my cock so deep in you you can feel me in your stomach...crying out, begging me to let you sit on my face. Fuck me, baby, you’re gorgeous. So wet, so needy for me. Where’s that dominant spirit that was here last week? She saw Daddy’s hard cock and got greedy. Needed me to touch her and wouldn’t tell me. Pitiful.” You can only respond to his words with whimpers, a stark contrast from the filth that you spewed to get him riled up. 

     “Ash...please...I need it...need your tongue, your cock...please.” You’re writhing under him, just as he imagined. He only gives a smile before diving in between your thighs. He hums when your fingers pull immediately at his scalp as he begins to suck harshly on your clit. He alternates between this movement and licking wide strips up the length of your pussy. You’ve begun to squirm more than he likes, so he wraps both arms over your thighs to hold them in place. He darts his tongue into your hole before deciding quickly to assault your clit and leave the rest up to his expert fingers. He knows you always beg for more when he begins with one finger, so he thrusts three fingers into you from the get, curling them up to hit your g-spot with each thrust. He moves his fingers and tongue faster when he hears your whimpers of praise fall from your lips. He knows you’re close, you’re clenching on his fingers so hard that he can hardly move them. Fuck, he wishes that was his cock. He feels it tremble again, a painful reminder that his needs were far from met. Your quiet moans turn into screams as his quiet hums turn into vibrating groans against your throbbing clit.

      “Good girl...cum on my fingers for me...jus’ like that,” he coos as he feels your fingers dig into his scalp. He resumes his onslaught just in time for your first orgasm to hit. He licks your pussy clean, and by the time the stars have faded and the sounds of the room have floated back into your ears, he’s grabbing his long-forgotten towel to quickly wipe anything that his tongue couldn’t clean. 

     Without warning, his elbows are next to your ears as he pushes your thighs apart to settle between them. You can feel his needy cock brushing against your stomach. He swipes the head between your folds only once before bottoming out. You whine at the new sensation just as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, groaning at this new angle. 

     “Fuck, Ash...so fucking big...I’m so full,” is all you can repeat as his thrusts become heavier and longer. He pulls out almost completely just to slam himself back in several times, causing your head to spin. 

     “God, darlin’, you’re takin’ my cock so fucking well. Never gonna go without your pussy ever again. Never.” The fire returns in your belly as his thrusts are more sporadic and followed with loud groans and countless affirmations of praise. 

     “Ash, Ash...I’m close,” you breathily moan.

     “Me, too, baby. Want you cumming on my cock...so tight...made just for me.”

His words are what finally send you over the edge. The stars shine brighter this time, the ringing in your ears the loudest bell ever made. He follows not far behind, his cock releasing thick ropes of cum deep inside of you. As you both fall from your highs, he leaves soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, staying buried inside you for as long as he can stand it.

      You’re rubbing his scalp calmingly, breathing in his scent, a mix of citrus, musk, and Ashton. You break the comfortable silence with a chuckle and, “I don’t think I’ll be denying you anything for a very long time, Ashton.”

     He laughs at that, agreeing. “Same here. I love you too much to go without showing you my love. But if we decide to play this game again, let’s make the reward more clear, yeah? We both got our way this time, I don't think that’s how this was supposed to work.” He laughs quietly and rolls to your side, pulling you to him in an almost fluid motion. “That was fucking worth the wait, though.” He kisses your forehead before giving you a soft peck on the cheek. He lets out an “I love you,” thick with sleep. You hum in response. 

“I love you, too, especially when we both lose the same bet.” 

[mostlikelyshutup]

thoughts while watching the first harry potter:

listen i started this list a little late im ngl but notable thoughts so far are me thinking of dumbledore as a gay idiot and still loving hagrid

do you think hes speaking in parseltongue in the zoo when hes speaking to the snake

forgot boats existed

these idiots do scream a lot dont they

i forgot how light hearted this universe really is in the first couple movies

yer a wizard harry, okay hagrid maybe slide him into it a little better

we get it tuney you have fucking trauma, doesnt mean you should abuse a child

hasnt everyone had their name down since they were born, hagrid? theres a list

i like that his umbrella is pink

are you paying for those damages hargid? stop taking the door off the hinges

though, if the dursleys are, keep breaking shit

speaking about dragons on the the fucking tube, its a miracle harry didnt get in trouble with the ministry sooner

what is hagrid's usual? does anyone know???

fucking Quirrell, cant wait for your epic love story with the dark lord

maybe we should tell the 12 year old how the fuck everyone knows his name, just maybe

they do a great job of getting the wonder down pat

how much money and licensing do you think it took for them to get all these owls on set

ahh yes, antisemitism the bank

how many vaults are in gringotts?? also if harry's vault is the potters vault, a literal like sacred 28 family, one of the original families, and its number 600 something, how many were there before the potters?? did the potters get a vault recently? or is this james and lily's vault?? how rich were james and lily if so??

look at ollivander, crazy tinker uncle, love him

this might be the socialist in me but why do people have to pay for wands if everyone needs one??

why is the dark lords twin wand just sitting around on the shelf, ollie me boy??

do you think thats Harry's true wand or do you think thats because of the horcux thing?? do you harry had to get another wand after he died?? did he? i dont remember the last movie

is ollie me boys actor wearing contacts or are his eyes just like that??

thats a very weird way of showing Halloween 81, very misleading

hagrid said ill predict voldys rise in the first movie so we can have some plot development

hagrid is late to everything isnt he? i can feel it in my bones

i swear ive seen these movies, and ive even read the first book, i just dont remember shit

youd think theyd have someone in the know stationed close to the entrance for the platform, for any muggleborns

ginnys actress really had no fucking lines in this movie did she, just had to stand there

oh wait she said good luck

amazing work ginny

ooh a warm filter

can muggles see the express? like just running from london to scotland

wicked!

you didnt have to show the woman the sad sandwich ron

i think the trolly replenishes magically, i think thats how thats how that works, i want to believe that

god i cant tell if i would love or hate hermione, shes pretentious but so was i at that age

god dont fucking point your wand right in someones face mione

how does mione know who harry is?? why does she care?

look at the tiny first years, might just go and pinch theyre cheeks

MINNIEEEE i love you minnie

looking stunning minnie, the green brings out the sternness in your brow

you go minnie, give your speech, thats my head of house

shut up draco, youre not bond

you pretentious fuckwit, your hair is brassy anyways

if this is a class of kids born in the middle of a war, how big are the usual class sizes wtf

THE FUCKING CLAP

fucking propaganda ron, you slytherin hater

what order are these names going in, did they just randomized the list

oooh we get quiet for the boy who lived, jesus let him keep living

the fact that for the rest of these people its just silent is so fucking funny to me, Harry's just fucking whispering to himself

get their attention minnie

me dads a muggle, mums a witch, bit of a shock for him when he found out

NICK, love to see you buddy

i have no emotional attachment to peeves but i feel i should mention him here

the stairs still piss me off, why the fuck would you make moving stair cases

who sets out gloves for the next day? am i the weird one who doesnt??

Minnie, you are the love of my life

shut up snape you dramatic bloodpurist incel

i know theyre setting him up to be mistaken as the villain but jesus christ hes still an asshole

your robes Neville, you forgot your robes

its weird how they have to learn all these latin charms yet only have to say up to get their brooms to work

why wont you go after him, hes obviously not exactly in control, Hooch

does Hooch only teach first years? she is quite literally the equivalent of a history teacher who coaches football

what the fuck is Quirells classroom

they dont make the house teams because no first years can try out, Ron

MINNIE PLAYED QUIDDITCH?!?!? WHY DIDN'T I KNOW THIS

why didnt you speak up earlier Mione wtf

bc the fire wont give you away, harry, better hide

FLUFFY, WHOS A GOOD BOY

they have much worse things locked up in the school, Ron

Oliver wood is a bloody liar because i still dont fuckign understand quidditch, also theres like 500 rules, wtf

thats a shitty explanation of how the game works, Oliver

BLOW IT UP SEAMUS

SHES TWO FEET BEHIND YOU RON YOU IDIOT

carrot cake? on halloween?

dont shrug as if you didnt literally bully her ron

thought youd oughta know, bit of an understatement Quirell

no duh the trolls left the dungeon ron

lying: the best start to any friendship

we're at a net zero points for gryffindor for the year at the moment

the amount of interaction these kids have with professors is so weird to me, is this what small class size do to kids?? its weird

not comforting Oliver

Okay i understand Oliver simps now, I get it okay

are there no backups or subs for quidditch? feels like there should be, like of all the games

set him on fire mione, i know hes not the villain of the movie but god he sucks

fancy flying from harry fucking potter

okay but also i feel like there are some things we should not trust hagrid with, like hes not that great at keeping secrets

why is harry excited about christmas if he thinks hes not getting presents? i knw there are other aspects but like thats the only reasont o get up early

i always remember this scene at night for some reason??

not just an invisibility cloak, THE invisibility cloak ron

btw who gives it to harry? is it remus? is it dumbledore? is it like an inheritance thing? whats up with that?

there are jumpscares in harry potter

he very much can hide, filch

stop being a narc mrs norris

does harry even know what his parents look like at this point? how does he know who the fuck is in the mirror of erised?? he doesnt have that stupid scrapbook yet does he

oh they nod, sure lets clear up that plot hole

they shouldve put sirius and remus in the mirror in that scene, shown his whole family, wouldve been a nice setup

how does rupert grint already look so tired as a twelve year old

big speech to give to a twelve year old Dumbledore, when you wont even tell him what you see

Emma really does just slam that book on Daniels hand, thats mustve fucking sucked

the fact that ive watched two movies that had Nicholas Flamel in two very different roles this year is very strange to me

well thats probably on account of it being a fucking dragon egg hagrid, now isnt it?

was hagrid a hufflepuff? i think he was, maybe a ravenclaw

yes four, you blonde idiot

that shot is really nice, it sets them apart

what happened to filch to make him such a miserable man?

ooh mention of werewolves, awooo werewolves of london

yeah just dip your whole hand in hagrid, dont be scared of the strange liquid, take a nice little bath

i loev that dog, i want that dog, i want to hug that dog

god just the look of that forest is so bloody cool

wait so is that quirell walking fucking backwards?

maybe ask who the fuck youre talking to before asking other questions??? wtf harry

why are yout talking to the centaur like hes your old friend harry, youve literally never met him before

snape doesnt want the stone at all Harry

god hagrid you sweet stupid man

snape is completely valid for that, if a twelve year old ever looked at me like that i would punch them

Do you think people ever loose invisibility cloaks? like theyre invisible do you think they ever just never get found again

i hate the look of the dog spit, that is so gross

they really left everything in except for the fucking potions didnt they, damn

harry potter walked so queens gambit could run

hermione, posted up

rons stupid in the later movies because he got a concussion as a twelve year old

god harry really posted up to beat up snape in fucking khakis

"I knew you were a danger to me!" Hes twelve, Quirell

let me wait for this weird dude to unravel his head scarf instead of running away

the magic in this movie is real fucking conditional isnt it

just some casual necromancy for the stone? you sure about that voldy, you two faced bitch?

let me choke out this twelve year old real quick

oh yeah why is he able to just avengers endgame Quirell? is there an answer to that? like was that ever found out

do you think voldy passing by him while he hold the stone actually killed him but since he holds the stone hes functionally unkillable and then some magic gets put into him and thats why he can return to life later when he actually goes to the whole afterlife place?

ohhh we're vouching on the blood magic for the endgaming of Quirell

do you think dumbledore came across the vomit flavored bean before or after his sister died?

Mione's got a headband! Looking snazzy!

how did Hufflepuff only get 352 points? Gryffindor literally lost 150 points this year and they only beat them by 50, wtf, is it because they kept getting caught with weed

I wont even speak on the fucking outrage that is this point awarding, its already been spoken on. However, Neville shouldve gotten more points

What if someone just stood up and started challenging Dumbledores math, that would be so funny

some of these extras are really attractive

but james potter is somehow so fucking ugly why did they do that to my mans

hagrid deserves the last shot of this film, i love him, he deserves everything, that stupid sweet man

[soulwillower]

detention • bill denbrough

requested bill x reader : )

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, i think some sexual themes, and georgie denbrough: wingman of the century

this is like 3.5k god

[losers + reader are 17 in this]

♡

as you lean forward on your arms and suppress a groan, you silently wish you could be anywhere else right now. you're stuck sitting in detention, the white room empty except for the teacher lounging up front and two other students. you're staring at the clock, willing for it to hurry up and hit 4:30 so you can leave already. it's only 3:16. you groan quietly, wishing you'd never been caught scribbling graffiti in the bathroom.

you start to itch because you can basically feel eyes burning holes into the back of your head and you know it's from bill denbrough because the only other student in detention was bill's friend beverly marsh, who was dead-asleep in her seat next to bill.

you fucking loathed bill denbrough, although you didn't talk to him almost ever. you're not totally sure why, maybe it's his stupid confidence, his loud friend group (although they're all pretty nice), the fact that he's captain of the baseball team, or just because of the way he treats you. frankly, everybody that you know loves him, and that alone gives you enough motivation to resent him.

you'd met him freshman year in your shared algebra class and you'd thought he was really cute, until you heard him open his mouth. it was long ago enough that you don't remember what he'd said, but he'd made an offhand comment about you that had embarrassed you in front of the whole class. even though you can't remember what he'd said, you remember how you felt and his stupid fucking smirk and you're still very bitter.

so, you throw him glares whenever you see him - in the halls, at football games, and especially at parties after you've had a few too many fireball shots. you even stopped going to the pool where he works as a lifeguard during the summers. you don't feel bad when you say rude things to or about him because it's not like bill has ever treated you with an ounce of respect.

bev letting out a soft snore makes you snap out of your thoughts. she was actually pretty great - you'd shared a smoke with her and richie tozier a few times, so if she were awake you might've talked with her. but she's out cold, so your only options are talking to bill, trying to talk to the teacher who's name you didn't even know, or staying silent and waiting until you could leave.

looks like you're going mute until 4:30.

suddenly you feel something light hit your shoulder and you look down to see a wadded gum wrapper. you roll your eyes but don't say anything, even when you hear a soft snicker and feel another soft thud.

"alright, i gotta go use the john. i'll be right back, so don't try to pull anything fast on me." the teacher announces a few minutes later, dropping his book onto the desk loud enough to jolt beverly awake. you snort when you see her wipe her mouth with the corner of her sleeve. "and you can talk to each other, you know. this isn't breakfast club." the teacher says with a smile that makes you want to punch him.

as soon as the teacher's gone, beverly's up on her feet, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. "right, well this is kind of my window of opportunity. i'm gonna dip, later billy. bye, y/n." she says, saluting the both of you before walking straight out of the room.

your jaw drops. "can she do that?" you ask in bewilderment as the door closes. you don't even care that it's bill you're speaking to.

you hear bill laugh, "we c-can do a-anything. it's called confidence. but i guess y-you wouldn't kn-know." he taunts, his voice snarky. you roll your eyes, "well i don't see you walking out with her." you mumble, leaning back in your chair but refusing to turn around and look at him. you'd probably hit him if you had to see that stupid fucking smirk. or those green fucking eyes. or those fucking muscles.  

"well if i left now, i'd b-be robbed of some q-quality time with such p-pleasant company." he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. god, you loathed him.  

"shut the fuck up, bill. you're such a dick." you spit out, mumbling the last part as you glare at the door, wishing the teacher would come back soon.

"r-right. i forgot you were so s-sensitive." he snarks. you roll your eyes. he's such a prick. "well you're a douchebag. you're so fucking immature! who throws wrappers? this isn't third fucking grade." you spit, spinning fully in your chair to face him.

his feet are kicked up on the desk in front of him, his green hoodie bringing out his eyes. holy shit. your throat goes momentarily dry. you resent him so much but shit, he is so fucking hot.  

"that was bev, not me." he says casually, a smirk playing on his lips. you pretend not to notice his dimple or his hair, glinting under the ugly fluorescent lights. "she was asleep!" you hiss in utter disbelief that he would try such a blatant lie. he just laughs with a shrug, his mouth opening to retort, but the door opens and the teacher comes back in.

you spin back around, looking to the teacher as he frowns, "where's marsh?" he asks, becoming increasingly angrier. "who, sir?" bill pipes up. you can practically hear his smirk. "it's a-always just been us."

the man frowns, glaring at the two of you. "don't move." he says, pointing at bill and you before turning on his heel to leave again, storming off to try and find bev. you blink, "well that was a freebie."

you hear bill snort. "he's never going to f-find her."

you nod, smiling a bit. "yeah, no way. he's probably going to give up soon. teachers always get tired of this shit."

"well they're not paid enough." bill says and you hear him moving behind you. your eyebrows raise, shocked that he'd say something so... sensible. you kind of just assumed he was a meat head who only cared about himself. bill stands, walking over to where you sit on top of your desk. he leans against the one across the aisle from you.

"that's true. maybe i should leave, just to get out of his hair." you joke. he snorts, running a hand through his hair.

"i m-mean, i'm sure he's g-going to be gone until f-four thirty. he p-probably wouldn't even n-notice." bill plays along. you try not to let yourself fall into what you assume is some dumb trap - but you find yourself liking talking to him. he's still fucking annoying, though. "knowing y-you, you'd probably s-snitch, though." he says with a grin.

you glare at him, "that was one time, two years ago. get over yourself." you spit, a teasing lilt to your voice. he rolls his eyes. "s-says you, y/l/n."

you scowl again as he smirks. "and what's that supposed to mean?" you asks, your lips slightly curling and your attitude giving way to his teasing glance. he just shrugs, "n-nevermind. you know, b-besides the chronic s-sarcasm, st-stubborness, selfishness, and p-pessimism, you're not bad, y/n." he says, looking at you with inquisitive eyes. you snort, "gee, you really know how to make a girl swoon, bill."

he raises his eyebrows as if to prove his point and you have to look away before he catches on to your blush. "yeah, well. i'm still not too sure about you." you bite back, holding back a smile. he chuckles, his smile genuine and kind of making your stomach flutter. you almost punch yourself in the stomach for its betrayal. "what d-do i have to do to p-prove to you, y/n?" he whispers, pushing himself off the desk and taking a step towards you. you raise an eyebrow - if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was flirting. you hum, tapping your fingers on your thighs. "you can give me a ride home. i don't want to walk." you say with a lifted eyebrow. he may be annoying, but he has a car and you don't want to get caught, you figure he'll be a quick getaway. he grins, walking to grab his backpack. "l-lets go then, princess." he says sarcastically, making you flip him off, bending over to grab your bag and hide your blush.

bill's car is littered with empty energy drink cans, an empty fanny pack that he insisted wasn't his after your intense bullying, and his baseball bat bag in the back. he drives with one arm on the wheel and one on the center console, music playing quietly. it's a little awkward because every time one of you speaks, the other rolls their eyes and quips back something rude.

you're giving him directions but he doesn't really seem to be listening. suddenly he gets into the right lane and you sit up, looking at him like he's crazy. "my house is over there, bill." you say, pointing to the left as he turns right. he nods, keeping his eyes on the road, "sorry, w-we've got to m-make a quick st-stop."

you look at him incredulously. "what? i have my phone, you know. people will know how to track me if you murder me."

he laughs, the warm sun glinting his hair and making it glow more auburn than usual. "y-yeah, whatever. it w-won't take long. if its th-that bad, i'll buy you a m-milkshake." he reasons with an eye roll.

you knew he was being sarcastic, but you wanted to make him pay, literally, for wasting your time. "fine, but i'm getting a large. and i'm not joking." you say as he parks the car. "fine. w-whatever gets you to sh-shut up." he mutters. you snort in annoyance, looking out the window as he pulls up to an elementary school. what the hell? he lifts his brows, "but i th-thought you wanted to g-get away from me as q-quick as possible." he says with a smirk. you shrug. "free ice cream is free ice cream, no matter how shitty the company." you say with an innocent smile. he rolls his eyes but the teasing look in his eyes remains as he shakes his head at you. "y-you asshole."

you have to turn your head to conceal your grin.

it's silent in bill's car so you almost jump when hands slam against your window, making you squeal in surprise as you look up from your phone and your eyes meet another pair. "who are you?" the boy on the outside of the car asks, voice muffled by the window barrier. he can't be more than ten, and has sandy brown hair and a fucking adorable grin. you blink as bill rolls your window down, "g-get in the b-back, georgie." he says, the boy immediately obliging and jumping into the back with energy.

bill looks at you, his cheeks slightly pink and you try not to let yourself like him a little more now that you know that he picks his little brother up from school. kind of sweet for a boy like bill. certainly unexpected.

