#like someone saying 'ill miss him so much' but they never waved as they passed them on the street

[littlemouserat]

It's a strange feeling to grieve over someone you never met. Someone who I doubt even knew of my existence. Yet my heart still hurts.

[bunnyfern]

Chapter 5

Phases Of The Moon

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝄞

Like clockwork, the five teens were at Rocque Records working tirelessly in the studio. The band was recording one of the new songs Gustavo wrote, which Crowe helped in finishing. For once letting someone besides himself write some lyrics and add opinions of their own. 

She’s been trying for days on end to get Gustavo to use another one of her songs for the band, from leaving the journal wide open for him to see ‘by accident’ and hoping he finds it. To just straight up giving him the recent song she’s so close to completing. But of course, he never budged. He would barely skim the pages over before handing it back without another thought. Ignoring any kind of suggestions from anyone on his next song. 

Big Time Rush, aside from the singing, went over the new choreography they learned from Mr. X a few days ago. Getting better with each practice, even if they still have some fumbles with the moves. Even improving on their singing skills, Big Time Rush getting better with every practice. Kelly sat next to Crowe on the left, both of them jamming along. Crowe glanced to her right at Gustavo for some kind of reassuring input, yet he didn’t seem pleased with their work. In the countless days they’ve been here, it’s been hard to get his approval or give the band a single compliment. 

She’s used to the attitude and used to being frustrated in not knowing if anything was ever good enough. Except this time caring more about him showing some kind of positive feedback for the guys, rather than her. 

When they finished a clean practice, Logan cheered and threw his hands back. Right square in Carlos’ face and knocking in down. None of the guys helped him up, letting him do it himself. Crowe winced and followed the producer into the dance studio with Kelly in tow. 

“Gustavo, the song is great.” Kendall said his praises. “Um, of course, it’s great. I wrote it.” Gustavo was always giving himself a pat on the back, never thinking about anyone else. “With my help.” Crowe chirped, standing next to Gustavo. Practically frowning when he didn’t acknowledge her one bit and continued, “But the band isn’t great. What’s missing is the secret rock and roll ingredient.” He went down the row, passing the boys while they each took a guess, except for Kendall who cared less. Taking a glance at Crowe to see if she knew, only shrugging as a response. 

“Hair mousse.” James’ hair-related guess. Of course. 

“Chocolate mousse.” Carlos’ food-related guess. Sounds good. 

“Spandex? Please don’t say spandex.” Logan’s odd outfit guess. Why would he? Raising an eyebrow at his misplaced worries. 

But Gustavo had something completely different in mind. “The bad boy.” The wave of his hand showed the, possibly fake, enthusiasm he had. Shaking Logan he explained further, “The ill-tempered rebel with a flair for synchronized dance. One of you has to be it.” Gustavo went down the line as he wanted to make the band excited about who it was going to be. But Crowe grew suspicious of where he came up with the idea and more importantly, why. 

Each boy smiling to themselves and waiting to be singled out. “I say it’s Kendall.” Gustavo grinned at the boy and Kelly backed him up, apparently knowing the plan already. Kendall was in disbelief but Crowe thought otherwise, usually he was the one pulling the others into his plan. So it did fit his personality, it's just Kendall didn't want to admit it. 

He can’t pull off looking like a bad boy though. Attitude, yeah maybe. But I don’t know about the rest. Head tilted, she eyed each one down. Trying to envision them wearing a darker and edgier look, but it wasn’t going to be any better than their looks now. Logan had the nerdy type of look, so no on him. Carlos is the more fun one instead of dark and broody. And James…maybe if he wanted to he could. He had the attitude to compare but the looks, not so much. 

Kendall instantly fought against it, “Gustavo, why do we need a bad boy?” Gustavo snapped a finger at Kelly, holding her phone up so everyone could hear a message and showing a printed out photo of the crazed CEO. “Gustavo, it’s Griffin. The band needs a bad boy. Bye.” 

Clearly annoyed, Crowe sighed at the culprit while Gustavo made his known. “He’s driving me crazy!” He swiftly took his sunglasses off, reverting back to calm. “But he’s also right, because the bad boy is a rock and roll tradition.” He had the group follow him to where all of his previous hit bands posters resided, in a hallway they've passed by basically everyday. 

She mumbled to herself, “Are they rock and roll though?” 