"who are you?" georgie asks again, staring at you with curious doe eyes. you smile awkwardly. "um, i'm y/n. w-we go to school together." you gesture to bill awkwardly.

"th-this is my brother georgie." bill explains, gesturing to the back as he pulls out of the parking spot. you nod at the obvious statement. "obviously. guess it's good to know you're not just kidnapping some kid." you mumble, making bill laugh. you grin despite yourself. georgie perks up, not having heard what you said. "what's so funny, billy? is it y/n?" he asks, pronouncing your name slightly wrong. you smile, lifting a brow at bill.

something about this car ride is making you see him in a new light - bill listens so intently to what georgie says, who in turn asks a million questions about bill's day and even yours. it's cute, their relationship.

when he pulls ups outside of what you assume is the denbrough house, bill turns back to look at his younger brother. "are you guys dating? are you going to kiss her? you should kiss her, billy!" georgie giggles, asking with genuine curiosity. you have to bite your hand to stop from screaming, feeling absolutely mortified. bill looks just as exasperated. "g-georgie, get out of the car." "but where are you going?" georgie asks. "i'm t-taking her home, g-georgie. go get st-started on your homework and i'll b-be back to help in a little." bill says with a groan, avoiding looking at you. "okay, bye billy! bye, y/n!" the boy says, completely oblivious to how awkward he'd just made it. as soon as he's gone, you look at bill. his jaw is clenched as he throws the car in reverse, speeding out of his neighborhood. it's awkward now, and you're so uncomfortable that you blurt out the first thing you can think of, "so are you still gonna get me that shake?"

bill seems to bounce back almost immediately from that awkward drive to his house, looking at you with a blinding and cocky smile. "f-fine, but don't expect me to have f-f-fun or anything." "i would never dream of it, bill." you say with a teasing smile of your own. "wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation, golden boy."

you moan, spooning a bite of your shake into your mouth. "thank you, bill. this is very much deserved, you know. i think i forgive you for kidnapping me." you tease, knowing you're being immature but kind of really liking the way he looks when you push his buttons. bill scoffs, "i sn-snuck you out of d-detention and b-bought you a shake, if that's c-considered kidnapping then y-you're lucky." you laugh softly, admiring his side profile as his car coasts down derry's main street. the sun's almost setting by now, and despite your better judgement you find yourself enjoying bill's company. "my fucking hero. you're quite a character, you know." you say sarcastically, but adding the second part softly. "y-you too, y/l/n. i-if you weren't so stubborn i th-think we'd be p-pretty close." "oh, is that so?" you ask slyly, your stomach swimming with butterflies as bill pulls up to a stoplight and looks at you, suddenly flustered. "i-i didn't mean- w-well, i j-just meant-"

you cut him off with a hand to his arm, the red from the stoplight glinting onto his face and making him look handsome in the shadows. "i'm just messing with you, bill." you say softly, "i think i was... wrong about you. for the most part."

he smirks, leaning towards you when he notices that your hand is still around his arm. you blush more at the proximity than your hand still being on him, but you pull your hand back to your lap. "so are y-you gonna c-confess that you've b-been in love with me for y-years, y/n?" he asks teasingly. you scoff, unable to help it when your eyes trail to his lips quickly. but you still roll your eyes. what a dick.

"you fucking wish." you say back, staring at him as he leans closer and for a second you think he's going to fucking kiss you but a loud honk makes you both jump.

neither of you have noticed that the light's turned green.

"fuck." bill mutters lowly, groaning. you bite your lip, trying to stop your mind from taking that noise out of context, instead staring ahead as he turns into your neighborhood. it's only a few minutes of silence until you tell him to pull over into your driveway. your milkshake was now gone and you sigh as he throws his car into park.

"thank you for the ride home. and for the shake." you say with a smile. he grins at you, shrugging as if to say it was no big deal.

"n-no problem." he mutters, staring at you. "you're not as an-nnoying as i thought. i didn't totally h-hate it." he teases, making you snort. you use your empty cup as an excuse to lean over the center console and get closer to him. he watches you with slightly hooded eyes and a smirk that kind of makes you want to slap him, but also kiss him.

"so, do you pull these moves on all the girls? have you turned georgie into your little wingman?" you tease.

he blushes as he undoes his seatbelt, prompting you to do the same. "n-not at all, oh my g-god. he's used to r-richie or eddie being in the car, s-so he p-probably a-assumed... i mean, he's... he's a kid. d-doesn't know what h-he's saying." he shrugs, stumbling through his words. you don't mind, though.

you smile, biting your lip when you notice his eyes flicker down to your mouth, "i don't know, i think he was onto something." you whisper. bill hums, boldly placing his hand on your cheek. his eyes are still trained on your lips. you flush under his touch, his hand feeling huge against you. you're extremely nervous and yet very, very excited.

"well i'd h-hate to disappoint him. o-or you, princess."

"too late. you disappoint me every day." you tease, your smile giving yourself away at his nickname. he chuckles, his thumb stroking your cheekbone slightly, "sh-shut up." he mumbles lowly.

and then he's pulling your lips to his.

you breathe in through your nose, hands immediately coming up to his shoulders as your body leans against the console, kissing him back. it's soft at first, and his lips are plush and he's squeezing your hips.

you never imagined that you'd like kissing bill denbrough, let alone that he'd be this good. you sigh quietly as he deepens the kiss, his other hand falling to your waist. one of your hands goes to the back of his neck, threading your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. his hand brushes your hair behind your ear as he kisses you passionately. he breaks the kiss slowly, your lips staying together slightly as he pulls away. he kisses you again softly and quickly before pulling all the way back.

you stare at him, a smile unable to stop itself from covering your face. you don't feel embarrassed, though, because bill's got one identical to yours. the way bill's looking at you makes you feel embarrassed; you've always treated each other unfairly but he's actually a pretty great guy. it's quiet until you hear a window slide closed up at your house, and you clear your throat.

"um, i should... i should probably go get started on homework." you say, sure that your blush is evident. he's smirking at you as you stumble awkwardly through your sentence. he hums in agreement, watching your every move. your face is on fire, but as you turn to him, opening the door to leave, you lean back in, pressing another kiss to his lips. he chases your face as you pull away, and you bite your lips as you smile at him.

"g-goodnight, y/n." he says as you shut the door. you lean slightly on the open window, looking at him. you really want to stay, but you know you have to go in. "thanks, bill. goodnight." you whisper, pulling away from the car with a shy wave, turning to go up to your front door.

"i still kind of h-hate you, but i b-better see you again sometime s-soon!" he calls as you make your way through your lawn. you smile at his words, feeling excited.

"well take me out then, denbrough!" you say, turning to walk backwards up your lawn. he's grinning at you from his car.

"f-friday! i'll pick you up at s-seven. i promise g-georgie won't be there!" he calls, ducking to maintain eye contact. you giggle, nodding, "alright, bill. i'll see you then." you say, waving and turning around to jog up the steps to your front door.

you giggle to yourself, feeling giddy as you think about the complete 180 of how you perceived bill from this morning to now. he's got you blushing like a middle schooler who just had her first kiss, and you love it.

maybe bill wasn't as bad as you thought.

[fanfiction-inc]

Golden Faced Bastard

Verse: Death Stranding

Characters/Pairings: Higgs Monaghan/Reader

Warnings/Tags: Masturbation, sexual themes, phone sex, sexual tension, enemies, love/hate relationship, m/f, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 2,444

Summary: When a terrorist grows bored, what’s a better pass time then contacting your favorite person to mess with?

Rating: Explicit

Notes: I used this ask from @dirty-higgs-confessions​ as inspiration for this story: "Higgs calling you while you're on a run for Bridges and teasing you as he jerks off. It soon turns into casual phone sex until he finishes then you just hang up on him despite the fact that now you're needy and wish he was there to fuck you."

I of course put a small twist on this but fuck it! :D

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287181

South Knot, lit by the lights of signal post that wavered with each drop of timefall running down and over their initial scanners. Timefall, it had been falling for the past two hours and had no sign of clearing up at any point. The sun was already hidden behind thick and ominous clouds, giving way to darkened blue skies that seemed to shift to black when the smallest but the brightest of stars attempt to peak out of the thick layers and shed light on a damned world. As long as the country was divided, as long as the world went to shit, there was no hope in sight of making it to the end of the year. If it wasn’t the timefall that got ‘ya, or the BT’s that always loomed no matter where you went, it was the Homo Demens. Despite all of this deliveries still had to be made. A distraction was still always in order to avoid the end of life itself to a group that deemed themselves almighty.

A soft sigh of lips flutter in the air as the motorized trike raised from the garage platform, sitting new and ready for the exposure that was sure to knock it out of commission by morning come. Packages bound for Lake Knot and its distribution center loaded up with skilled fingers behind gloved hands that have worked too hard for their years, strapped down and held in place, cases prepared for the intensifying storm. The timefall was growing worse, but nothing would get done if the porter stayed put inside this metal and technology compound labeled a distribution center. In an older life, one may say it was a prison converted into a somewhat functioning distribution center surrounded by a semi-intact city. Others would say its the skeleton of what had once been and is now new. A final breath was given in the form of a sigh and hair tucked up underneath the timefall protective hood was tied back to keep from falling out, legs thrown over to straddle the bikes seat and started with a low rumble that stuck in the gut and fluttered to make the limbs tingle. A single motion to lower goggles that helped protect the eyes from the near toxic rain and the bike was taking off up the ramp and out of the distribution center.

Visibility was growing reduced with the lower in temperature and timefall, fog spreading among the ground and making any sort of travel along rigid rocks and muddy ground grow tough. The first slip of the bike was a fluke, the second sending it off its course a few feet and the third sending it to slide and sputter, mud slinging everywhere among the area before composure was gained once more and the route was continued to Lake Knot. The silence of the water hammering the ground and the low rumble of the bike nearly drowned out the incoming call, the tone that of unknown origin.

“Hello sweetheart.”

The voice brings the bike to finally slide and collapse on its side, sending the rider off to the side into the somewhat enclosed space of a covered cliff side with gathering mud puddle. The timefall hammered the collapsed bike, aching body of the porter jumping up to bring it out of the timefall and protect the contents within the now scratched up and slightly damaged boxes. Rust rubbed off onto the porters gloves and she was quick to remove them, to make sure they couldn't get up onto her skin and let the smear of timefall gather. A check of the comlink and a soft groan of annoyance fluttered from the lips of the porter who threw her hood back and unzipped the top of her jumper, the suit pooling around her waist. It was still active, and the gentle breathing on the other side indicated the presence of the man who simply refused to leave her be. The man who played games and invaded spaces he should never have been in. The one who stands before his men promising the sixth great extinction of the world and yet devotes his free time from the plans to the porter resting against the shallow crevice of an opening in the bottom of the cliff side and Bridges poster boy.

Higgs fucking Monaghan.

“Have a little accident there, darlin’? Did I startled you?” The labor to his breath, the soft flutter of that tone that the porter hated to admit drove her mind to slowly blank. She shakes out of her clouded thoughts, swallowing hard with a hand held to her throbbing head. It it wasn’t the impact that made it hurt, it was the annoyance of the man on the other end of the line who ruined her day and sent her into the wildest of fever dreams that left her body aching for touches she knew she didn’t want to admit she wanted or, being honest with herself, needed. So long without touch, so long without someone finding interest. It was almost gratifying, having that sort of attention, but why must it be him? “Wouldn’t you like to fuckin’ know.”

“Oh honey, one can only assume from the sound. Your little deliveries must be banged up, am I right?” The light hint of a noise and a pause fell over the line. He takes in a somewhat struggled breath and the porter could only confirm what he was doing the moment his hushed tone whispered ‘fuck’.

“Are you calling me just to jack off?”

“What can I say, your voice does it for me, baby.”

A hint of disgust fills her form and yet her body entered a full form of shivers and pin pricks that made everything tingle. The ground soaked in timefall wasn’t the only thing wet right now. His breath kept fluttering over the line and the porter had half the mind to cut it off, to end the call, but what would stop him from calling back and just continuing?

“I’m hanging up, Higgs-”

“Wait! Please don’t hang up (First name). Just...just talk to me and this’ll be over soon. Ya don’t even have to talk dirty or nothin’. Not unless ‘ya want to. Just be a good girl and talk.”

Hesitation met the line and the man on the other end knew damn well he had the other hooked, just by the way he hears a shuffle and a sigh that was a mixture of annoyance and possibly even defeat. She knew as well as he did that he would keep calling back until he was finished and she was annoyed to the point that she would just let it happen. He swallowed when he hears her soft breath, eyes fluttering at the sound of such. If only he could feel it, the hot breath that he imagined to be against his ear or neck, if only he could feel her.

“I’m only doing this so you’ll leave me the fuck alone, you golden faced bastard.”

“Ah, kinky. I didn’t know my honey was into name callin’.”

“I’m not your honey.”

The sound of a chuckle fluttered over the line and the porter was resigned to simply allow her eyes to roll, to ease back against the wall of the crevice and allow her hand to trail. It was no fun for this to be one sided, and she highly doubted any other porters would be coming through this area at such a late hour in the complete downpour of the timefall. Higgs smirked when another sigh sounded. “Is it safe to assume I’m not gonna be the only one enjoyin’ this, darlin’?”

“I don’t give a shit what you assume.”

“Oh come on, sweetheart, you can just lay back, relax and let each of us enjoy the other. One night and one night only. And I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The sound of his tone, as if the smirk could be heard in it. A few low pumps of his hips makes a soft grunt leave his lips and he hears the other try to stifle a noise of her own. Noises did it for each, but it wasn’t enough. They needed each word to grasp onto and allow themselves to melt with. Higgs needed her, and she needed him. She swallowed lightly when there was silence, wondering if he had already left the line, but she hears another shuffle of clothing and the soft sound of skin rubbing against skin. So, this is how it’s gonna be, the two satisfying themselves to pass the time then moving on with their lives. If only it was that easy.

Higgs grasped himself with a bare hand, a shaky breath and airy chuckle falling from his lips. “I wondered for some time what it would be like, ever since I met you in Mountain Knot, to have you just the way I want you. You don’t know how long It’s been, how long its been since I last had a satisfying session alone. It’s never good enough with fantasies. You can dream it but it doesn't get ‘ya anywhere. Do ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Sadly.” The woman begrudgingly admits, fingers simply tracing over the basic fabric covering the single heat patch that deserved her attention. It weeped for stimulation, weeped for the touch of the man, but his voice and her own hand alone would have to suffice. The mental image of him pumping himself would have to do.

“Be honest with me, darlin’, but how long has it been for you? I mean to truly have a good one.”

“A good what?”

“Oh don’t play dumb, baby doll. A good orgasm. Cum. Jerk off or whatever the female equivalent is. How long has it been where your body screamed ‘yes’ in the most delicious?” His pace was beginning to slowly pick up, shivering when he heard the soft wet noises of her fingers moving along her slick core, having moved beyond the fabric. He savored the sound, listened as closely as he could to the soft hitch in her breath and the shaky sigh she gives away.

“Months.” She finally whispered out, eyes fluttering shut as she hears him spit into his hand, or maybe even onto his own member and begins a more leisurely pace that sent a hot shiver up his spine. “You?”

“Maybe a year. They’re never good when rushed. But when ‘ya take your time with ‘em-” A soft flutter of a groan sounding in the air was enough to accent his point, his own head falling back against the headrest of the chair he sat in, legs spreading as much as the material around his knees would allow. Her shaky breath and the soft hint of a wine makes his teeth sink down into his lip, hand working as his imagination worked on what he would be doing to her that would make such a noise come from those perfect lips that enticed him every time he watches her speak.

“What is it about my voice that..Oh fuck...That helps you along?” She asked with a tone that wavered, licking at her lips when he breaths deeply, listening to the increase of skin against skin and the hushed noises leaving his lips. “How soft it is. You’re always talkin’ loud but that softness never leaves it. It’s airy, almost like ‘ya singin’ me a song. I’d like to hear ‘ya sing a different kind of one, my little songbird.”

She speaks before she can even stop herself. “You’d have to be here if you want a song like that.”

This earns a faster pace from each of their respective hands, one working the tip of a weeping member and the other the bundle of nerves that was beginning to make searing pain blossom in her abdomen and inner thighs. More wet noises, more heavy breathing from both parties. They needed more than this. “Then next time I see ‘ya, baby doll, I’ll make sure to make ‘ya sing.”

“You gotta find me first.”

“Oh, I will. I’m a very resourceful man. Though, you may not like what I do when I find ‘ya.”

“Is that a promise?” The barest grace of a smirk in her tone and the man groans at such a comment, hand working him like he would imagine her mouth doing. “I always keep my promises, darlin’. I’m a man of my word.”

“Oh bullshit, Higgs.”

The next groan was a bit more audible and his shivered in delight, savoring the way her voice sounded when she spoke his name.

“Again. Say my name again.”

“Higgs.”

The sound of skin slapping grows.

“Slower. Draw it out.”

He whispered, tone almost like that of a plea.

“Hiiiggs.”

“Oh fuck, just like that.”

He was growing close, just as she was with each noise and word she was able to soak up over the comlink. When he finally spilled, it was the groan of her name that left his lips, that was the tipping point for her and makes her high pitched moan follow and mingle with the groans that left his lips with each overstimulated pump of his leaking member. He wipes his hand on the inside of his pants, hiding the mess from view in case anyone was to check in, though why should he care? He was the man who could send them into the sixth extinction early. When her shaky and soft breath fluttered over the line, he lets his smirk return. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Now, I'll ask again. When was the last time you had a good one?”

“Today.”

“Mm, be more exact.”

“Just a few seconds ago, maybe a minute.” His chuckle followed her words. “You?”

“About a minute ago or so. Now it’ just a matter of getting into bed with ‘ya.”

A soft scoff from her end and he grins away, loving how she goes right back to the defensive. “When’s the last time ‘ya had a good fuck?”

The line hangs up and Higgs lets out a fit of laughter, a shake of his head following as he props his feet up on the table before him. In due time, he’d have her just the way he wanted her.

A call back, the porter groans in the midst of getting her suit zipped back up. “What?”

“South Knot, meet me there and I’ll keep good on my promise.” He was almost giddy, and the woman sighed. “If it’ll shut ‘ya up once and for all, then fine. South Knot it is.”

“I’ll see ‘ya then, darlin’.”

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

Thank you, as always, for reading and let me know what you guys thought about this! If you would like to be tagged in further stories, send me an ask! Remember, request are always open!

Tagging: @dirty-higgs-confessions​​ | @johnlocklover221​​

[advernia]

of cats, jade, honey, nightingales, and spilled ink — — a compiled assortment of ikerev drabbles i’ve managed to spit out last week during break hours - they're spoiler free + scenes with vague contexts because that's all i can manage to write recently lmao _(:3 」∠)_

stray cat conjuration theory || loki & alice prompt: rain, rain, rain // shady stuff under an open umbrella

her umbrella is a shade of red.

it's shade because you see, it’s hard to be too sure considering the conditions: the umbrella’s cloth is soaked through and through due to its heroic sacrifice of shielding two people from a sudden torrential rain, the sky above them is covered by a thick spread of dark grays and obscure blacks so there’s little to no lighting that equals to harder visibility, then there’s the overgrown trees with their -

- ki, are you listening?

… hmm?

he turns his head - it’s a slow twist of his neck from up, down, then a tilt to his left with a little push forwards; perhaps painfully deliberate - and voila, there she is in all her glory; a face he was getting fond of filling his vision: wide eyes framed by dainty eyelashes, a small nose resembling what a fine-made porcelain doll might have, round lips without a single trace of rogue yet have the natural color of an enticing peach, and… oh -

alice, he says almost in sing-song, your cheeks are red. like apples! are you okay?

the umbrella skews a bit to the right as she shrinks back, grip on the handle tightening - a bit of his arm is left exposed and attacked mercilessly by the rain, dry turning damp in seconds: it’s cold and frankly annoying against his skin, but there’s a quick solution to that, and that is -

w…w-wha… hey, loki?

yes, alice?

uh… do you mind moving back? a little bit? please?

aww, but my shoulder’s gonna get wet!

oh… i wouldn’t want that either, but… don’t you think you’re standing a bit too -

- a bit too what?

a step closer has their shoulders brushing up against each other and his face just a handspan away from hers, and he takes this opportunity to peer much closer at her eyes, and he sees that her irises are a brilliant shade of -

i… i-if you move any closer, i’ll leave you here to get drenched!

a pause. brisk raindrops hitting the umbrella fill it in, dull sounds of tap tap tap tap tap, then -

he breaks into light laughter, a foot moving backwards and upper body retreating, a safe breathing space in between them now visible again.

sorry, alice! I was just kidding… did I take it too far?

really, loki… is this how you treat people who share their umbrellas with you?

nope! it’s not everyday that someone offers to share their umbrella with me… even if their umbrella’s too small to begin with.

… does that mean you want to get drenched after all?

no way!

please speak well of me || ray & alice prompt: in memor(iam)y // a fragment of me on your skin

"now that i think of it, why did you call this necklace a 'collar'?"

the king of spades raises his head briefly, eyes shifting from the wordy official document in his hands to the woman standing in his office. she's by the bookshelves, small hands, lithe fingers intent on relocating the books from their former places to wherever she saw fit. pull out, set aside, dust away, evaluate possible positions, then insert back to the shelf. rinse and repeat, like dance steps: one, two three, four, and five.

around her neck, chain hidden by the collar of her blouse and ribbon, a sparkle of green shone. it showed itself occasionally, peeking out of the ribbon when she would begin to chase the dust away from the books and shelves with a feather duster. it doesn't mix, he muses, that red ribbon against that bright green. to begin with, why was her dress blue and her ribbon red? do they mix? then again, did he really need to know?

she was wearing it, anyway - that's all.

"... i don't get you," he replies, tossing the now-signed document onto one of the many stacks piled on his desk. he gets another document from another stack and tries not to groan when he's greeted by multiple lines of ink, beautifully dull and almost consuming the paper itself. "does it matter?"

"of course it does," she replies, tone and pitch of voice a little bit higher than usual. he can't see her facial expression, but he envisions a frown - or maybe a scowl crossing her features. either way, she's not happy. "a collar is something you would use for pets. or domesticated animals."

"i know."

"so do you see me - or think of me as one?"

his lips quirk upwards, a snort escapes him. "is that your question for the day?"

she stops to glare at him, a thick tome in her hands. "that's just cheating."

"it isn't," his reply comes off as casual.

she doesn't buy it.

"i can see you grinning, ray blackwell."

he laughs when his full name rolls sharply off her tongue.

"are you actually angry, or are you trying to act like my mother?" 

♠ ♠ ♠

the king of spades learns that morning that alice the second can wield a five hundred twenty-three-page book with a thick hardbound leather cover like a training sword of the wooden variety, something that one could find in the black army's barracks.

sturdy and definitely not lethal.

he fails to account lethality for multiple hits straight to the head, though.

to his credit, she does apologize after she'd whacked him thrice. the book goes back to the shelf (without bloodstains), he mournfully clutches his head, she looks at him with worry.

"it's just that a necklace this nice," she says, fingers reaching up to her neck to clasp the jade in her palm, "doesn't deserve to be called a collar. it’s a gift from you, and i intend to treasure it when i get back to london.”

he’s not sure where’s the dull throbbing coming from now: it’s either from the back of his head, his ears, or his chest.

who cares, it hurts.

lather that honey on your tongue || blanc & alice prompt: ye olde pickup lines // romance in the eyes of the full moon

when he finds her, he sees her standing a few paces away from his house's backdoor, her hands set behind her back. her head is tilted upwards and her eyes reflect the moon over their heads: it's a large silver coin shining bright against a blackened sky scattered with stars.

he calls her name once - she turns her head, smiles and waves. moonlight casts a dainty glow on her facial features, making her skin seem softer and the blue of her eyes more vivid. he pauses for a moment before he walks to stand beside her.

"oliver told me you would be here," he says. "it seemed like you two had a pleasant chat before i arrived."

her brows furrow, lips purse themselves together. "i think oliver enjoyed it more than i did."

"oh? i would certainly enjoy myself as well, if i were in the company of such a beautiful lady such as yourself."

a pleasant smile lights up his features. one could not say the same for hers, however - her mouth has gone slightly slack, but she shook her head immediately and turns her head up back to the moon.

"i say, the moon is beautiful tonight," he says as he points to the sky with a gloved finger.

"but not as beautiful as i am, maybe?" she says, a lilt in her voice.

she laughs for a bit until she realizes that his eyes are on her: his eyes are wide open, his mouth slightly agape. heat flushes and colors her cheeks slightly.

"okay, i'm sorry," she splutters, angling her face away from him, "it's just that i mentioned to oliver that i get so flustered when you compliment me, and he said something along the lines of 'then why don't you beat the rabbit in his own game', and - "

" - and you decided to compliment yourself before i would?"

"yes, well - gosh, that sounded really awkward, didn't it? please forget i said anything."

he fixes her with a blank stare for a few seconds before chuckling.

"on the contrary, i can't deny your words."

her breath catches in her throat for a moment before she replies. "which ones?"

"you being far more beautiful than the moon will ever be, of course."

"now you're just exaggerating - i didn't even say half of that!"

"you didn't, which is why i took the honor of doing so."

he leans forward to take a lock of her hair in his fingers, pressing it to his lips with a smile.

sing sweet nightingale || sirius & alice prompt: i’m drowning in siren calls // my own two feet as a compass

that deep tone has engraved itself so distinctively well into her ears and mind that each time she would hear it, even if it was of the softest of murmurs, she would find herself looking for its source. it's almost unbelievable how it's become something like a reflex in such a short amount of time, making her feel quite sheepish. she was no dog, nor did she wish to give off the impression that she was a clingy lover constantly observing her beloved's actions... but time and time again, her body would fail her and she would always end up in another search for him.

whenever she would successfully find him, he'd pause whatever he was doing for a moment to greet her with a smile and a voice that soothes her sudden wanderlust. the sound is oh-so kind and noticeably happy so she smiles back, but somehow there's a lingering feeling of disappointment for herself.

so one day she tries to stop turning his way when she hears him from afar: whether she was at the kitchen and him just outside by the training grounds, she by the flowerbeds and he near the headquarters' entrance, or her in the saloon and him issuing orders by the hallways; she stifles the urge of her feet to drop everything and go to where he was. it's far from easy since she wants to hear more, but she tries her best and it actually works for a while - perhaps three days. it makes her feel a bit better about herself, but -

- it's all for naught when he literally corners her in her own room, back and wrists pinned against the wall. she breathes an inhale of surprise at the sudden action, turning sharp when he lowers his face so it's just inches away from her own. his breathing sounded strained, how strange, like he was in pain - oh dear, did something happen? could she be of help?

worry begins to flood her thoughts, but it's washed out without a care just as quick when his breath tickles her ear and he speaks to her with an urgency, demanding and agitated and frustrated but still so beautiful to hear -

why have you been avoiding me?

oh no, she muses but doesn't say - her body had involuntarily trembled out of sheer delight at the sound of his voice so close, heart singing loud and knees growing weak.

words don't dare crawl out of her parched throat.

trails of sea-foam ink || dean & alice prompt: that i hold dear // the chase for a permanent you

today before he leaves his home he walks over to that one drawer and collects every single letter she sent, keeps all those tiny envelopes complete with their barely torn seals inside a folder that fits snugly into his bag, then goes on his merry way.

when they meet for tea, he shoves the folder - and all those one hundred fifty-seven letters of four seasons - into her hands.

“you should do something about your penmanship,” he says like the professor he really was, and that just makes her frown. what - was her alphabet too round, the edges too curved? were the words, sentences, and paragraph alignments all wrong on each and every line, like how music notes would dance on staves?  

“i’m sorry,” she says, but she’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for. maybe it was better to ask. “... is my writing too small for you to read?”

“i would’ve told you immediately if that were the case, rather than subjecting myself to eye strain.”

“is it too large?”

he holds himself from clicking his tongue. “it’s not an issue about size.”

“oh. then is it about how i write everything in a slanting manner?”

“no - you aren’t the first and perhaps the last person i would see whose penmanship presents itself in such a script-like fashion and objectively speaking, you are one of the agreeable examples of those writing in such a style.”

“uh-huh,” her head tilts to the side, she frowns. “then can i ask you what... well, you don’t like about my handwriting?”

he raises the teacup up to his lips. what i don’t like, he muses, is how light you write. what i don’t like is how the ink you used to write all those letters is dark enough to leave its mark on the paper but light enough for me to think that its fading, like touches of moonlight on a cloudy night. it reminds me of you and how you came to be in this world in the first place, and how easy it is for you to go back if you firmly decided on it. but what i dislike the most is the fact that i still have lingering thoughts of the possibility of you leaving when every single letter you have sent me has told me otherwise, all because your penmanship is as light and dainty as yourself.

“dean?” she calls out, voice something small.

unease unable to quell itself, he allows an amount of pure black tea to hold his tongue.

[salutmonmec]

EVEN THE DEAD DESERVE A SONG

an Elu Hunger Games AU

ao3 link

Lucas has been in love with the same boy since he was five years old. 

Now, he will be forced to fight him to the death.

What a fucking nightmare.

CHAPTER 1: THINGS FALL APART

… He is underwater.

It’s cold.

He’s sinking.

The surface isn’t far, and he can make out a blurry figure. They lift their arms, draw their elbow back until their hand hits their jaw.

An arrow breaks the surface, clips his ear. A cloud of red erupts on his left side. He can’t swim, never learned how. The elbow draws back again.

He is sinking in a sea of blood.

His mouth opens in a silent scream.

Lucas wakes with a gasp, jerking upright, a hand against his chest where his heart is about to burst from his ribcage. What the hell was that? The bright afternoon sun is beaming down on his nap spot, lighting the grass up to neon green and forcing him to squint. Lucas could not have been asleep for more than a half hour, but the troubling nature of his dream made it feel like years. He stands with a groan, joints popping. He gathers up his make-shift bow and slings the quiver over his shoulder. Only two or three more hours of light left, have to make this quick. A stick breaks about twenty meters to the right, followed by the sound of frantic hooves. Before he can help himself, a smirk splits his face. Perfect.

----

The buck’s head lands on the booth counter with a hollow thud, still bleeding a bit through the new hole in its left eye. Lucas rests his head on his arms, gently poking the soft fur of the beast’s ribcage. The booth’s owner, Ben, slowly gets up from his chair, flashing a wide gap-filled smile. He is on the skinny side, just like everyone else in District 12, cheeks always smudged with some kind of dirt. Right now, his eyes are lit up like torches.

“How the hell did you manage this Lallemant? You are a crazy son of a bitch, I swear.”

Lucas shrugged casually, shooting Ben a grin. “I have my ways.”

“Well bud, I can give you… 26 ration cards, should almost last you the month.” He leans over the buck, bending to Lucas’ eye-level. “The capitol changed the color again, this time a nice, deep, I’m-richer-than-you purple. Go crazy kid.” Lucas reached over and slipped the small mountain of cards into his bag, mouthing Ben a silent thank you and giving him a quick wink.

He turns around, slamming right into the back of an asshole. Yann spins around, ready to curse out the offender, but Lucas gets there first, sticking a middle finger in between his eyes. Yann lets out a loud laugh, shoving Lucas away playfully. “Fuck you, you shithead!”

“Wanna walk me home honey bun?” Lucas wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, making Yann roll his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, I’ll be out in a minute,” he states with a half-hearted wave as he turns back to the person he was haggling with. Lucas grins at him, shouldering open the door to the warehouse. Cool air hits him like a wave, the breeze lifting his hair off his forehead, drying the budding sweat on his skin. Peacekeepers march past him, their white uniforms glowing in the twilight. Who the fuck wears white in a place like this? Lucas looks down at his own clothes, torn and tattered from years of use. No matter how many times he tries to wash them, the black coal dust in the air finds its way into the seams. It’s as if the land wants to brand him, making sure that everyone knows where he comes from. You come from the dark, dank depths of the Earth, where no one ventures besides those who were unfortunate enough to be born into it. Never forget that.

A laugh shakes him out of his thoughts, head snapping up to find the source of the sound. A small head of tawny curls bouncing, a gap-toothed smile on her round, freckled face. Madeline Demaury, sitting on the shoulders of her big brother, laughter bubbling its way out of her mouth as he dramatically pretends to drop her. Eliott spins in a quick circle, his face now fully towards Lucas. God, he is beautiful. His blue-grey eyes are curled up in half-moons, mouth open, catching the tail end of a chuckle. His happiness is contagious, and Lucas finds himself struggling to hold back a smile. The setting sun is lighting up the Demaurys’ hair to an infuriatingly gorgeous shade of auburn. He pushes a flyaway strand of his straight, boring brunette locks away from his eye, cursing his bad genetic luck. At least he was fortunate enough to be alive at this very moment, witnessing the striking beauty of Eliott Demaury’s cheekbones, his long legs, shoulders deceptively broad despite his lanky figure. Fuck, he is beautiful.

“So, are you ever actually going to talk to him, or are you just going to stand there drooling all over yourself for the rest of your life?”

Yann’s strong hand lands on the shoulder that isn’t leaning against the warehouse wall. Lucas doesn’t take his eyes off Eliott. “Fuck you.”

As Yann snickers next to him, Eliott and Madeline sit down on their front porch steps. The front door behind them opens, and out runs seven-year-old Camille, launching herself into the lap of her brother. Eliott scoops her up, whispering in her tiny ear, making her giggle and nod enthusiastically. He sets her down, grabs her hand, leading her and Madeline inside the house. As the door shuts behind them, Lucas’ chest twists with a feeling he can’t place. He slowly turns, shoves Yann playfully. “What the hell are you so cheery about? You know what’s tomorrow right?”

“I for one, am not going to let the threat of imminent death stop me from roasting my best friend. What kind of life would that be?” He says with an easy smile, slinging an arm around Lucas’ shoulders. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before the Keeps’ come back.”

Lucas shoots one last look at the Demaury’s porch. The sun is fully behind the trees now, casting long shadows that flutter across the closed door, which, much to Lucas’ amusement, is painted a bright shade of baby blue. In this light, the house could have been abandoned, the warmth of Eliott’s presence long gone. Turning back towards Yann, his chest twists again, heart rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. Why do I feel like this is the last time I’ll see this?

----

An alarm blares ridiculously too close to his face. Cracking one eye open, he flops his arm across his body, slamming his hand in the direction of the obnoxious dinging. The clock slides off the edge of the table, hitting the floor with a loud thud. Still ringing, of course. Fucking hell. Lucas rolls his half-asleep body into sitting position, squinting at the light breaking through the cracks in his blinds, stopping the alarm with a half-hearted kick.

It’s Reaping Day.

Pushing himself off the tattered mattress, he sees his Reaping shirt, a blue-denim button up that he never really grew into, laid out on the end of the bed. Its folded, freshly washed and pressed. His mom must have been up for a while now. Throwing on a pair of faded black pants, he tugs the shirt on, slowly buttoning the front, shaking his head as the sleeves drop past his wrists. Frustrated, he rolls them up to mid-forearm. As a kid, he always thought his Dad was larger than life. Now at sixteen, he is starting to think he may have actually been right.

Walking to the bedroom door, he stops in front of the broken mirror to its right. Eyes a little too big, hair a little too wild, shoulders a little too slim. He rubs at a small bit of dirt on his neck, spits in his hand and tries to push his hair back into something resembling a normal human. His Dad’s shirt is hanging loosely on his frame, but he doesn’t mind. Everyone wears the wrong size clothes to the Reaping, spending money on extra ration cards rather than fancy shirts that will only be worn seven times in their life.

A rattle in the kitchen grabs his attention. Mama. She is scrubbing aggressively at a pot, the edges clanking against the edges of the small sink. She sees him in her periphery, turns her head and flashes him a warm smile. “You ready to go?”

He purses his lips, shoulders moving in a small shrug, “as ready as I can be, I guess.”

She sets the pot down, walks over to gently press a kiss to his forehead. “Only two more years, then we can move past this whole mess.” Glancing over his face, she wets her thumb and starts rubbing at a spot above his eyebrow. A laugh bubbles its way out his mouth as he scrunches up his face, shaking his head. “Mama, stop its fine,” he shoots a pointed glance at the small television set in the corner, “want me to get it set up for you?”

She waves him off. “Oh no, I got it.” She looks at him with a small, sad smile. “You know I would go, I just think the crowds would be a bit much for me today…” Lucas glances at the dark circles marring the smooth skin under her eyes, and nods. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“I’ll be fine darling,” she kisses him on the forehead for the second time, lips popping with a loud smack. “Say hello to Yann for me!”

Sliding into his shoes, he pushes through the front door, Yann leaning against the railing at the bottom of the steps. His shirt fits him perfectly. Asshole.

“Let’s get this fucking over with, shall we?”

----

A large bead of sweat makes it way slowly down the back of his neck, tickling his skin as it catches in his collar. It’s getting close to midday, the sun huge and deadly in the sky. The stage is in the middle of a giant dirt patch, no tree in sight to provide some semblance of shade. Everyone between the ages of 12 and 18 in the entire district are being herded into the stage space. The fine, dark dirt getting kicked up by hundreds of shoes, swirling in the air like smoke. Yann and him are stuck in the identification line, waiting for a finger prick and a drop of blood to confirm that yes, they are in fact, Lucas Lallemant and Yann Cazas. He is trying to distract himself by staring intensely at a rock on the ground that looks sort of like a fish, when someone trips into him. Not just someone, a big someone. Lucas puts out a hand to steady himself, his other one landing on the waist of the offender before he can stop it.

“SHIT I’m so sorry…” Eliott rushes out, head whipping frantically from side to side, “Camille still needs to learn that running through people’s legs is not proper Reaping Day etiquette.” His blue eyes finally settle on Lucas. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Say something. Anything. Oh God. He nods instead, not trusting his mouth. His left hand is still on Eliott’s waist, but he can’t seem to make it move. Eliott’s gaze is warm, softly flickering back and forth across Lucas’ face. His cheeks betray him then, flushing so intensely it’s almost painful. Eliott’s mouth breaks into a smirk, eyes playful as he gently backs away, turning in the direction of Camille’s giggles. Lucas’ arm settles back down at his side, hand tingling like a live wire. He watches until Eliott’s head disappears into the crowd, trying to settle the rapid beat of his heart.

“Oh wow, are you gonna be okay bud? Do you need me to give you CPR?” Yann snickers, clapping a hand hard in between Lucas’ shoulder blades. His cheeks are even warmer now. “If you don’t talk to him after this is over, then I will.”

His brain finally starts to register his surroundings again, and he turns to give Yann a hard shove, grinning despite himself. “If you go near him, I’ll shoot you in the foot, I swear to God.”

After the quick finger prick and a few more snide comments about his love life, they shuffle their way into the section marked “16”. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the top of a messy head of tawny hair, standing in the middle of the eighteen-year-old section that is marked off closest to the stage. His hand feels like it’s buzzing. Get it together Lucas.

At that moment, the crowd of teens were hushed, and the familiar dramatic tune of the national anthem blaring through the crackling speakers. Footage showing the war plays on the big screen, hard to see in the midst of the blinding sunlight. The president’s booming voice narrates, explaining the origin of the games, why it makes sense that they have been sending twenty-four kids to the fight to the death for twenty-seven years. Yann pokes his side, sending him an eye-roll. Lucas raises his eyebrows, a smirk dancing on his lips.