The first one was ‘Boyquake’ on the left wall, “Notice the back turned to the rest of the band.” Singling out the one dressed in an orange jumpsuit and bandana on his head, “Bad boy.” Going across on the right was ‘Boy Blast’. “Notice the back turned, the dark clothing, and the scowl.” This time wearing a leather jacket, with sunglasses and a bandana. 

She read aloud the poster as it had one of their hit songs written on it, “‘Girl U R my world’?” She laughed at the title but Gustavo scowled at her and she turned the laughing into a coughing fit. “Some- something, uh. It got- got caught, in, throat.” Crossing her arms and backing up closer to the band, between Kendall and James to easily hide. 

Gustavo didn’t miss a beat, “Bad boy.” It was Kelly who recalled a failed band, “But there can only be one bad boy per group, as learned from the bad boys experiment of ‘95.” revealing a hidden poster behind the previous one, showing each of the members back turned and not seeing a single face. 

What’s up with the fucking bandanas? 

Gustavo showed the disappointment he had with it, “Didn’t sell a single cd.” Crowe found it hilarious but refrained from laughing so as to not get scolded again. 

“But we’re best friends. We never turn our backs on each other.” Kendall stated as the other three friends agreed with him. He wasn’t going to let Gustavo, or Griffin, turn one of them into something they’re not. 

Don’t jinx yourself. 

Gustavo had a knowing smirk, “Then let me let you in on another rock and roll secret.” Pointing from him to the teens who looked at each other curious. “The bad boy is also the most popular member of the band,” 

I guess that’s true. Reminiscing the past crushes on bad or alternative boys she’s had. 

“Makes the most money,” 

I don’t think that’s, right? Pursing her lips in wonder, and maybe some disbelief. 

“And dates the hottest models.” Gustavo knew he won the teens over. Or at least three of them. 

James, Logan, and Carlos started to shove the other, literally turning their backs and letting Gustavo know that they could be ‘bad’, but Kendall wasn’t having it. Tired of their act and how frustratingly easy it was to convince his friends. Crowe giggled to herself, “Or they could be emo instead.” but Kendall overheard, looking down at her with a frown. She quickly covered it up, “Or no. Bad idea. Yeah, bad idea. Definitely. Who would’ve thought of that.” Silently missing her heavily accessorized emo look and style from a couple years ago. All thanks to the hand-me-downs from Luka. 

“Let’s go.” Kendall nodded to Crowe, dragging the other three down the hallway. She just looked at him leaving then to her bosses. Kelly freed her of anymore work and told her the time they should come by tomorrow. 

Having one last thing to say before letting her leave, “Oh,” Kelly beamed in excitement while Gustavo retreated to his office. “You have your first acting gig soon! Are you excited?” 

Crowe gulped, “Already?” Feigning the same excitement. “Don’t I need to like, have an audition or whatever. H-how do I already have a gig?” Pulling on her bag strap, a nervous habit that she needed to quit. “We were able to work something out and got you a part. Well, more like an extra but it covers what the A.S.A.P needs so it all works out.” Kelly opened her binder and pulled out a piece of paper. “This covers everything you need for next week.” 

Taking it in her hands, it had a list of things the extras, now including Crowe, had to wear for the scene’s she would be in. There were other things too, like the times for shoots and things Crowe didn’t really care enough to know. She was too focused on the paper before registering, “Next week?” Ruining the edges of the pristine paper. 

Kelly nodded, ending the conversation with an answer from her ringing phone. Going back to work as Crowe stood frozen. Nodding to herself then catching up to Kendall and the three new idiots. Back into the fresh breeze and hustle and bustle of the outside world. 

Logan, Carlos, and James were walking ahead of them on the sidewalk, Crowe noticed Kendall’s defeated look. “You know?” She wanted to take her mind off the gig. He glanced down at her, “What?” She smiled up at him, this being the first time she’s initiated a conversation. “I think tomorrow’s gonna be fun.” Kendall laughed, he knew it too but he had to live with them and she didn’t. Meaning he was going to suffer their act longer and it was certainly going to be a long, rough night. 

She slowed the walk down to a stop, “What are they doing?” Pointing in the direction of the three. At one of the street corners near the Palm Woods, a sunglasses stand was displayed and a worker was selling a pair to each boy. After that they kept walking, entering the lobby where there was another change of looks from the boys. 