The film ends, and silence follows. A chair moves on stage, heels click on the hard surface. Hurried clacks echo through the space, and a woman hustles up to the microphone, one hand holding up the massive pile of blonde curls on top of her head. Daphné Lecomte. The Capitol representative for District 12 for the past few years, although she could not be older than twenty-five.

“Jesus, I swear her hair gets bigger every year,” Yann whispers in his ear with a breathy laugh. Lucas coughs to hide a chuckle, garnering looks from a boy and girl standing in front of them. He grins down at the ground while Yann elbows him in the ribs.

“Welcome everyone, to the Reaping for the 27th Annual Hunger Games!” Daphné says enthusiastically, her ridiculous Capitol accent extremely apparent. “As always, we are here to choose the two people who will have the historic honor of representing District 12 in- “ A strong wind gust sweeps up the stage, threatening to topple her hair tower. She steadies herself, tugging down on her neon pink skirt, “ i-in this year’s games!” She claps her hands together in excitement, gesturing over to someone on the side of the stage.

Emma Borgès saunters over to Daphné, clearly already wasted out of her mind. It isn’t even noon yet. She stumbles over her own feet, falling right into Daphné, who tries to gracefully push her upright. Emma gives the crowd a fumbling, slow salute, then takes her place next to the bowl of names at the center of the stage, swaying lightly on her feet.

The only District 12 champion in history. She won when she was just thirteen, outliving everyone thanks to her affinity for climbing trees. The spectators of the 20th games decided the killings weren’t going fast enough, so they flooded the area. Nineteen tributes had already been killed or died from the terrain, the last four drowned in the flood. Little Emma had been high up in a tree at the time, making her one of the youngest victors of all time. She was never really the same after that, spending most of her days getting drunk at the single district bar once she turned eighteen. Now every year, the two unlucky tributes not only have to fight to the death, but also deal with a drunk Emma Borgès as their mentor. What a fucking joke. Yann always had a massive crush on her though. He sneaks a glance over at Yann, who is openly staring at her with a dumb smile on his face. Idiot.

Daphné shuffles her way over to the glass bowl, struggling to drag the microphone with her. She smooths her skirt once more when she is settled. “Alright, let’s begin!”

She peers down into the large glass bowl, filled almost halfway with name cards. Every single person in this room has their name in there at least once. The twelve-year-olds are placed in only one time, and every year older is another slip added. When you are eighteen, your name is in the bowl seven times, making it more likely that an older tribute is picked. This ultimately makes the games more enjoyable for viewers, as a bunch of scared little kids running around would prove to be boring television after a while. You can add your name more times in exchange for ration cards, which is what most families end up doing in District 12. He had heard a rumor that Eliott’s name was in the bowl 32 times, but he hoped desperately that it was exaggerated.

Daphné’s pink-gloved hand reaches in slowly, swirling the cards around, trying to build anticipation. Lucas’ chest tightens, his forehead beading with sweat. Twelve cards with your name on it. That’s it. Only twelve. Daphné finally latches on to one, lifting her hand out of the bowl with a flourish. The crowd unconsciously leans forward, watching with wide eyes as she struggles to open the seal with her gloves on. The card rips open, and she clears her throat, lips approaching the microphone.

He knows before she even gets the words out. Her tongue pushes against her bottom teeth as her mouth opens, forming the beginning of the “L” sound.

Time slows down.

His chest heaves.

This can’t be happening.

He doesn’t even hear her say it, barely registers the echo of the ending syllable. He sees Yann’s shoulders collapse inward with a shuddering breath. His feet move before his mind catches up, walking with slow steps into the aisle leading up to the stage. Two peacekeepers walk up behind him, one placing a hard hand on his shoulder. They push him forward, his body refusing to move at anything above a glacial pace. He shoots a frantic glance back at Yann, who is staring at him with wide eyes, shoulders lifting up and down with the beginnings of hyperventilation. Lucas steels his eyes, desperately hoping Yann can read him. It’s okay... I’ll be okay. Yann nods imperceptibly, only for Lucas. A tiny pang of relief overshadows the crippling panic for a brief second.

His leaden feet move up the stage steps, and he moves to stand beside Daphné. She wraps her arms around him in a light hug, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Lucas! Well, aren’t you a strapping young lad! Now, how old are you sweetie?”

She moves the microphone in front of his face.

He can’t breathe.

He clears his throat.

“Sixteen.”

Sixteen, and I am going to die in a week.

Daphné claps her hands together again, snapping Lucas out of his thoughts. “Let’s give a round of applause for the courageous Lucas! The first District 12 tribute of the 27th Hunger Games!”

No one in the crowd moves a muscle. Dead silence.

“O-Okay then!” She clears her throat. “On to the second tribute!”

As she reaches in the bowl again, Lucas lifts his chin high, surveying the sea of young faces staring back at him. His heart is in his throat. He lands last on a pair of blue-grey eyes, wide and stricken under dark eyebrows, mouth closed in a tight line. Eliott. The realization suddenly dawned on him, there is still one tribute left. Oh God please anyone but him, please… oh God ple-

“Madeline Demaury!”

And God decided to laugh in his face.

There were a few gasps from the crowd. It’s exceedingly rare for a twelve-year-old to get drawn. Even more so a girl. The kids in the “12” section start to murmur to themselves, parting to reveal Madeline, her curls braided away from her face at her temples, showcasing her wide eyes and rosy, freckled cheeks. She straightened her pale green dress as the Peacekeepers appeared on either side to bring her up to the stage, pushing her shoulders back, putting on a brave face. From his spot on stage, he could see that her right shoe was untied. She is so young.

Before she can take her first step, Eliott shoves his way out of his section, landing on his knees in the center aisle, a cloud of dirt huffing into the air as he scrambles to his feet. He moves toward Madeline, but Keepers jump into action, pulling his arms behind his back, keeping him rooted to the spot. Lucas watches, horrified, as Eliott struggles against their grip. He manages to rip one arm free before a third Peacekeeper latches on to him. “Let me go! Get tHE FUCK OFF OF M-” He whips himself around, trying to face the stage despite the vice grip on his wrists. He sends a murderous glare at Daphné.

“I VOLUNTEER!”

“I volunteer as tribute.”

This can’t be happening. Wake up Lucas, WAKE UP. He digs his fingernails into his palms, drawing blood.

He is awake.

This is real.

Daphné is still standing next to the bowl, mouth open in shock. She quickly closes it, and makes a gesture to the Peacekeepers. They release Eliott, pushing him forward, and he falls onto his knees with the force. Madeline cries out, squirming out of the Keeper’s grip on her shoulder, and launches herself into her brother’s arms. Lucas can see Eliott’s lips move at her ear, and she starts sobbing, holding him tighter. The Peacekeepers come up behind her, pulling her out of his arms, dragging her away. Her screams pierce through deafening silence, filling up the space, cutting deep into Lucas’ soul, suffocating him. Eliott gets shakily to his feet, eyes shining, and he walks with long strides up to the stage. He stops next to him. Lucas continues to stare ahead, afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle whatever expression settles on Eliott’s face.

“My goodness! This is so exciting! District 12’s first ever volunteer!” Daphné drags the microphone over to Eliott, holding it up to his lips. “What’s your name handsome?”

“Eliott Demaury.”

“Oh, let me guess, was that your adorable little sister?”

There is a beat of quiet as he swallows, clearly trying to restrain himself from slapping the hair straight off of Daphné’s head. Eliott’s eyes narrow as he leans down.

“Obviously.”

Daphné clears her throat. “W- Well, there you have it!” She squishes her way in between the two boys, grabbing both their hands and lifting them straight into the air, beaming with excitement. “A big cheer for the District 12 tributes of the 27th Hunger Games, Lucas Lallemant and Eliott Demaury!”

Maybe it was the heat that finally caught up to him. Maybe the vice grip around his chest finally cut off his oxygen supply. Maybe his brain short-circuited with the dawning realization that he was now in a fighting death match with who he thought was possibly the love of his life. Whatever it was, Lucas’ body couldn’t take it anymore. His right hand slides out of Daphnés grip as he sways to the left. He hits the ground with a dull thud, vision going black around the edges. The last thing he registers is a head of tawny waves blocking the sun in his vision, the edges of his hair glowing auburn.

God, he is beautiful.

And then, everything is black.

[punkcupcakestyles]

Love Song

Part 8

“And what happens when I fall in love with you, Harry?”

“If one of us is gonna fall in love, it’s gonna be me.”

Catch Up!

BTW: I gotta say a big huge thank you to @for-fucks-sake-h for this one 

I didn't want to do this. I wanted to go home, and maybe hide under my bed. That was all I wanted to do. 

Fuck. 

I wasn't in the mood. 

"Sorry," I whispered after what it felt like an eternity of silence, Harry looking at me patiently from the door. "S'not your fault. I was the one that said yes to this stupid thing.”

His jaw clenched just a bit. It was hard to miss, the hinge of it popping out of his already structured faces. That was a thing about him: He was so sharp around the edges, it was almost impossible for him not to cut deep. 

"Want out?" He asked simply, but just that was enough to make my stomach drop.  

Such a good question: Did I want out? I probably should. 

"That's Midge's decision," I replied softly. It was easier to say than the turmoil of words that flooded my mind. 

"That's bullshit." My eyes met his, and at that moment I couldn't decide if his smile was sour or sweet, if he was being sarcastic, or he was mad cause I wasn't saying what he wanted me to say. I didn't know him at all. For a brief moment, I felt the urge to fix that. To take back my words, and make him smile just like he did in the morning, and find out every little detail there was to know about him. Did he wash his hair with warm water? Did he put sugar in his coffee? I didn’t know that. 

"Think whatever you want, Harry," I shrugged instead, forcing myself to get up from the bed. "I need to get ready, I have a busy day."

He didn't move, looking at me as I made my way to the bathroom. I could feel the energy of the room prickling on the tips of my fingers, running through my body with each step closer. It was suffocating. 

And I almost made it safe and sound into the bathroom. But his fingers wrapped around my wrist as I walked by him, pulling me back softly as he did so. 

And I knew he meant no harm. I knew. I still couldn’t help the panic that exploded in my chest, and that put me on high alert. Quickly, I scanned the room, looking for ways out: the window was a no go, we were on the 7th floor. He was blocking the door, and something told me he was a lot stronger than he looked.  

I was full-on panicking, the air stuck in my throat. It felt like an elephant had decided to sit on my chest and I was pinned to the floor. I couldn't get up, or think, or breathe, just sink to the floor. It felt like the world was burning and I was standing in the middle of it, fully aware that I needed to run, and unable to do so. Useless as always. 

“S…” Harry whispered as if he were talking to a wounded animal, afraid that it might launch into attack if he wasn't careful. I peered back at him he released my wrist and put his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. 

He had noticed the fear that was prickling on my skin, there was no doubt about it, and he was making himself smaller to calm me down. I had seen my mom do the same a bunch of times before. Only I was not a ball of fire, spitting danger around me just for the fun of it. 

He had nothing to be afraid of. 

And he knew that much, cause he smiled, patiently waiting until I turned fully around to look at him. 

“Are you ok?” He asked.

I wasn't. I felt tired and dizzy. All of the energy that had electrified me seconds before was now draining out of me. 

“Yeah…” I said in a voice that didn't feel like my own. It was hoarse and soft like I could burst into tears at any moment now. 

He took a step closer and his shoulders relaxed visibly as I looked at him in the eyes. Soon, his cold fingers were on my clammy neck, and his thumb was caressing my cheek. I smiled at the touch and closed my eyes as I allowed myself to lean closer to him. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry,” he muttered. 

“S’okay. It’s a bad habit of mine,” I said in the same low voice, worried that if I spoke up, I would cry. I let him pull me closer until my forehead was resting on his chest and he was all I could feel. His fingers drew soft circles on my back, as I meekly let my hands wrap around his waist. Every little touch sent a new shiver down my spine, excitement bubbling in my tummy as if my own body knew what was coming, and simply couldn't wait any longer. “You smell nice," I mumbled as I nuzzled my nose against his skin, taking him in for just a little longer.

A moment of silence took over the room, and I found myself wishing I could take all of it back, that I hadn't said a single thing, and just let it be. It was all going so well. 

"Want out, S?" Harry's words rumbled in his chest, sweet and alluring, and oh, how good it felt to hear him. “You can tell me, I’ll even take the blame.”

"Harry...don't."

"S..."

"Don't." I finally untangled myself from him, taking a step back to look at him. “Please, don't do this. I really can't risk it."

"Do what? Risk what?" He asked, his voice getting louder. 

"Everything!! I have everything to lose and you don't understand! You come here thinking this is all a fucking game. But it's not, Harry, not to me."

"So let's end this, Sofia."

"No!" I bit my bottom lip as it rolled into my mouth and gazed up at him. The whole world was blurred at the edges, and all I could see was him, all I could sense and care about. The only problem was that nothing else made sense. "Please..." I begged. 

The world slowed down and I could see everything playing out in slow motion. We were right at the part of the movie where the protagonist remembers the biggest tragedy of her life. 

Harry's jaw clenched, but if he had anything to say, he chose not to. He took a few steps away from me and left, even when I could feel the uncertainty that was eating him up. 

For a couple of seconds, I couldn't move. My knees were too weak and my mind was too fuzzy to attempt to do so, so I stayed put, balling my fist tightly and blinking the tears away. It was all I could do not to crumble to the insidious feeling making a home of my tummy.  

***

A tragedy: Due to bad weather conditions, my crew had been delayed in LAX and was just now getting to New York. 

An even bigger tragedy: I might have to do my own hair for national TV. 

It was honestly hard to care. 

Diana kept pacing around the room as she gave me instructions on how to behave during the interview: “smile”, “look at the public when telling a story”, “be relatable: no one wants to know you owned a pony...Or a yacht.” Ordering me around was her way to calm herself down. 

I had already done my makeup. I had learned a few tricks along the way on how to make my eyes look bigger and enhance the natural plumpness of my lips. I knew that if I put a tiny bit of blush on my nose I’d look more lively and that my eyebrows looked way better if they were kind of bushy and thick. 

It also gave me something to do, the opportunity to distract myself from the stupid sadness that had sunk in my chest. Cause Harry wasn’t there, and some part of me wanted him to be. I was expecting to see him when I arrived at the studio, with his smirk and careless attitude, leaning onto a wall while he chatted with someone. I was craving to see him, actually, and for him to take my hand when he realized I was a nervous mess, just like he had done when we were on the plane to New York. But it wasn't like I could blame him for choosing not to see me. 

“You ok? They’re about to get here, you’ll make it just fine,” Diana assured me right after she checked the time one last time. 

“Yeap.”

“You sure?”

“Yeap...where’s Harry? I figured he’d be here.” I tried to sound casual like I didn’t care. I tried to hide the fact that I felt like a balloon that had just been punctured a tiny little hole, and was deflating slowly. 

“He...uh, he is back to work. He wanted me to let you know that he’s going to go on a bit of a tour, traveling around the world to show his friends his new album before releasing it. He just...decided to do it a bit earlier.”

“Oh.”

“He will go to London, Tokyo, Paris, Rome, everywhere, really, but he will allow us to use his image to feed the press about your relationship if that’s what you want.”

“Oh,” I repeated, like the idiot I was. 

“And he also wants you to know you’re welcome to join him in any city you want. Your choice. He was very adamant that you get to decide. Not me, not Midge, but you."

“Oh…”

“You’re going on a tv show, Sofia. I need you to start saying actual words,” Diana snapped at me, and I let the corners of my mouth twitch, offering her a quick and sour smile before walking away as they called my name. 

The show was about to start.

I didn’t even get to fixing my hair. 

***

“So, the game’s pretty simple,” Jimmy Fallon smiled at me as we both stood in front of a line of shots. “I ask you a question and you can either answer it or take the shot.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound dangerous at all.”

“Just a warning, though. We’ve heard you hate the taste of pineapple, so one of these is a pina colada. And we’ve heard you’re allergic to peppermint, so we’ve made you a mojito. Let’s do this! First question for a chocolate martini: you can choose any guy in the world to spend the rest of your life, or you can spend one night with Rihanna. Which one you choose?”

“Rihanna. Can I still have the martini?”

“Sure. Second question for the pina colada…”

“Shit. That is strong!”

“I told you so. Second question: bang, marry, kill: Noah Centineo, which rumor has it will be your love interest in your next movie; Jacob Elordi, who you were pretty heavy with during your last movie; and Harry Styles, cause he’s Harry Styles and I like him.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have that drink…”

***

New York, with its hectic schedules and the endless string of public outings, was finally over and I was back home. 

I much rather be in L.A., and all of its chaos, endless meetings with Diana and Midge revising screenplays and projects, long hours spent on hair and make-up, and even longer days in photoshoots. It didn’t matter, cause I was home, and I could lie in bed with my mom when she got back from the hospital, and bake with Cat and watch movies with Sam. 

One thing was the same, though: No Harry. 

It had been two weeks since I last saw him, that awful morning in New York, and he hadn’t texted, called or talked to me since then, not even a stupid message through Diana. 

It was starting to be painful. 

Fuck. 

“Honey, you’re not being very useful,” my mom smiled at me, pushing an onion my way, so I would dice it. It was the first task she had given me since I sat down to watch her cook, and I sighed sorrowfully before I put myself to work. 

My mom cooked when she was happy. When we were growing up, and Cat was just a baby, she would cook every day, she baked cookies, and made pasta from scratch, or curry for dinner. My favorite was the Khao Soi, a soup recipe she learned back when she lived in Thailand for a couple of months before she married my dad. My mom was adventurous and happy when she was young, and it was hard to even imagine how she turned into the shy and reserved adult she was.  

I would come back from school and run to the kitchen to help her, even if it meant just stopping Cat from getting things into her mouth. I loved the smell in the air and the fact that she would allow me to eat the cookie dough, or taste the sauces. We would sing and laugh, and I never noticed the fact that she was always wearing long-sleeved shirts, even during the hottest days of summer, or how sometimes she covered a side of her face with her long hair. 

Ignorance was blissful. 

She was in a good mood today, it was Sam’s birthday, and we were making Rigatoni Alla Harry, his favorite dish. I was pretty sure he had asked for it just to spite me, so he could make a funny face every time he mentioned the name of the dish, which he did, constantly and unnecessarily. 

I had offered him whatever he could want: a quick trip to Paris? He got it; to party until he couldn’t remember his name? I would’ve paid for it in a heartbeat; a fancy watch with his name engraved on it? I couldn’t even imagine why he would want that for, but I would’ve bought it. Instead, he chose to spend the day in and to cook his own dinner with my mom. He couldn’t get any better.

I was only halfway through the onion when my phone started to buzz on the counter. I looked up and realized my mom was already giving me an exasperated look. “We already had this discussion, Sofia. Family time is sacred”, her voice rang in the back of my mind. I smiled apologetically and quickly picked it up before she would actually say the words. 

It was Diana, texting me from her trip back home, where she was visiting her parents. I wasn’t the only one having trouble with boundaries. 

@D

I think it’s time for us to make a little trip.

Btw, I loved your outfit yesterday. 

Her text came with a link to a magazine, one of those gossipy ones that I hated so much. For a second, I hesitated. I didn’t want to know what was being told. Most often than not, it was bullshit, but it still messed with my head. 

I finally opened it, closing my eyes as a rush of anxiety ran through my veins. What could I had possibly done? I couldn’t think of a single thing, I was the most boring person on earth.  

I shouldn’t have.

LOVE IS IN THE AIR

Spotted: Harry Styles and Camille Rowe having a fun night out in London, with a few friends. The on-and-off couple looked cozy while having dinner, with Styles' arm draped around the beautiful model for most of the night. According to sources, he’s beyond happy to be back with his muse for his long-awaited second album. 

Who’s not so happy about this recent development? Well, that would be Hollywood darling Sofia Walsh-De La Rosa, who was dating Styles up until very recently. The actress is said to be heartbroken…

The actress felt...empty. 

I knew I should’ve been pissed, but it was hard when there was a void where my heart was supposed to be. And intense sadness that had nothing to hold on to, so it was expanding everywhere else. 

I felt sick. 

My fingers kept scrolling through the article without really reading the words. I only stopped when I realized there was a photo posted. They were so beautiful, both of them, that it was hard to look away anyway. He was gorgeous, almost painfully so, and I could feel a fluttering feeling in my chest as I looked at him. He was walking out of the restaurant, frowning and looking down at the floor, while she was behind him, almost hiding from the camera. They made a fucking beautiful couple, there was no denying it. No wonder he still wanted her. 

@D

Get ready. I’ll get back tomorrow. We’re leaving in the afternoon.

***

It wasn’t my choice. It was never going to be. 

We got to London in the early afternoon, and it was raining, so we went straight into the car, a black SVU with tinted windows. Tired as I was, I closed my eyes and fell asleep on D’s shoulder, while she checked her email on her phone and muttered quick reminders to herself. 

I didn’t even notice when we arrived at our destination, a tall, black building with reflective glass in downtown London. It didn’t have a name on it, but it looked modern and expensive and Diana rushed to it, trying to avoid the rain that was starting to pour down. I followed her inside, squealing as my foot fell into a puddle of water and my white converse got soaked. 

I looked rattled, to say the least. Diana hadn’t allowed me to go to the hotel first, so I tried to rake my fingers through my hair, so it wouldn’t get puffy because of the rain. I also shifted on my feet, already uncomfortable by my wet shoe.

The old man sitting by the reception desk didn’t bat an eye when he saw us. He looked at me from head to toe disapprovingly, and with a sigh, he let us in. It was almost as if he was used to seeing people walking around looking like crazy. 

The building was some sort of artists’ studio, with paintings and graffitis all over the walls. It was exactly the kind of place where you would expect to have a sudden stroke of genius. 

I followed Diana into the elevator and we remained in awkward silence as we went up to the 7th floor. I was about to ask her where the hell were we when the bell rang, and the doors opened to a floor full of recording booths. 

It wasn’t until that moment when my half-asleep brain caught up with the fact that we were in Harry’s territory. And I was about to see him. We walked down the hallway to the very last booth. From the looks of it, it was the biggest one and the only one with a key card door. Diana knocked on it and my heart picked up the pace as I heard the steps coming. 

Music was playing in the room when Jeff opened the door and he looked at us in surprise, as if he couldn’t possibly remember he had guests over. He blinked a few times, right before his eyes traveled from Diana to me, and he stepped aside to let us in. 

“Harry’s in the back,” he murmured when I walked in. I nodded and went straight to the semi-open door in the back of the room. 

It was where music was coming from, a soft ballad sang in a slow, chocolatey way. It was alluring and sexy in a way I couldn’t describe. I couldn’t put a name to the feeling that bubbled in my tummy at the sound of it. 

Harry didn’t notice when I walked into the room, not for a while anyway. He was wearing a blue sweater and dark blue jeans, and his hair was a bit shorter than I remembered it. He was focused on the music, frowning lightly as he moved his head to the rhythm of it. 

“I like the song,” I said after a while, calling for his attention as he still hadn’t noticed my arrival. Harry was already smiling when he turned around and I felt like a billion butterflies were fluttering in my tummy at the sight of him. 

“Hey,” was all he said, but it was enough to ignite a spark in my chest. 

“Hi. It’s really good.”

“Makes you wanna fuck the singer?” He asked, and I had to hold my breath as I watched him take a couple of steps closer and lean over me to close the door behind me. It was just the two of us now, no Jeff or Diana to listen to us. “It’s kind of what I’m going for.”

“I wouldn’t know, I have a boyfriend,” I whispered in response. There was no need to speak up, he was so close, I could feel his breath, and the tickles of the ghost of his lips on mine. 

“Oh, then does it make you wanna fuck your boyfriend?” he smirked, dimples showing on his cheeks as he kissed me. 

Neither of us was in any rush. His hands traveled to my waist, as the weight of his body pushed me back to the door, trapping me there while his tongue grazed my bottom lip. I sighed, giving in to the kiss as my knees started to tremble. 

It almost felt like he missed me, the taste of my lips and the shape of my body was making up for the lost time. He explored my mouth and allowed me to suck on his lips, the pressure of his fingers growing as he pulled me closer. 

I forgot what I was there for, forgot about the photo and the gossip and the fact that he was back with his ex. I only cared about his kiss and the way he was holding me. 

His nose bumped against mine when he broke the kiss and a shy smile spread on his lips, looking at me as his fingers pressed lightly to my neck. 

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he muttered.

“I wasn’t.”

“Too bad, cause I kinda missed you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I smiled softly at him. “I think you’ve been doing just fine without me.”

“S.” My name came out of his lips like an annoyed grunt, followed by an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t get back with her.”

“You don’t owe me any kind of explanation, H.”

“I do!” He urged. “And I need you to believe me: I didn’t get back with her and I didn’t fuck or kiss her or anything. I’ve been a fucking saint since that morning.”

“Why do you need me to believe you?”

“I have no fucking idea, S. I just need you to. I need you to trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Good.” His smile was bright and sincere and a little bit relieved. And it took a lot of effort not to kiss him again.

“You don’t have to be a saint, though,” I blurted out when his back was already facing me and he was looking for his phone on the control table. “That’s not what this is about.”

“I know,” he smiled in response. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t kiss anymore,” I forced myself to continue, now that I had the strength in me. “Not when we’re alone.”

“We’ve had this conversation before, babe.”

“Yes, and we keep ignoring it.” And because of it, my heart imploded when I saw a photo of him with another woman. “So maybe we shouldn’t do that anymore.”

“Are you scared you might fall in love with me?” He asked rather cockily. 

“I’ve seen what love does to people, H, so ‘terrified’ would be a better word to use,” I said to his surprise. “I think I should go take a shower. I’ll be at the hotel.”

I wasn’t expecting him to take my hand, or to look at me like a lost child that wasn’t so sure about what he was going to do next. 

“Don’t go to a hotel, S. Stay with me.”

“H…”

“Just tonight. You can sleep at your hotel tomorrow.” 

“Why?” I chuckled.

“It’ll be nice to spend some time with you, just us. I’ll bet we’re gonna have to do a lot of things just for show these days. I’ll be good,” he promised. 

How could I say no?

***

His bed was soft. 

I was supposed to be taking a shower. Harry had left me in his room so I could have some privacy, but I kept staring at his bed, soft and warm, as it called my name. 

Just 10 minutes. 

I stripped down to my underwear, letting my clothes pool down on the floor, and sat down on the bed, letting out a relieved sigh, before I lay down and got myself under the covers. I was hoping that Harry was one of those guys that believe women take ages to get ready, and he would let me be. All I needed was 5 minutes. Maybe 10. 

I didn’t know how long I had slept, but I knew I was hot and that maybe it was time for me to get up. I didn’t want to, though. Maybe if I stayed in bed for 5 more minutes, I could continue sleeping. So I pushed the covers down to my waist, so the cold air could freshen up my skin and I turned the pillow to the cool side of it, letting myself slip away until I fell asleep one more time.

The dipping of the bed woke me up, and I opened my eyes to find that Harry was already staring at me. He was right next to me and had changed to a pair of black joggers and a rattled blue shirt, a far cry from the Gucci model the world knew him to be. He smiled at me, and I was sure I had smiled back, although I wasn’t too sure. 

“What time is it?” I heard myself ask, my voice pasty and hoarse. 

“Almost midnight.”

“Mmmmmm.”

I closed my eyes and nuzzled myself against the pillow, ready to go back to sleep. It was then when I felt it, a sharp feeling on my shoulder, followed by Harry’s playful laugh. 

I sat up and turned to him, only to see him bite back his stupid smile. He looked guiltily at me for a second, before he let his eyes wander down to my body, noticing only now that I was in my underwear. His eyes quickly flew back to mine and I could notice the slight flush on his cheeks. 

“Did you just bite me?” I asked, and even if I wanted to sound mad, I couldn’t help but smile at him. 

“You were the one to tell me I shouldn’t kiss you anymore,” he shrugged off in response.

“If you’re gonna go around biting me, I would rather you kiss me instead.”

“You sure? You keep changing your mind.”

“No biting, Harry,” I refused to answer his question. Maybe cause I didn’t know the answer to it. But all I got from him was a shit-eating grin. 

“We’ll talk about biting later...let’s go back to that kiss.”

“Harry…”

“I have a counterproposal,” he smirked softly. I realize I could smell his perfume, soft and breezy, and I could feel the warmth of his body as he scooted closer to me. Sleep was slowly fading away and I was all too aware of the loud beating of my heart. 

“What?” I would say yes to anything he asked. 

“Let’s have fun. No rules.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It’s a lot safer than just...not doing what we really want.”

“And what do you really want, H?”

“Right now? You. I want you, S.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

“Technically you are my girlfriend, babe.”

“And what happens when I fall in love with you, Harry?”

“If one of us is gonna fall in love, it’s gonna be me,” he snorted. “Don’t worry about that.”

“How do we...start this?” I asked, his eyes falling on mine as he offered me a mischievous smile. 

“It already started, baby.”

“Then what do we do?”

“How about a shower?” He asked and I gulped down just at the thought. It was a lot to think about, his wet body, his kisses, the fact that we both would be naked. It was a lot. 

“Let’s do that,” I smiled. 

_________

[fancifulwritings]

The Song Remains The Same

Chapter Three

She moved a bit unsteadily in the limo. The driver had already started it and the last thing she wanted to do was fall. She’d done that enough already. With her back to him, she moved to sit down. Robert seemed to have a different idea. Just as she was about to sit, she felt hands on her waist, pulling and moving her so she was in his lap. Calypso had been twisted so that she faced him, legs on either side of his lap. There was something so natural about all of this. Something so calming about this with Robert.

By all rights, her stomach should be screaming with worry. It should be twisted into one big knot. She’d never done anything like this with anyone before. Sure, in high school, there had been a few boys she would kiss here and there. Maybe even make out a little. But something like this? Something that had the promise of ending far past a short make out session? Her inexperience would be blatant from the beginning.

Doing this wasn’t what worried her. Robert would know what he was doing, she was sure of that. Her fear with all of this was losing him. Would he notice how clueless she was? If he did, which he surely would, would he turn her away? It seemed unlikely. Everything she had ever thought about him put him as sweet and patient. Perhaps that had been wrong. The public’s perception of a celebrity wasn’t always right. Did he only want someone who knew what they were doing?

The first gentle press of his lips against hers drew her out of the spiraling thoughts. Any sort of worry melted away as she melted again him. It was a quick kiss. Just something sweet and chaste, but it had the promise of more later.

The kiss itself set her insides on fire. It was stupid for it to make her feel so much. It was just a kiss. She’d been kissed before, god damn it. The last thing she needed was him thinking she had no experience. There was just something about this that made her completely melt. Calypso was putty in his hands.

There was a grin on his face as he pulled back, hands still firmly planted on her hips. He threw his hair back a little. She blushed just a little but didn’t look away from him. Right now, she couldn’t. There was something in his eyes that said to never look away. It was just like the concert. Something just drew her to him, time and time again. That didn’t seem to be the problem now. And she doubted that she might question it.

“I’m afraid I never managed to catch your name. I’d like to take the time to now.”

“Calypso,” she answered with a smile. To that, he just grinned and placed another chaste kiss to her lips.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Greek, if I remember the story correctly.” To that, she just nodded.

“I believed so. Anyway, I’m Robert,” he said with a sort of sideways grin. She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her mouth. The way that he said it was so casual.

There really was something about his being that relaxed her just enough. He also stood her on the edge, one wrong move could push her away. That might just be her own brain. While he was the driving force over the edge, he seemed to also be the safety net and rope. It was odd that someone she had only known for a few moments could make her feel so strongly.

“It was my father’s favorite story when he was younger,” she began after a moment of silence. “I suppose when he met my mom and then they had a kid he couldn’t think of a better name.” She said with a shrug. Compliments had never been her thing. It felt awkward to directly accept them. Here though, she didn’t want to insult him and deny what he thought. Besides, for her to catch his eye she supposed she had to be at least a little pretty.

“Your beauty would be capable of trapping people, just like your namesake. I have no doubt in that. After all, it’s seemed to have ensnared me.” To that, she just blushed. In an attempt to silence him, she leaned forward and kiss him. This one was a bit different than the others. He wrangled control of it from her. It was something that Calypso was glad to give up.

Once she pulled away, he began to speak again. “And a beauty like you certainly can’t be from around here. That is, unless you’ve managed to give yourself a fake accent and everything of the like.” Robert continued with a grin. She’d been hoping that he might stop the compliments.

His hand had found its way into her hair. If she hadn’t already been a puddle before, she certainly was one now. His fingers twisted and twirled the ends of her brown hair before gently running through it. The combinations of movement, and his other hand still on her hip, caused her to sigh softly.

It really took every fiber of her being to not simply fall against him. Robert might have said that he was the one caught, but she was the one that was trapped. To be so close to him? That was something that only seemed capable in her wildest of dreams. To be living out that fantasy now? It didn’t matter his age. Never would matter.

“You’d be correct in that,” she began after a moment, “I’m from the States, as you call them over here. First night out of my homeland, actually.” She grinned as she spoke before leaning in to place a soft kiss to his cheek. The earlier kiss had almost been too much. If she pressed for more now, there was no way of knowing if they might get out of the limo.

That, and she was hesitant now to make any sort of move. The last thing she wanted to do was come off as completely shy. That might just scare him off. But would he want someone that took the lead either? It was a dangerous game she was playing in her head.

His fingers continued to run through her hair. Every time she felt she moved too far into her thoughts, he brought her out. Calypso straightened up just a bit and chuckled when she did. Only in this position, she realized, would she truly ever feel taller than him. Her hands came up for a second, seemingly on their own. They paused by his shoulders.

What would really complete her dreams, for the moment now, was playing with his hair. But would that be okay? She hardly knew or understood the rules for what they were doing. Was she allowed to play with his like he was with hers? Calypso really couldn’t imagine him being so fickle. Did she want to risk it?

“Go ahead love,” he said simply after a moment. She grinned and twirled the ends before simply running her fingers through his curls. Without asking for permission this time, she buried her head against his neck. There was something calming about it. She noticed the faint scent of cologne and something else underneath it. Something a bit woodsier in nature. Naturally, she though, he would smell like that under everything else. Nothing else would make sense.

“Now, how did you manage to get a limo all to yourself?” She asked after a few moments of silence. They seemed to just being enjoying each other’s embrace. It was nice, something she hadn’t expected. That didn’t mean Calypso wanted it to be in complete silence. Too long and she might retreat back into her thoughts.

“I left after the rest of them, fed up a bit with Jim, but when haven’t I been?” He said with a soft chuckle. That surprised her a bit. She would have thought that he and Jimmy were close. Sure, the years had likely changed them. But had they changed that much? For such a response, she would have to guess yes. She just cocked her head, hoping to coax an elaboration out of him.

“He always asks the same bloody question. ‘A full reunion tour, when could you have that ready Perce?’” He said, clearly doing his best to mock Jimmy’s voice. “It’s all he ever wants to talk about and do,” Robert muttered. His tone was what surprised her the most. She knew that he hated the idea of it, but that much?

“He doesn’t seem to grasp that I’ve moved on. Zeppelin isn’t my life anymore. I’m not that man anymore. That man is vastly different from me. Perhaps I just haven’t grasped that Jim hasn’t moved on, that he still is that man.” He said with a shrug. “Either way, I couldn’t stand to tell him no again. He’s relentless, not used to not getting his way I suppose. We all used to give into what he wanted. He called the shots. Bloody control freak,” he said with a shake of his head.

Had he even really wanted to do the concert she had just watched? There was a strange feeling in her stomach. If he hadn’t wanted to be there. Calypso might just feel a little bit guilty. It had been something she had hoped for forever. She wanted to remember it as the best day of her life. If he had been miserable the whole time, what was the point of it?

“I don’t regret my past,” he began after another moment. His voice was softer this time. He must have seen the look of fear on her face. At least she assumed he had. “It’s what granted me the life I lead now. It’s what allowed for me to grow into the person I am. I could never regret it.” She just nodded, leaning to place a gently kiss on his neck.

“The tour we did before was something else. It was Zeppelin adjacent, not Zeppelin itself. That’s behind me now as well. I’m no longer Robert Plant, the bloody lemon boy. Those days are behind me. It wouldn’t be right,” he paused for a moment. It was obvious to her that he was searching for the right words to use.

“It wouldn’t be right to exclude John again. It must have hurt him, for us to do that. It had to have felt like a spit in the face. And it just, it wouldn’t be right,” his voice trailed off and wavered slightly.

To that, she just nodded. Robert didn’t need to say the words for her to understand. She hadn’t been here his whole life. Rather, she was just a small bump in the road. But, she understood. He was speaking of Bonzo, of his lost friend.

It would only make sense that he might never want to touch his Zeppelin days again. They might have been filled with fun at the time. Now, looking back, they might only bring him pain. That Robert, like he said, was someone else. Someone else entirely. Life had changed him from that young bouncy boy he once was. To return to that… Calypso understood how it could hurt and feel disingenuous.

“But that matters not now,” he said as the smirk returned to his face. No doubt in his previous years, he had used groupies as therapists. Calypso, though far from considered herself that, was happy to listen now. “I have you for a while and I intend to focus on you. Not the past or any stupid quarrel I have with Jim. It’s been years since I’ve seen such a pretty bird as you,” he said. In response, Calypso just buried her face against his neck. Her face was a bright red from blushing.

“No, no,” he tutted. His hands moved from her hair and waist to place a finger under her chin. It gently guided her so that she was looking him straight in the eye. “No hiding from me. There’s no need darling.”

Robert leaned in again to kiss her. Naturally, and without question, he dominated it, controlled it. It was a subtle thing, though. Something that just felt right and natural. Not forced. Calypso melted just a little bit. The embarrassment from moments ago forgotten.

In her mind, it was obvious that she struggled to keep up with the kiss. Robert was so, so, so much more experienced than her. Surely, he would notice. But would he care?

Her inexperience only became more apparent when he opened her mouth with his own. It was a fraction of a second later that she found her tongue entangled with it. She was hardly complaining. The last thing she wanted to appear was lost, though. It might turn him away. There had been so much luck involved in getting here, in getting him. Losing that right now? She couldn’t stand the thought of it.

It only took Robert a few moments to notice that she was a bit behind, struggling to follow the pace he had set. To him, that was no problem. It didn’t matter much anymore. Back when he was young, when he had his whole life ahead of him, he might have had a bit more of a preference for experienced girls. Now, he took what he got and appreciated it. He slowed down just a bit, leading her gently. Calypso noticed the pace change but said nothing. If anything, she was grateful.

His hands, that had returned to her hips, moved for a moment so that he could put her hands on his shoulders. It was a bit more comfortable of a position. Well, that and it was a bit closer. Calypso was grateful, at least. There was so much doubt in what she could do.

They continued on like this for a few more minutes, hands moving through hair and tongues intertwined. Robert slowly leading her where he wanted. She tried her best to keep up. Curled up to the one man she wanted most to be with, she didn’t care what he wanted. Sure, she had some idea. Little was left to the imagination from her position on his lap.

The limo came to a sudden and abrupt halt. At least, that was how it felt to them. They’d become so focused on each other that they had forgotten he world around them. This seemed like it was going to be a common problem around him for Calypso.

Once again, she was sent crashing to the floor. This time, a chuckle left her lips as she looked up at Robert. It wasn’t a bed view she had. She smirked at her own thoughts.

“This is the second time I’ve managed to knock you flat on your ass.”

“Hopefully not the last time,” Calypso said with a bit of confidence she didn’t know she had. He winked before offering her his hand.

“I do believe this is our stop, though, love. I hope you don’t mind meeting the rest of the band. We can return to this after.”