Both Carlos and James took off their shirts, Crowe covered her eyes, flustered, but Kendall reassured her they had another shirt underneath. She awkwardly laughed it off and rubbed her neck. Logan didn’t exactly do the same thing, all he did was undo the top button of his shirt, leaving Crowe to shake her head at the embarrassing display. 

At least when they were in the elevator the act was put on hold. For those very few seconds Kendall had to cherish them, expecting the act to remain for days. Once the elevator beeped, the bad boys went back to the over dramaticness. She fell behind the four and just zoned out, thinking, stressing out. 

Next week?! Why does it have to be so soon? Am I even ready for next week? I need more time. 

Logan burst through the apartment door as the other two bad boys shouted their heys at Mrs. Knight, the only two sane ones entering last. Unfortunately, they upped their antics once inside the ‘safety’ of the crib, with Carlos jumping on the couch and mooning people outside by the pool. Crowe had to hope that none of them would complain and it led to them getting kicked out. 

James thought he was being tough by crushing an empty water bottle on his head. And Logan was hitting the hockey dome like it was a drum, that almost being the tipping point for Crowe to burst out laughing from the sight. A sad display of what they thought being bad was, she could think of multiple things way worse they could do. 

“Gustavo says one of us has to be the bad boy.” Kendall explained their actions to his mom. “But you’re all nice boys.” Mrs. Knight didn’t believe in the facades. Then in an instant she grabbed Kendall and Crowe’s shoulders but mostly directed her fear at her son, “Oh, I am so glad you’re here. There’s an axe maniac on the loose!” She shook the two. Crowe could see Katie further back by the sink with a sign that said ‘NO there’s NOT!’ and so did Kendall, telling his mom they would be extra careful. 

“We want pizza! Now!” The three bad boys yelled at Mrs. Knight. Crowe stared at them wide eyed, with Kendall looking at them like they’re crazy. Mrs. Knight turned to stare them down and didn’t say a word before they all frantically apologized to her, stumbling over their words. 

After that display, Crowe thought it was a good time to head out. She whispered to Kendall, “Good luck with them, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before she could take a step he stopped her, “What? You’re leaving already, why?” He was hoping that she could make things a tiny bit tolerable. 

“Yeah,” She dragged it out, slowly stepping towards the door. “I’m not gonna deal with them. I need to keep my sanity. Or what’s left of it.” Crowe shrugged and gave him a lopsided grin. She tried to leave again but failed, arms blocking the path. “Oh come on, I thought that maybe we could hang out. Watch tv or something.” Her eyes darted between him and the floor, “Why? We don’t need to.” Adding a forced chuckle at the end. 

Now Kendall looked confused, curious on why she thought that. Thinking maybe if it was just him, and Katie, then she would want to stay, since James wouldn’t necessarily be around. But now it seemed like she didn’t want to be here at all, he wanted to ask but couldn’t as a crash came from the living room. A groaning Logan was on the floor, unsure of how it happened but deciding to ignore it. 

“If you need me, I’ll be next door.” Crowe took that chance to finally slip out and into the hallway. 

Unlocking and softly shutting her door, doing her routine like normal. In a completely new-new place, still finding it hard to believe she lives here. It took a few days to get comfortable with the looks of it all. 

⟡

The night after the remodel when Katie left, Crowe spent it laying in bed thinking and talking to someone from back home. 

When Mrs. Knight asked for her parents number, she went ahead and called someone completely different. But in her defense, this someone did take care of and gave her a job at the Snowdrop Ice Rink back in Minnesota. So it was only plausible that he would be the one to call if something ever happened to Crowe. 

And after five rings he picked up, saying his usual vulgar line whenever he got an unknown number. 

“Ugh, I don't miss you cussing at everything.” Crowe put her phone on speaker while putting the journals away in the cramped box. 

A very loud gasp came from the other end, “Cece? You finally called! What took you so long, punk? Busy with Hollywood celebrities and huge parties?” He laughed knowing she didn’t have a social bone in her body. “Haha, maybe I should just hang up. I have important things to do. And don’t you have work, Luka?” She always gave him sarcasm, it's never a rude thing, sometimes, and he knew it. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m about to close.” Reminding her about the time difference now between them. “How’s LA treating you? Bosses, co-workers, anyone else you met. And whose phone are you calling me on?” Luka wanted to know everything and he didn’t care that he was in the middle of working at the ice rink. Crowe also knew how quickly he could close, so she went ahead and rambled. 