[lumberingleviathan]

Demons Unknown

I know I normally write x reader stories, but I wanted to introduce you guys to two of my OC’s. Loshya a demon boy who’s aware of most things, but not being with someone- and Vishka a human who loves him very much.

Word count: 2,817

Warnings: Lemon, some mentions of past violence.

-x-

Vishka feels like there’s eyes on her through the dirty windows. Looking in on the pair of bodies pressing together. While winter creeps it’s way under the door, keeps trying to gut the fire.

Tonight’s the first night in her new home though, and she chalks up the unease to it. How cramped this section of the cities housing is. How through the walls she can hear a family of twelve. Some shrieks of joy, others low quiet sobs muffling into their pillows. The street is a river current of movement. Loshya tells her it is always this way, there is always someone coming and going.

It’s the nature of the city, Vishka. It is always awake, it is always fighting.

Loshya with that fire making his eyes gleam under the dark fan of lashes. Making his smile heat up her chest. Reminds her why she fell in love with him in the first place. WHy she chose to give up a life of riches. In a cage made of fine furs, of dinners eaten in silence. WIth stony faces. Those same faces laughing, drinking, dancing at lavish parties where the help spit in their drinks behind their backs.

Loshya who is an infernal thing, who only like this sheds the visage of a man. Who like this feels like coals within the fire; who like this has the curve of ebony horns through the shock red of his hair. He has lived the streets a beggar, but she thinks him a god as he is. His tail where it curls securely around her ankle now. Pulls, and tugs.

It had taken everything to convince Loshya to marry her.

He had wanted so much better for her.

Loshya who has never known another's kisses, another's skin, precious Loshya with the heart of a warrior. Who’s knuckles are worn callous, are bloody smears most nights he comes back. Who insists on washing his hands before he’ll let her see to them.

I don’t wanna get-- it on you.

Everything's iced over beyond the window; VIshka wonders if the city is ever anything other than perma-winter.

Things like autumn, or spring only draw up blanks of memory. She says as much to Loshya, who's got that smile that's more a wince turned back at her. While a fire burns low, throws off shadows of orange difused to coal black across them both. While Loshya defies the natural laws of winter beside her: He Who Is Summer Come Again; sweat pooling down the arc of shoulders; radiating a heat unmatchable even by the fire he set to a few minutes ago.

Vishka who always runs so cold, is still chattering teeth under her furs.

Although - she has him now. Here, with her feet tucked in beneath his thigh. Lifting up her toes every few minutes to press up against the skin. While hand that was draped over back of couch makes its slow-set course to her ankle as if it is only oh-so-casual.

This is a new game he's just starting to learn, so she indulges the novice with a soft smile hidden at corner of her mouth. Until his fingers clasp around ankle, roll skin against bone - until she feels the slight pull that means hey; that means up. So she draws her knees in closer to her chest, and hums a note of approval while he's drawing her legs out across his lap.

They stay like this while the fire makes shadow puppets across the line of his jaw. While VIshka chews at her thumb nail, and her thighs squirm in feigned restlessness until she can feel him getting hard beneath the never-quite-enough friction she's rationing out. If she were to look up, she knows his jaw would be cut from stone. Same way his fingers are tensing up at the pinch lock of her knees.

The blue of his eyes glowing in the dimness. How a demon could be so innocent is beyond her. How she wonders that she isn’t the monster of the two of them. Preying upon the darkness, stalking it as she has all this time.

"What's the matter?" Drawling the words out; lowering her fingers just enough to talk around it. "Pull something doing your...?" She gestures at him; how his chest has stopped moving from exertion of previous exercise regimen. Not that she’d call it that; not the way he does it - makes her think too much of chosen tortures... but maybe that's the point. He's in a good mood, though; she knows because he pinches the skin of her thigh lightly. Doesn't need to say he's calling her out on her bullshit. Not with how easily her legs draw apart the further his hand shifts up.

All of this while heat crawls along her spine, makes itself know in the new shake of an exhale. She understands that when her arms come up to catch around his neck; uses the anchor of him to draw herself up. Slides into his lap with a self-satisfied smirk at the way he's already nosing at her.

"Hey..."

His fingers go curling into her furs: tug, pull, shift... but never take it off. How considerate he is even about this - so now what she wants seems an even more needful thing than before. "Baby..." and all of a sudden she's got fists full of licorice-red curls. Doing her best not to get distracted; trying to forget about natural phenomenon like undertow. Like erosion... like sink holes…

One hand shifting through the sweat stick of his hair to wrap solidly around his horn. All but anchors herself with it.

Shifts her weight forward, and oh, see, now

How he recedes instantly; how he lets her, with just the barest of pressure, put his back against couch once more.

While she's mumbling:

"Wait -"

and

"Just -"

This sort of almost-girlish giggle tickling the back of her throat what with that glassy-eyed confusion he's following every move she makes. That nothing she does will manage anything remotely like a surprise, and so subtlety is discarded. Until she's gotten his pants all twisted up somewhere down around his calves. Has to go catching at his hands again, and this time he's got a huff of air pressing at her mouth for the halt.

While she's already feeling dizzy at the way he lets her draw one of his arms over the back of the couch. That he leaves it there; even knits his brows together for it... but does it just the same. Vishka has been busy learning the thousands of things he's saying without ever saying a single fucking word. Which is fair; she's got more than enough for the both of them. So "I want you to show me what you want," comes blunt force trauma from her lips straight to the way he shrinks further back against sofa.

Thins his gaze and pops his jaw while her hands are taking up his right into both of hers. Turning it palm up - and he still hasn't said anything, but he's turning this new shade of red she doesn't think she's seen from him before. Which, all things considered, seems almost hilariously adorable. (Pretty sure saying as much might not be the best move, though, so observation stays tight in her chest.)

Of course he isn't looking at her... but his chest is doing that subtle shudder that means he's not breathing quite right either. Is murmuring "- the fuck for?" Which is what he either chooses to say, or just says because he doesn't really mean to say anything at all.

Is starting to figure out words for Loshya slip and slide like children learning to ice skate: clumsy-limbed precious doves who can't quite yet transition to surface traction.

She's diligent, though; is oh-so-at-ease, since... see? Nothing to fear here; not when he's indulging her oh-so-sweet this way. So she keeps right on going: "Because... well, you've only ever been with me. If you don't know  what you want..."

He's looking up at the ceiling now, and it's her turn to get his stand-by of eyeroll.

Has to move his palm up to her mouth and sink teeth into the fleshy heel of it. Just hard enough to dent heavy callus; keeps adding pressure until there's the telltale twitch of vein in his neck that says she's finally got his full attention. "You're gonna wanna watch this." So runs her preface before she's rolling her tongue from teeth's indent to score across life line. Reading his future beneath slick muscle until it's slotting between fingers; until she's sucking at his index; until - there: his gaze becomes a gravitational pull sectioning her out from the rest of the world.

Her laughter is this kind of delirious trill of noise while saliva is shining up her lips. "Oh... so now you wanna listen?" And oh, what leash does he have around all his inborn threat that keeps him a steady-shaking beast beneath her?

What line that says here, but no further - and is it just because she alluded to it at all?

Drools into his palm, working spit up by rolling her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

He makes that whine of his when she asks, "What, you wanna help now too?"

And he's oh so red now; staring at her from beneath lowered half-moon of darker lashes. This, she's got no defense for; just has to lean in to catch his mouth.

Her exhale breathes, "Shit. Wait -"

And god, if he isn't good at stage redirect: her chest is flushing pink this time when she spits into his hand. Has to lead his wrist with her nails biting into bone just to get him to move this time.

"Come on, show me: I wanna watch."

His face goes ducking out of sight. He's making some sort of noise in the back of his throat that might be annoyance, or simple shyness. Judging by the way he won't look at her; she'd guess the latter. Leans herself back just enough to watch between them the way he all but scalps his cock. Furious quick movements that remind her of the way he slams into bridge-of-nose with that crushing up-strike move she's seen him pull Out There in the world of Revolution, of VIolence.

"Hey. Hey - go slow, baby..."

But he isn't listening; is oh-so-intent on getting this over with as quick as he can. Left hand still afloat in far sea; far, far away from its delinquent mirror-twin. Fingers twitch at fabric, or go burrowing into stuffing where seams threaten to rip.

It's her turn to push at him, then. Knocks her forehead against his and grasps for his hand. "Slower," she purrs - and does: long, falling gesture of gentle push-down in drawn-out exhalation of breath. When she pulls their conjoined hands up, she adds more pressure; makes his fingers cinch just that much more. Holds steady at head of cock already beading up with seep of fluid. "That's good, baby; just like that. Feel it..."

Starts up word-noise that is enthusiastic; is encouraging; is practically dripping now with oh-so-badly-wanting -

His shoulders tense; roll up and start to curve in like wings. Making a shelter of the hot-house they've made of themselves. There's a summer in between her thighs: the cresting temperature point that is high-noon sun; is supernova blowing her pupils wide, and letting spit seep out of her mouth into the faster, slicker pour that is pre-come; all of it sweat-salty and softened by saliva. Keeps up the slippery friction of movement at a slower, easier glide; has strong fingers shaking now beneath the slim pressure of her own.

"Loshya... don't you wanna look at me?" Pouted out while he's been push, push, pushing his forehead against her own. Their breath mingling in half-pants while she's shamelessly grinding herself down against his left thigh. While seam of couch fares far worse, even: creaks, groans, rattles until stitches go popping under pressure of white-knuckled hands and billow out snowstorm of inner stuffing.

She can't hear the fire anymore; can't even feel the grip of winter where it was knocking just an hour ago at her bird-hollow bones. Not when summer has granted her this blessing like no other - how she can't even look at anything but, now; even if it means her vision will blot out later. It wouldn't matter, having seen this: the way his shoulders start up that steady-state shudder, and the shape of his open mouth is a silent trace of her name around the clamped-down strangle of noise clawing at his throat; keeping back everything he still won't say even now.

He's trying to shift forward on the couch; makes his hand stall out, so that she gets to say "Ah - I didn't say stop" in that tone that's all breathy tease; the one that has his jaw nudging at her own until his teeth are catching at her earlobe. Low-pitched whine of noise is easier to hear, and oh, she knows what he wants. Of course she does; but this, too, is part of the game, so.

"What? What do you want, baby?"

Each time she helps guide his hand over jerk of cock there's more pressure; increasing upward draw before it all but dissipates on the downstroke.

He's all but coming apart, and she... oh, god: she's never seen anything oh-so-exquisite as this. Is drunk to giddiness with it; is already moaning at the way he's knocking his knee up against her. Bouncing her in quick-timed rhythm at poise of position on thigh, and -

"Come on, come on -" Just rush of words now; fresh plea of her own that starts picking up pace. "That's it. Come on- jus'-" and oh, here is slur and tumble of speech when he's trying to drown her words with his mouth. Only... he can't quite get his to close, either, and she's not going to be deterred. Not now.

Not when she all at once slows: almost stalls, but never quite stops the slick-twined mess that is their wrapped-tight hands now. Interlock of fingers; bones grinding at each other when -

It's enough to get his gaze to snap to hers, though. Where all that blue - better than any April morning sky - are fixed on hers so glassy-bright. "Please," is what he says first - whispered thick and low; like his tongue is plucking words out of the very limits of vocabulary available right now - which is imagery enough to get her laughing again.

His eyes so wide she's going to drown in all that ocean-blue while she agonizingly draws out just two more strokes; just to watch the way his hips buck up into it.

"I want - "

He starts - stops - she can almost hear his teeth grinding themselves down to enamel dust. Only when he tries again there's no white powder residue; just the letter of promise that will undo her completely in soothsayer-reading of palmlines when he says:

"I wanna fuck you."

And she doesn't even have time to try teasing back; not when they're a sudden frenetic rush of movement that is her hands twisting and twisting into his hair.

He's going for her hips; makes a drag of her along the length his thigh. How even then she swears she sees some touch of smug at the way her moans go blistering up against the back of her teeth. Until, until, and this at last: she is full of sunlight. Is gilded vessel suffused with summer heat, and every inch of skin beneath surface is lighting up to doomsday-nova nearness.

The kind of close there is never any recovering from: how not even Apollo could claim dominion over her now. This gift he gives her in the clash of teeth, in the hiss of noise; in the way skin splits like sofa overfill at the back of his neck. Can hear the lowly-chanted chorus of her own voice still trying for "just like that" even when he's giving her this exquisite torture-grind of hip bones - until even that patience is broken for crest of golden warmth that will remain hours later still - when limbs finally stop their shiver-shake of worn.

In this, she is finally chosen.

In this, there is the delicacy of spring: where flowers bloom. Where sun says:

You I know

and

You I love.

When her breathing comes back to normal, later while they’re a twine of bodies on the floor. When her furs are used for nothing more than blanket spread out against the cold of the world, her voice comes much softer. “Why’d you pick me?” she asks in delicate sugar spun breakableness that makes Loshya’s heart sputter. Has him nosing under her chin, tracing out the pulse hidden there in her throat. Exhales against it, grins at the way she squirms beneath him.

“I didn’t, you choose me.”

[commander-rahrah]

RESIDENCY (AN OPEN HEART FIC): PART NINE

Pairing: MC (Jordynne Holland) X Ethan Ramsey X Bryce Lahela; MC X Bryce; MC X Ethan

Masterlist: Click Here 

Chapter Rating: T (Swearing)

Word Count: 5300+

Description: Jordynne helps Ethan confront Dolores’ family, and she finally finds out the truth about Patient X. 

Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Jordynne’s background is my own creation, based loosely off of MC in-game’s personality and provided with more details.

Author’s Note: I have been trying to write in more original pieces, but there were a few scenes from in-game that I just loved too much that I wanted to include as part of Jordynne’s story. Also, I skipped Chapter 9 because MC and Ramsey fighting about her thinking he was playing a joke on her with the patient was super out of character to me and I hated it soo I’m pretending like it never happened. As always likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated! If you would like to be added to the tag list please reply on here or DM me! <3 

Update: I was on mobile view and went to fix the tags and it deleted all of the text in the post but not the post?!?! So I readded the text just now. Mobile Tumblr will be the death of me.

Taglist: @drakewalkerfantasy @owleyes374@professorortegasstudent@mindlessdreaminxo @mayar-mahdy @paisleylovergirl @nicquix @emilymay100 @octobereighth @jenp02cutie-blog @llamasgrl @timmagicktoad @lilyofchoices

Previous Updates: Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

PART NINE

“As usual, Rookie, you’re only half-right. And in medicine, that counts for nothing.”  Ethan took a sip of his coffee, using the cup to hide his face. Lonely? Is that what she thought of him? Could she see through him that easily?

The vibrating of his pager on his hip saved him, “Come on, then. My pager is buzzing. We should be getting back.” Ethan finished the rest of his drink in a swallow, tossing the cup into the garbage can.

He watched as Jordynne tried to carefully balance her cup in one hand while trying to put her coat back on with the other. Letting out a chuckle, he watched her struggle for a moment before grabbing onto the loose sleeve she was having trouble with.

Holding it out for her, she gave him a breathless, “Thank you,” before staring down at the ground for a moment after he helped her, her cheeks flushed.  

Nodding his head to the door, the pair left the small cafe, their strides falling in pace with each other. The walked in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder.

“Are you dating that surgical intern?” Ethan blurted out, not really registering the words coming out of his mouth.

A look of surprise crossed Jordynne’s face, and she turned to look at him. “What?”

He clamped his mouth shut, waiting for her to answer.

“Just trying to figure out the politics of this place?” She raised her eyebrow — repeating herself from when she dug into his relationship with Harper.

He chewed his lip subtly, “Sure.”

Shoving her hands in her pockets, she strode a bit ahead of him — but not before he saw her cheeks flush red again, “I’m not dating anyone, Ethan.”

”I’ve just heard some nurses gossiping. That’s all.” He tried to keep his voice casual.

Her blonde hair flicked wildly as she flashed him a look, “I never took you for a gossip, Dr. Ramsey.”

He stammered, “I’m — I’m not.”

She stopped in front him, making him stop in his tracks, “Then why do you care?” Her arms were crossed over her chest.

Why did he care? Ethan strained to keep his face blank, “I’m making conversation, Rookie,” He said with a shrug, before stepping around her and walking a bit faster. This is the exact opposite of distancing yourself. Stop it. He thought to himself.

He heard her let out a loud sigh, before stretching her legs to keep up with him. “Dolores’ sisters are visiting the NICU again today. Their finalizing everything with the social worker.”

Ethan’s footsteps slowed — allowing Jordynne to catch up. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye — she was watching him, waiting for his reaction.

“Are you ever gonna come meet with them? They’ve been asking for you for weeks now, Ethan.” Her eyebrows were high on her forehead.

“I know.”

She let out a quick breath through her nose, “Dolores named her child after you. His aunts deserve to meet his namesake.”

“I know, Jordynne.” He said abruptly. Shoving his hands into his jacket pocket, he hid his balled up fists. “They’ll look just like her.”

She nodded, her green eyes shining, “Yeah, they do.”

They were standing outside of the hospital now, several feet from the entrance doors. “You just need to do this, Ethan, please. For me.” Her green eyes were big, trying to catch his.

He stood there silent, his mind racing and stomach twisting at the sight of her face. He watched her take the final swig from her paper cup before she placed it in the trash can next to them. “Thanks for the coffee, Dr. Ramsey.” She gave him a sad smile, before heading through the sliding doors back into the hospital.

Ethan stood there on the pavement for a moment — staring at the spot that she had been standing in. There were too many thoughts running through his head — facing Dolores’ family, figuring out what was wrong with Naveen, the competition. How angry he felt when he saw Jordynne and that damn scalpel jockey together. Her lips on that coffee cup — god, he wished he could be that cup. He cut his thoughts off, shaking his head. With another loud sigh, he ran his fingers through his thick hair before heading back into the hospital.

_______________________________________________________________________

The hallway was brightly lit and quiet — the trio spoke in hushed tones, just standing outside of the NICU window. Ethan’s hands were tied behind his back — his fingers intertwined together, keeping them steady. He was focusing on keeping his face normal — be professional.

“We’re so glad Dolores had you. Knowing she had a friend with her — it helps.”

His Adam’s apple moved deeply as he gulped down the building sense of guilt. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have done more.”

“Dolores would just be happy baby Ethan is okay. We’ve made peace with that.” The two sisters were the spitting image of her — just some wrinkles and a few grey hairs setting them apart. They had handled everything so gracefully — he had no idea how they were doing it.

“Dr. Holland has asked to be updated on baby Ethan — for us to send pictures and emails. Would you like that too?” The older of the sisters offered, her eyes soft.

Ethan glanced behind him through the window, spotting the familiar blonde standing in the NICU chatting with an Attending. He hadn’t realized it but she had spent a lot of time in there — even though the case was done, the file handed over to the social worker. She was still working closely with Dolores’ family. Jordynne cared so much — and she was starting to show him it wasn’t the worst thing. “I would. Thank you.”

The sisters gave him a small smile, nodding their heads in agreement. They glanced through the window once more, before fidgeting with the purses on their shoulders. “Well, we should head over to the social worker’s office. Thank you, for speaking with us Dr. Ramsey.” They both took turns placing gentle hands on his elbow.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.” He croaked out, his voice low.

The pair looked at each other knowingly for a moment, before turning back to him. “We know, honey.” Joining hands, the two sisters walked down the long hallway together. Ethan watched them until they disappeared around the corner.

Stepping back into the NICU, Ethan hesitated at the door. The other Attending had left — it was just Jordynne in there now. He felt his heart squeeze as he watched her. She was cradling the baby in her arm, his head pressed up onto her chest as she gently bounced him up and down. She hadn’t noticed him yet — her eyes still low as she stared at the top of the baby’s head, a small smile spread on her pink lips.

Jordynne finally looked up, realizing Ethan was there. “Hey,” She whispered, her smile remaining on her face.

“Hi,” He kept his voice low, walking towards her. He stopped a couple feet away, still trying to keep his distance from her.

Her green eyes studied his face as she continued to cradle the infant, her eyebrows furrowed a little in concern, “You okay?”

He nodded at her, keeping his eyes trained on the baby. His lips curved into a smile when he saw how peaceful he looked nuzzled up to Jordynne. “You’re good with him.”

“This little guy and I are best friends now.” One of her tan fingers grabbed onto his tiny hand, lifting it slightly. “I still can’t believe you don’t want one of these,” She pursed her pink lips, staring down at the tiny fingers.

“I never said I didn’t want children.” He said quickly, before suddenly stumbling on his words, “Just that — that I didn’t think they would be in my future.”

He watched her chew her lip softly, thinking before speaking again, “Things could change.” She said earnestly, offering the baby’s hand for him to take.

Ethan offered the infant his pointer finger, which it eagerly took, wrapping its fist around it. “Two full-time doctors and a baby, do you really think that’s a good mix?”

“Two doctors, hey? So the enigma Dr. Ethan Ramsey only dates doctors. Good to know.”

Ethan scoffed, looking up to roll his eyes at Jordynne when he suddenly realized how close he was to her. His hand was less than an inch from her chest as he held onto the baby’s hand. His face so close he could smell her perfume again and notice the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. A heat started to spread through his neck and up onto his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

Jordynne’s sly smile only grew wider as she noticed his face redden. “I’m just teasing.” The smile faltered as she looked into his tired, green eyes, “Are you sure you’re okay, Ethan?”

Gently taking his finger back, he took in the image of Jordynne cradling the small infant to her chest once more, his stomach tightening with want and guilt.  “I’m fine.” The vibration of his pager saved him again, and he sighed in relief. “Don’t forget your other patients, Rookie.” He said coldly, before turning on his heel and heading out of the NICU quickly.

______________________________________________________________________

The warm glow of the bedside lamp was shining in the room, casting a low glow on everything. Ethan sat in a chair, watching his friend laying in the bed. Naveen’s breath was short and shallow, his eyes fluttering as he fought sleep. Feeling a lump forming in his throat, Ethan put his elbows on his knees, bowing his head into his hands as he blinked away tears.

Sensing someone watching him, he looked up and his eyes met two familiar green ones. He saw the flick of blonde hair as the person started to run away. Anger flared in him at first, then waves of guilt of keeping it from her. He jumped to his feet, rushing past Naveen’s bed and out the door. “Rookie! Stop!”

Jordynne froze in place, her shoulders pushing up into her neck. Spinning on her heel, she gulped as she faced him, “Dr. Ramsey… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…,” She stood on her tip-toes, glancing over his shoulder, at Naveen’s window. “But… didn’t Dr. Banerji resign? What is he doing here?”

Ethan felt his face fall, realizing what this meant, “Jordynne, you cannot tell anyone what you’ve seen here. Do you understand?” Naveen would never forgive him if the hospital found out because of this.

She nodded profusely, her eyes wide. “I understand.”

“Thank you…,” He let out a sigh of relief. Ethan scratched his stubble roughly — it was getting long, he really needed to go home tonight.

“Dr. Ramsey… what’s going on?” Her eyes were filled with worry, watching his movements intently.

Sucking in a ragged breath, he finally answered her. “He’s dying. Dr. Banerji is dying.” There — he had admitted it out loud. It was out in the universe now.

Her eyes darted back to the window, “What… what does he have?” A worry line formed in the middle of her brow.

Shaking his head, Ethan stared down at the ground as he admitted his defeat, “I’ve been trying to figure that out for the last month.”

Pursing her pink lips, she tried to catch his eyes, “Dr. Ramsey… I’m so sorry. I know how close you two are. This must be incredibly difficult.”

Ethan’s tired green eyes finally met her blue ones. He nodded to her in a silent thanks.

“There must be a reason you’re hiding him here…”

“I…” His pager beeped, interrupting him. A grimace flickered across his face — the one time he didn’t need a save from his pager. Quickly reading the message, he mumbled an apology, “I’m sorry, I have to go. Please, say nothing of this.”

“Dr. Ramsey!” She raised her hand to him like she was going to grab onto him but thought better of it. “You can’t just tell me one of the greatest doctors this country’s ever seen is dying and then… walk away!”  

Ethan felt torn, unsure of what to do. He needed to tell her — it felt so good knowing that someone else knew too. He needed to explain this to her but he couldn’t do it here. There was too much to risk. Rubbing his chin again, he let out a sigh. “Come by my house after work tonight. I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

Jordynne nodded, her eyes studying his, “I’ll be there.”

He let out a sigh of relief at her acceptance. “I mean it, Jordynne. Not a word of this to anyone.” Instinctually, he grabbed onto her forearm — his face serious. “Not even Harper Emery. Promise me.”

She swallowed, her eyebrows furrowing. “I promise. You can count on me, Ethan.”

He let go of her arm gently, their touch lingering on his fingertips. “Thank you.” His pager angrily beeped at him again, and he gave her a nod goodbye. Turning on his heel, he passed by Naveen’s window on his way out. His steps faltering as he caught sight of his friend — he looked so small in that bed. The man was everything, so big, so untouchable before — but now. Ethan swallowed the emotion building in his throat, attempting to refocus as he left his friend all alone once more.

_______________________________________________________________________

Wringing his tan hands together excitedly, Bryce had to force himself to slow his pace. He had killed it in his last surgery. Dr. Nguyen had said he was seriously impressed with him and he couldn’t help but continue on his high.

Turning down the hall on floor five, his brown eyes searched for the familiar blonde hair and white coat. He found her, standing in front of the vending machine — her eyes glazed over as she absent-mindedly chewed on her fingernail. He was memorized watching her pink lips — especially after he had experienced what they could do the other night.

“Jordy,” He sidled up next to her, bumping her with his hip gently.

“Huh? Oh, hi.” Jordynne said, her voice quiet. Her eyes didn’t leave the vending machine.

“So, I was thinking,” He grabbed onto her hips playfully, turning her to face him, “We could go somewhere other than Donahue’s tonight?”

A sad smile flickered across her face, “I have plans tonight actually.”

“Oh! What did Sienna plan for the roomies tonight?” He questioned, flashing her a smile.

“Nothing with them,” She glanced over his shoulder, biting her lip. “Look, I gotta run.” She grabbed onto his bicep easily, giving it a quick squeeze. “Tomorrow, Lahela. Okay?”

She had taken off before he could answer, stopping at the nurses’ station quickly before heading into a patient’s room.

Bryce’s dark brow furrowed in confusion, watching as she disappeared from him. Who would she meeting if it wasn’t her roommates or him?

_______________________________________________________________________Holding down the buzzer on the intercom, Ethan’s eyes darted to his reflection in the mirror hanging in his entry way. He looked exhausted — purple bags under his eyes, his stubble dark and rough, the grey sweater he wore wrinkled. Nervously fussing around with his hair, he waited for her knock at the door.

The sound of her knuckles on the other side of his door caused his stomach to tighten nervously. Turning the knob, he took in the sight of Jordynne. She stood in his doorway — blonde hair still in her usual ponytail, but she had changed into a cream cardigan and jeans. Her fingers were curled around her messenger bag nervously, her green eyes taking him in.

Rubbing his eyes wearily, Ethan motions for her to come inside. Jenner was dancing around their ankles excitedly — already trying to sniff her. “Rookie. Come on in.”

He watched her bend down to greet his dog, smiling down at the pet. Her eyes darted around staring his apartment, and her pink mouth opened a little. “Wow. Nice digs.”

Shrugging, Ethan closed the front door quietly before glancing around his apartment. “I’m barely ever here. Wine?” He padded into the kitchen, grabbing onto the already opened bottle sitting on the quartz counter. He had already had a lot of it — on account of his guilt from Naveen and nervousness at Jordynne coming into his apartment. His hand hesitated over the empty glass he had set out for her — waiting for her answer.

“Yes, please.” She said. She was eyeing his books now, still bent over petting the dog, who was now following her every move.

He poured her a glass, matching his already very full one.

“That’s probably enough…,” He heard her say softly.

“Huh?” Realizing, he stopped pouring the wine. “Oh, sorry.” He grabbed onto the glasses, and held it out for her, finally seeing the worry in her eyes.

Their fingers brushed as she grabbed the glass, her eyes not leaving his. He raised his glass in front of him, letting out a sigh, “To the unknown.”

She humored him, clinking her glass to his, “To the unknown.” Her voice was quiet.

Ethan took a long sip as he sat down on his leather couch, feeling defeated. He eyed his furniture — wondering where she would go. The spot next to him, the armchair. He licked his lips as she sat next to him, their legs brushing as she adjusted. Jenner immediately sat in between their legs, his tongue panting as he begged for her attention again.

She ignored the dog for the moment, turning to face Ethan, “Dr. Ramsey… what’s going on? What’s Dr. Banerji’s diagnosis?”

He stared down into his wine glass, his eyebrows furrowed and lines formed in his forehead, “I don’t know.”

Her mouth hung open, “But you’re the best diagnostician in the country!”

A short, mocking laugh escaped him. “The second best.”

Giving up, he watched as Jordynne put down her glass long enough to scoop up Jenner and place him on her lap. She scratched him absent-mindedly, balancing her wine in the other hand, “When did his symptoms start?”

He breathed in through his nose, recalling the memory, “About two months ago. Started out small enough. Cough, fever, confusion. I noticed he was having trouble with his memory. When I confronted him, he said he was just getting old. But there was something in his eyes when he said it. I knew he knew something was wrong.”

Her eyes hadn’t left his face, “What did you do?”

“Whenever I told him to take time off and rest, he laughed and told me to focus on the real patients.” He chewed on the inside of his lip. “It progressed to severe headaches and high fever. He couldn’t keep fluids down.”

“Meningitis? Pneumonia?” Jordynne offered.

Ethan shook his head, grimacing, “I hoped it was just that. But then it got worse. Breathing trouble, organ dysfunction.”  

“He’s in sepsis.”

Ethan nodded, keeping his eyes away from her — staring out into his apartment. It was filled with things he never even had the chance to use. He stared at the record player in the corner — if it hadn’t been for his cleaner, dust would be settling on it. It had been months since he had used it.

“I told him I was going to tell Dr. Emery. He chased me down and begged me to keep it to myself. I’ve never seen him beg before. The idea of anyone knowing he was sick… almost seemed to break him.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “But… why would he feel that way?”

He took another sip of his wine, “I’ve spent so many nights wondering that myself. Sometimes I think he just can’t stand the idea of being pitied. Other times I wonder if he assumes that anything he can’t diagnose is really hopeless.”

“Ethan…” His name on her lips caused him to grip the wine glass a little tighter.

He continued speaking, “Either way, he won’t tell me.”

“So… he wasn’t seeking treatment? He wasn’t even treating himself?” Her eyes were so big as she listened to him. She was taking in every word, she cared so much. Why? Why did she care so much?

“No, I struck a deal with him. I told him I’d keep his secret if he let me work his case. He said it was a waste of time, but he relented. I began running tests on him under a false name.”

“Patient X.” She answered for him, “Nobody got suspicious?”

A chuckle escaped Ethan. “You mean, besides you?” He took another long sip of his wine, before giving her a small, humorless smile. “People tend not to ask questions when I want something.”

Jordynne licked her pink lips, “But you didn’t tell Chief Emery…,”

He shook his head, “Perhaps the old her would’ve taken my side. But today, she’s the administration. Her duty is to the board of directors now. But it must be done. When there isn’t a path, you make your own.”

She placed her thumb in her finger, chewing on it as she thought, “Alright, but what did the tests show?”

Rage flickered in him, “Nothing. I’ve run every test I can think of and nothing is conclusive. And now his kidneys are failing.”

Her hand lingered on her lip, squeezing the soft, pink skin, “Is that why he resigned?”

“Yes. It was impossible to keep pretending everything was fine. He thought it was the end… he almost booked a flight to lay on a beach and die in the sun.” Ethan looked up at the ceiling, swallowing down the emotion forming in his throat. “It took everything I had to convince him to let me admit him in secret and get him on dialysis.”

Getting up, he strode over to the kitchen counter again, filling up his wine glass. He offered the bottle to Jordynne, who held out her wine glass for a top up in silent agreement. He emptied the bottle into her glass, before settling in front of one of the windows. He leaned up against it, looking out into the dark skyline, “I just don’t understand it. I’ve spent my entire career saving lives and solving problems. It’s always been… easy. And it never… it never really meant anything. It was like a game I’d mastered. A — a competition against death I was winning handily. And now…,” His voice broke, water forming in his eyes, “I lost Dolores, and I’m going to lose Naveen. The two people on Earth I gave a damn about are the two people I couldn’t save.”

“Don’t talk in past tense, Ethan.” Her finger played with the rim of her wine glass, her face turning sad, “Dr. Banerji means a lot to you, huh?”

He stayed quiet for a moment, keeping his eyes on the night-time view outside as he took another large gulp. “He’s my mentor.”

“I think it’s more than that.” She said seriously, twisting so she could look at him better. Her chin resting on the backrest of the sofa.

His green eyes met her blue ones, he couldn’t lie to her. “I’m not close with my parents. I became a doctor without their help or approval. Honestly, I never thought I’d need or want anyone’s approval. When I arrived at Edenbrook, I knew I wanted to learn from the best. And Dr. Banerji was… is…,” He corrected himself, “The best. I expected him to be hard on me. But I didn’t expect him to be so… so kind. He recognized my talent and took me under his wing. But he became more than a teacher. He became…,”

“Family?” She offered, her eyes understanding.

Ethan nodded, his fingers playing with the stem of his wine glass and he blinked fast. “Naveen never married. He doesn’t have any children. I’m all he’s got.” He placed his glass onto the coffee table, crossing over in front of the sofa, staring into Jordynne’s eyes. “I can’t let him die, Jordynne. And I can’t break his trust. If anyone finds out the truth, he’ll fly out to that beach, and I’ll lose any chance I have to save him.” He slumped back down into the sofa, his knee bumping hers. “I don’t know what to do. I’m only one doctor.”

Hunching forward Ethan pushed his head into his hands, covering his face. He started taking big breaths, trying to calm himself down — to stop the water welling in his eyes. His breath faltered for a moment as he felt her warm hand reach out and grabbed onto his knee and massaging his leg. He didn’t move away from the gesture.

“I’m here.” She said quietly, ducking her head so she could look up into his eyes.

He gulped, his eyes flicking to her hand that was still on his leg. “I know.”

“You’ll solve this.” Her voice was serious, her mouth in a hard line.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, “You sound so certain.”

Jordynne nodded at him, “I am. If there’s anyone in this world who can, it’s you.”

Picking his glass back up, Ethan swirled around the last of the red liquid. “I just hope it’s not too late.”

“We’ll figure this out.”

“We?” He questioned, looking over to her. Jenner was still cuddled up onto her lap, his eyes closed happily as she strached his head. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine, and it had stained her lips a little. She looked so comfortable — sitting on this sofa with him.

“Ethan, you’re not alone in this anymore. Let me help you.” She reached out and grabbed him again, her fingers gently grabbing onto his wrist as he went for another sip of wine.

He brought the glass away from his lips, nodding at her. “Okay.”

She pushed some of the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail back behind her ear, biting her lip. “Did you eat? ‘Cause I’m starving and all this wine is going straight to my head.”

“Right,” He got off of the couch quickly, startling Jenner. Taking their now empty glasses, Ethan placed them on the counter and opened up the fridge. He heard the pads of her feet behind him and the familiar jingle of his dog’s collar following her. He looked at the empty fridge, sighing, “I, uh, haven’t been home in a few days. I could order something in…”

Jordynne scoffed at him, “Dr. Ramsey, you need to be more resourceful.” She ducked under his arm holding the fridge open, looking into it. Her back was so close to him, her hair tickled his nose. “All my years as a starving medical student has trained me for this.”

Stepping back, Ethan left her intoxicating scent behind and he gave her room to work. He watched with a smile as she started grabbing jars and a block of cheese out of the fridge — juggling the supplies in her arms. Her hands automatically went to his cabinets and drawers, seemingly finding exactly what she wanted every time she opened one up — almost like she had been here before. A warmth spread through his chest as he watched how comfortable she was in his home, even after spending less than one hour there.

She placed a charcuterie plate in front of them — it was pretty bare, but it had some cheese, pickles, olives, and crackers. Her face twisted into a playful smile, “Better than nothing?”

“Better than anything I would have found in there.” He grabbed onto the plate and placed it onto his bar, sliding out the two stools in front of it for them. He steadied the stool for Jordynne as she sat down, and she looked over her shoulder to smile at him, in a silent thanks. Sitting down at his own stool, he realized how close they were to each other again — their elbows brushing each other. Why were they always so close? It was like she was a magnet.

The pair picked at the charcuterie plate in silence for a moment — the only sound was the occasional whimper of Jenner begging underneath them. Ethan’s eyebrows started furrowing as he got lost in his thoughts again, thinking about Naveen laying in that hospital bed all alone tonight. But when he looked up to Jordynne, it softened a little, the line in his forehead going away. “Why did you become a doctor, Jordynne?”

Her eyebrows lifted a little at the question as she finished chewing her cracker, “Hmm, my mom.”

“She wanted her daughter to be a doctor? Not a lawyer, or accountant?” His mouth went dry, but not from the crackers or wine. He had gone against his parents wishes when he became a doctor, maybe she just followed in line with what was expected with her.

“No, nothing like that. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was eleven. Her doctor was amazing — she was intelligent and passionate. I just couldn’t think of anything else I would want to be after that.” There was a small smile on her face as she told the story. It made Ethan’s stomach flutter. “And I’ve always loved science. Medicine just… it felt right. It’s what I meant to do.”

He watched her, studying her again. She was so determined but gentle. Kind but fierce. Both a lion and a lamb. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there for — picking at their food, asking each other questions about their lives — both in and out of the hospital. She skirted around questions about Naveen, giving him some space which Ethan wholly appreciated. He didn’t bring up Lahela again — even though he was dying too. He also wanted to know why she was here with him, why she cared. But he was too afraid of the answer.

Around midnight, he watched as she gathered her things and started placing dishes in the sink for him. “I should probably get going, I didn’t realize how late it was.”  

Getting up from his stool, Ethan shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling awkward. Maybe it was because he didn’t want her to leave. “Thank you for letting me explain.”

“Of course,” She nodded at him. Her fingers were knotted in her messenger bag nervously as she stood near the door.

“I would take you home, but with the wine…,” He motioned back to the empty bottles sitting on his counter. “Can I get you a cab at least?”

“Oh, it’s fine. The subway will be good.”

He looked out at the dark night sky, and his stomach twisted. He could walk with her — would that be crossing a line? “Can you text me then? When you get home? So I know you’re safe.”

Her pink mouth opened in surprise a little, but agreed, “Oh, yeah sure.” She gave Jenner one last scratch behind the ears, and got up and left. “Goodnight, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Night, Rookie.” He noticed the flicker in her eyes as he called her that — a flash of hurt. But then she was gone down the hallway. Waiting for her to disappear from his line of sight, he closed the door softly and padded back to the couch — slumping into it.

Jenner lingered at the door, staring up at it as if he was waiting for her to come back any moment. “Jenner, come here.” He patted the spot next to him, but the dog didn’t budge. “Boy, she’s not coming back.” The dog’s ears drooped a little and he waddled over to the sofa. He sat on the spot Jordynne had used earlier, sniffing it before curling up in a ball on the seat — his eyes sad.

Ethan let out a sigh, noticing his dog’s reaction, “Ugh, not you too.” He reached out and scratched behind his ears. Suddenly, without her presence, his apartment felt emptier than ever.  

Part Ten

[midorree]

Gay Minds Think Alike

@paperhatcollection co-wrote this with me, they are so fucking talented, and I had a blast writing this with her! Give her as much love as humanly possible, and we hope you enjoy this wreck of a fic! 

Love is a funny thing. It’s hard to define, harder to understand, sometimes changing with the winds and other times a sturdy rock in an otherwise turbulent river. Sometimes it’s like a recurring idea or a thought you can’t shake from your head, or as much a part of your like as your voice or the way your heart skips a beat when you see you one and only soulmate. Sometimes it's slow, built up over a thousand small moments, other times you trip and crash headfirst into a crush.

Sometimes it’s like tripping on the top step of a staircase and tumbling your way to the bottom, where you land at the feet of your crush.

Which is exactly the situation Anti found himself in, laying on his back at the foot of the stairs, his gay dumbass gaze locked onto the face of Chase Brody standing above him.

The first thing Anti was aware of was the way his breath was knocked from his lungs, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the fall or from the way that Chase was looking down at him. Anti found himself captivated by the gaze, his breath caught in his throat by the way Chase batted his eyelashes, or maybe he was just blinking, but Anti didn’t care. He wasn’t sure of the angle did something, or if he’d gotten a mild concussion, but Chase was so pretty. It was as if the gates of heaven glanced upon his pitiful existence just to give a taste of what it all felt like. When Chase opened his mouth to speak, it was as if a chorus of angels backed his words, the light about them nearly forming a halo around Chase.

“Woah, dude, did it hurt?”

Anti felt himself grin, a look he imagined to be sly but in reality, looked rather dopey. “You mean when I fell from heaven?” he asked, almost certain it would end in his favor.

“In what world would you fall from-” Chase frown, shaking his head ever so slightly and sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. No- when you fell down the stairs, are you okay? That looked like it hurt, dude. And now you’re just kinda… staring off into space, I think?” He added a small wave of his hand back and forth over Anti’s field of vision, checking if his eyes moved along with the movement. Anti blinked. Once, twice, then refocused on Chase, the vacant look finally falling from his face.

“Oh.” Anti tried to ignore the way the lump in his throat turned into a rock in the pit of his gut. “Um… yeah. I’m uh, I’m fine. Yeah. No problemo here.”

Chase shrugged. “Alright man, if you say so. Need a hand up?” he offered, holding out his hand to Anti. Anti’s mouth went completely dry as he looked anxiously at Chase’s outstretched hand; endless possibilities flashing through his mind.

He could grab Chase’s hand and try to play it off coolly, standing to his feet in a smooth motion that would allow him to regain some of his composure. He’d pull Chase’s hand closer, planting a kiss on the back of his palm and wink to him, and totally embarrass himself because he’s got Clumsy Bitch Disease and it’s fatal, so he’d definitely mess up somehow.

Maybe his own hands would clam up and he’d gross Chase out, and then he’d never speak to him again and he’d die alone with fifty cats as his only company. The saddest part being, one of the cats would definitely be named Chase. Maybe even Marvin if he were up for it. One day once he was old and alone he’d wake up to find out Chase the cat had passed away peacefully in its sleep, and he’d mourn the last link he had to his lost love while gazing sadly out his window. It would be raining.

Maybe he’d trip over his big fucking feet again and pull Chase down with him, and then Chase’s weight would be pressed against him, their lips inches apart, their eyes meeting-

Anti made a low whine in the back of his throat, acutely aware of the clock ticking faster and faster as he left Chase hanging for a response.

“No, I- fuck you.” Anti blurted out.

Even before the words had fully left his throat, Anti could feel his internal narration freeze in panic, then go into maximum overdrive. Before Chase had a chance to register what dumbass sentence just came out Anti’s mouth, and before Anti could see the look on his face when he did, Anti had glitched out of the current plane of existence, hoping his useless gay soul would just hang on a string and he would die a quick painless death.

Chase blinked then shrugged, sighing inwardly to himself. Geez, some people.

-----

In the quiet of dawn, when the world was just beginning to wake from its gentle slumber, and the first rays of morning’s light snuck through the thin gap between closed curtains when Chase shot upright in bed with the sudden realization that Anti wasn’t delusional, he’d been trying to court his dumb butt.

If it hadn’t been six in the goddamn morning, Chase probably would have screamed bloody murder. “Oh my god,” Chase whispered-screamed to himself, shoving the blankets aside and nearly tumbling out of bed in his hurry to stand. “Oh my fucking god, oh man, I’m so dense, what the fuck-” his efforts to stand did ultimately end in him tripping and hitting the floor with a loud THUD, but Chase was up the next moment, too absorbed in his breakthrough to notice the collateral damage. “Okay Chase, calm down. Maybe Anti didn’t realize what he was saying- he probably got a concussion falling down the stairs or something, you know how egotistical that glitch is,” He gulped. “I hope.”

“I mean, not that… I… well it has been awhile since I’ve been with someone, but…” Chase paused and gave himself a light slap on the side of his face. “No, bad Chase, you’re projecting. But what if I’m not- I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Anti’s not that bad a guy once you get to know him, and he’s got those fucking eyes, that shitty laugh of his that’s always so much louder than everything else in the room like he’s trying to make sure everyone pays attention to him.” And it fucking works, by the way. Chase couldn’t count the number of times he’s felt his gaze pull towards the glitch, his attention stolen in a moment, left breathless as he watches the way Anti effortlessly manipulates the room with a word or a gesture. Chase felt himself shiver just thinking about it, picturing the gleam in his eyes, the smirk tugging his lips up.

“Oh, fuck,” Chase whispers to himself, shoulders slumping downwards. “I’ve got it bad.”

He shook his head, staring blankly at a wall, before returning to his bed. He sat on the edge, letting his head fall into his hands, taking a deep breath as a shudder ran through his body. The worst part was, this could still all be in his head. He didn’t actually know for sure if… oh fuck, this was just like him too, wasn’t it? Chase didn't exactly have a history of… successful relationships, to put it bluntly.

Love isn't fun. Sometimes it’s hard, harder still once you’ve lost at its game. Sometimes love is the thing that fuels you, that keeps you going on during cold nights, while other times it’s the thing that takes half of your soul and throws it into the void. Sometimes it’s like a dream, blissful and sweet, while other times it’s a melancholy memory, bittersweet in the moments you know you’ll never have again. And sometimes… sometimes it feels like your only source of air, like something you could never live without, no matter how many times it chews you up and spits you out.

Yeah, Chase Brody was a dead man.

-----

Maybe, Chase thinks, a bus will run me over and my problems won’t matter anymore.

No such luck was waiting for him, it seems, as he made his way downtown. Maybe the recording studio would be on fire, and they’d have to cancel recordings for today. Wouldn’t be the first time, although Marvin had sworn to Ireland and back that he’d be more careful with his magic from that point on. Or maybe Anti was too busy editing footage for everyone's videos, and he wouldn’t leave his editing room for the entire day, and Chase wouldn’t have a chance to talk to him.

Too bad as soon as he walked into the office, he was smacked in the face by reality, and left breathless by the smug grin Anti was sending his way. Somehow, he seemed to radiate a confidence Chase could only wish he had, even when casually standing by the water cooler and flipping through a script for someone’s video. Chase faltered to a stop, catching Anti’s eye from across the room and giving a weak wave in response. He was almost sure the beating of his heart was audible to those around him.

In reality, Anti was baring the dopiest smile a gay man could bear, staring at his favorite person head-on. Soon enough, he had the thought that Chase may be weirded out by his staring and proceeded to pretend he was doing something important. Such as flip through a finalized script that was already good enough to be on camera, and ‘scan it for errors’. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Chase halt midway across the room, glancing back over in time for Chase to flash him a grin and wave. Anti nearly short-circuited, causing him to drop the papers, which fluttered to the ground and fanned out into a heap around him.

Cursing under his breath, Anti knelt down to recollect them, trying to hide his apparent blush from embarrassing himself in front of his crush two days in a row. From across the room, Chase gasps in surprise when Anti drops his papers, rushing over to help. He wasn’t even sure if Anti noticed him right away, at least not until they reached for the same paper. Their hands brushed, Chase’s resting on top of Anti’s, a slight spark leaping between their connected hands.

Than Chase panicked, jerking back and somehow managing to hit Anti square on the nose.

“Ow! What the hell?!” Anti snapped.

“Fuck- shit, I’m sorry!” Chase blurted out, dropping what few papers he’s managed to collect back onto the floor. He reached out towards Anti, unsure what he’d really be able to do but wanting to make sure he was okay, only for Anti to jerk away and glare at him. Chase flinched and pulled his hand closer to his body, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Uh, um, I thought you might need uh, you might want a hand?”

“I’m fine,” Anti grumbled, gathering the remaining papers together in a pile and straightening them out. They weren't in any way shape or form in the correct order, but Anti didn’t care right now. No, instead he was just focused on the annoyance bubbling in the back of his head, cause that was better than focusing on the bubbly feeling he got when he looked at Chase’s cute, apologetic face. He started to reach out before catching himself, wanting to comfort him, but he knew if he started to do that he’d end up a stuttering, nervous wreck before the minute was over.

“I… I have to go. Gotta, um, reorder these.” Anti awkwardly stammered out, standing and almost dropping the papers again, before catching them against his chest and turning to leave. As he did so, his jacket caught in the air, flaring out and fanning around him like a cape. It was somehow an even more dramatic flair than what Marvin was able to manage, and that guy wore an actual cloak.

“I like your jacket.” Chase blurted out, standing quickly. He coughed into his fist, his throat suddenly remarkably dry, and he nonchalantly edged closer to the water cooler. “I mean uh,” Chase paused to lick his lips, which suddenly felt as dry as his throat did. “That’s a really nice jacket, Anti. It suits you.” He licked his lips again, mostly because his saliva was depleting rapidly from his mouth. He grabbed one of the paper cups from the cooler and finally got himself a drink, drowning it in a single gulp but somehow still just as thirsty as he’d been before. When he looked back up from his cup, he realized Anti had ceased storming off, and was staring at Chase with an unreadable expression. Oh- Oh fuck. Chase had assumed he’d already left. Instead, he’s watched as Chase stopped and gulped down an entire cup of water, in the middle of a fucking statement.  “Uh, I, um. You… jacket, uh, looking good?”

Anti, oblivious to what Chase’s message to him was, stated, “No, you can’t have my leather jacket, you already stole Jackie’s.” and turned around and left.

It was an hour later, after Anti had reordered the script and begun editing footage for Jackie’s latest ‘parkour’ video (it was actually just him on patrol, but no one needed to know that) that Anti removed his headphones, stared off at a blank wall, and realized Chase had been complimenting him.

“FU-

----

“Henrik, I fucked up!” Chase yelled, bursting through the door to Henrik’s makeshift clinic.

Henrik sighed, putting down his clipboard. He didn’t look surprised in the least, just tired. “I knew it. Where did he stab you?”

“Uh… what?” Chase asked, confused.

“You tried to steal Anti’s new jacket, didn’t you?” Henrik paused, sighing. “Oh, I’m sorry, ‘borrow’ his jacket, just like you’ve ‘borrowed’ clothes from the rest of us. I still want my sweater back, by the way.” Chase was pretty sure that sweater was currently folded up in one of his dressers, right next to one of JJ’s spare bowties and one of Jackie’s jackets. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“What? No! I just… had a realization…” Chase began, faltering and adjusting the brim of his hat, glancing around the room as if expected someone to leap out at any moment.

Henrik looked puzzled for a good second before his expression cracked, an assuming smile turning the corners of his lips. “That have certain feelings for Anti?”

“How the fuck did you know that?”

A small smirk teased on Henrik’s oh so smug face. “A little birdie told me.”

And by birdie, he was referring to the fact that he’d listened to Anti rambling on about his crush for hours over the course of his visits to Henrik’s clinic, during which Anti had managed to compare Chase to everything from the sun to a Greek god. The amount of giddiness Anti radiating from Anti could power the entire goddamn planet, and Henrik found watching his half-assed attempts at catching Chase’s eye akin to watching a morning soap-opera you kinda hoped would turn into a trainwreck of gay feelings.

“I mean… Hen, I’ve been out of it so long, what if he doesn’t like me back?” Chase asked, his voice raising several pitches from his panic. “What if he rejects my attempts? What if I try and bring him some coffee to flirt with him, but I spill it all over his shirt and he hates me forever? And the tension in the office raises a lot? And what if because of that, the others start to hate me? And then I have to move out of the country, change my name to Scooter Bronan, and become a drug dealer on the lonely streets of LA!”  

Henrik almost felt bad for laughing, but not by a lot. A drug dealer? Preposterous, Chase wouldn’t be able to sell water, a legal substance, without a license.

“Henrik!” Chase whined. “Stop laughing, I’m serious!”

“Chase, would you do me a small favor for me?” Henrik asked, as he stood up from his desk and walked towards a storage closet. “Get in the closet.”

“Is that a metaphor? I’m openly gay-” Chase began, only for Henrik to cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I’m aware, get in the closet, please.” He opened the door, smiling welcomingly, yet Chase was getting mixed signals from the whole ‘get in the closet’ thing. Reluctantly, he stepped into the closet, letting the door shut behind him. Chase settled down on an upside-down bucket, listening to Henrik move around the clinic from the other side of the door. After a moment, he heard Henrik speak up again. “And Chase? Please be quiet for a moment, if you would.”

“Alright…?”

Nodding to himself, Henrik set his plan in motion. First things first: alerting the other disaster gay. One text later, and Anti was coming any moment now, not aware that Chase was in the closet. Literally speaking, of course, everyone knew that Chase swung both ways, and Anti had been over the moon the first time he’d found out about it.

Glitching into existence already sitting on the examination bed, Anti was holding a five-hour energy bottle that he threw back into his mouth and downed it all in one go. “Henrik, you’re not going to believe this shit.”

“Let me guess, you have a crush on Chase?” Henrik asked, grinning to himself as he set about changing the bandages around Anti’s neck. He’s done this so many times, he could probably manage it with his eyes closed.

“Oh, haha,” Anti said with a roll of his eyes. “The usual, anyways,” he tossed the now-empty bottle behind him, where it landing it the trash with ease.

“Show off, how many times did you practice that at home?” Henrik asked.

“Moving right along,” Anti replied without missing a beat. “So you know how eye contact is something important for every humanoid should have a grasp on?”

“Yes?”

“I forgot how to maintain eye contact when Chase was looking at me, and I dropped a bunch of papers in front of him like an absolute clutz,” Anti explained, sighing dramatically. “Now Chase probably thinks I’m the biggest doof in the whole office! And he punched me! I’m never washing my face again, by the way.”

“Yes you are, your I’m forcing you to take a shower.” Henrik cut in. “A crush is no reason to abstain from basic hygiene.” Normally, he’d already been halfway done by now, but Henrik was going slower than usual. “Anyways, I’m sure he doesn't think that. And what really happened?”

“Oh- um, he tried to help me pick up the papers, you know, cause he’s a perfect fucking angel, but then our hands touched and I think maybe I’m not so dead inside? Maybe this man is the cure to fucking cancer?” he sighed dreamingly. “There was a spark between us, I just know it. Or, you know, maybe it was my glitchy electrical powers zapping him, cause he ended up yanking back and smacked me on accident.” Anti paused than shook his head. “It was an accident, so I’m not really upset at him.

“Anti,” Henrik began. “We all know Chase could stab you and you’d be on your knees thanking him for breathing in your direction.”

“Cause he’s fucking perfect, that’s why.” Anti snapped. “Have you seen that guy? He’s so sweet and caring, he puts others well being in front of his own, and just- have you seen the way he looks when he helps someone? That pure smile on his face, I don’t know how he does it, but somehow he manages to make me think that maybe the world isn’t so doomed after all? And when he laughs just makes the room brighter, it makes my entire day when I can make him laugh, I’d do anything for it.”

Anti paused and chuckled. “And I swear every time I hear it my heart’s gonna beat out of my chest. I don’t know how much longer I can take this without bursting at the seams from all these stupid feelings, but I can’t just make a move, what if he doesn’t like me back? I would die alone with fifty cats, one of which is named Marvin, and I have to spend the rest of my life referring to Marvin as human Marvin, and I never speak to Chase again because he’s allergic to cats and he won’t ever come near me. I’ll have to quit and get a new job and move towns and call myself Connor and become a shell of former self.”

Henrik hummed knowingly, glancing at the closet. “What exactly do you feel for Chase?”

“I… I kinda…” Anti began, then muttered under his breath.

“You kind of what, Anti?”

“I kind of love him?” Anti whispered, grinning sheepishly.

“I can’t hear you,” Henrik said, tilting his head and leaning back. “Could you speak up, please?”

“I said I fucking love him?! Okay?! Henrik?! I love him!” Anti screamed,  face turning a light shade of red.

Nodding to himself, Henrik finished applying Anti’s clean bandages and smoothed them out, double checking his work before backing away and dusting off his hands. He spun on a heel, crossing to the closest door, and opening it while stepping aside to reveal a very shocked and very blushy Chase Brody.

“Alright, was that straight enough for you?” Henrik asked than caught himself and chuckled. “Ah- my bad, I should wait for you to come out of the closet, shouldn’t I?”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, I’m not-” Chase stammered, not prepared for the fuckery that Henrik has laid down in front of them.

“Nonsense!” Henrik cut in, grabbing him by the arm and leading him out of the closet. “We were just talking about you, actually! Weren't we, Anti?”

Anti opened and closed his mouth without saying anything, looking from Chase to Henrik and back to Chase again. “Henrik! You set me up, you son of a whore!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you were talking about Chase on your own account, weren’t you?” Henrik asked, unable to stop himself from smiling right in Anti’s face. “Why, I couldn’t have stopped you if I’d tried!”

“You could have! You could have stopped me right there!” Anti screamed, pointing at the now empty closet. “Chase was in the fucking closet the entire time, and you didn’t have the human decency to stop me from being gay!”

“It’s called doctor-patient confidentiality,” Henrik explained. “If Chase didn’t want to come out of the closet, I had no right to force him.”

“I didn’t even know what I was saying, I don’t even like Chase! I was just exaggerating to be funny! You like drama, so I gave it to you!" Anti protested.

“You… you were?” Chase asked, his voice soft, broken, and his expression crestfallen. He sniffed, scrubbing at the corner of his eye as he looked off, trying not to appear too heartbroken and failing spectacularly. “I… oh. Well, I hope you had fun, Anti. It’s not like some of us actually care about our feelings.”

“No! Chase, I didn’t mean to- please- I don’t- what- Henrik! See what you did?” Anti asked, turning back to the doctor and unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

“Me?” Henrik asked, putting an arm around Chase’s shoulder and bringing him closer, comforting him. “I didn’t do anything, except listen when my friends came into my clinic of their own accord and start gushing to me about their crushes.”

“I should go.” Chase blurted out before anyone could say anything else. “Anti you… you enjoy your game, just leave my heart out of it.” he pulled out of Henrik’s arms, heading towards the door with a slow, dragging pace.

“No, you’re not going anywhere, we need to set some things in order,” Anti said, sliding between Chase and the door, placing his hands on Chase’s chest. “I… I didn’t mean it,” he admitted, fidgeting in place. “I… Chase look, I’m really fucking dumb sometimes, and I don’t work well under pressure, and I’m pretty sure Henrik has been stealing my brain cells during my visits-”

“Actually, I’ve been trying to replenish them you disaster child.” Henrik cut in.

Anti glared at him than softened his expression when he returned it to Chase. “Chase, the truth is I… I um, I … Feel… good when I’m near you I… you… we… have something? Please? That we don’t have with the others? You… I… love… I love you.”

Chase sniffed, rubbing his face with one hand than looking up at Anti with a sly grin, all traces of his sadness gone. “Is that so?” Chase asked, leaning closer and grinning. “Cause, I think I love you too,” he admitted, planting his lips on Antis in a quick, stolen kiss.

“I… uh, holy shit, what, hands, do, I, um, fuck, Chase-”

“Chase, you broke him, his last brain cell was a gift to you.” Henrik gasped, placing a hand over his heart. That dramatic bitch.

Lifting one of Anti’s hands in his, Chase interlocked their fingers together, smiling at his new boyfriend. Anti still having yet to form a coherent sentence, managed to stammer out something that vaguely sounded like ‘You… smile… good’. Chase giggled and planted another kiss, on his cheek this time, tugging him towards the door. “Common, let’s go break the news to everyone else before you crash completely.”

Maybe love wasn't so bad after all.