Failing at stuffing the books back in, pulling everything out and scattering it about. Her bed soon became a colorful mess. 

Talking about the first couple of days they got there, not mentioning the fact she got fired and was extremely close to returning home. Getting her first phone thanks to the company. How the producer she’s raved about is an ill-tempered man who calls them dogs. Luka seemed concerned with that expression but Crowe reassured him it wasn’t anything bad, considering he surprised her with a revamped place. Bragging about how much nicer it is than her old bedroom. 

A crumpled piece of paper fell out of one of the journals, freezing time with it. Staggering her breath, Luka’s voice turned to a ringing. 

My list? I thought I threw it away. Why is it..? 

Forced out of her mind with his grounding laugh. Sliding the childish thoughts to the side. 

Bringing up the band members, describing them in almost vivid detail. The pranks that they've already pulled and her getting dragged along into their plans, freaking out every time. Briefly glazing over the single band mate she has a slight distaste with and he immediately teased her. 

“Hmm, sounds like someone I already know.” Laughing so loud it was like she was next to him. “Cállate, at least I’m tolerable.” He kept laughing and she buried her face in blankets. 

Coming back up for air, “Oh, guess what? Guess what?!” Practically screaming into the phone and blowing his eardrums out. “Qué pasó?” 

“I have a friend! Like, a legit friend, she even said so herself.” Luka found her gushing sweet and reassuring that Crowe wasn’t completely alone in LA. “What about..” He sighed and strained the question, “The guys? Did you ask to be friends with them?” She snorted at his attitude. “No,” she laid on her back, staring at the dull ceiling with the phone on her chest. A mental note to buy glow in the dark stars. “I’m not sure they want to be friends with someone they work with.” 

He hummed, knowing how particular she is due to a certain blonde back in Minnesota. “Just ask, no harm in that. They might say yes.” 

⟡⟡

Crowe woke up and did her routine, double checking if she had everything stuffed in the bag. The old wrinkled paper on the bedside table taunting her, wanting to be checked off for completion. 

Shutting the front door and knocking on the next one, yawing at the day ahead of her. 

Kendall, awake and annoyed already, greeted her inside. “Why don't you use that door?” Pointing to the easier, accessible one in the middle of the apartment. “I forget it's there.” Staring at it while the two sat at the dining table. 

The other boys were nowhere in sight, leaving Crowe to ask if they were still asleep. Before Kendall got a chance to answer, the three emerged from their bedrooms. The sudden sight made her blink multiple times to make sure it was real, knowing the best part of this would come later. 

When the five got to the studio, they could see Gustavo and Kelly sitting behind a desk placed in the middle of the hallway, in front of his office. Crowe got flashbacks from the audition to how similar it looked, but this time she wasn’t going to make a foul out of herself. It would be the three boys. 

Crowe sat on one of the white chairs across from the table, leaning over with her hands on her chin. Kendall took the armrest of the same chair as they all waited to see the ‘bad boys’ in action. Kelly and Gustavo stared in astonishment, curious of what’ll prove them as bad. 

First up was Carlos. Dressed in all black with a leather jacket, combat boots, baggy pants, and a shirt that had a flaming skull on it. Oddly enough, his helmet matches the look nicely. 

He held a wooden board up to his head, wasting no time and splitting it in half, successfully breaking it. Impressing them for a second. But he was overconfident, falling to the ground from the impact like he broke it directly on his forehead even though he had his signature helmet on. No one moved to help him up, leaving the first contender on the carpeted floor. 

Second to try was James. Wearing oversized jeans, with silver designs on the left leg. His pants being too long on him it was hard to tell what shoes he was wearing, but it was easy to tell what adorned his head. Another bandana, this time in a bejeweled silver and black color. Everything James wore there was a hint of flashiness to it. 

Hopping around and singing a horrible short rap about how he was bad, ending it with showing off a shiny silver grill set. Flaunting it to the judges with a, literally, bright grin. “Really, a grill? Logan!” Gustavo was the least bit interested in him or his bit, wanting to get this over with already. It was a fun time for Crowe, having a blast from the antics. But Kendall was done with everything they were doing, annoyed at his friends for acting this way and his boss who gladly accepted it. 

Crowe chuckled at James, finding it hard to look at him directly without wanting to laugh her head off from the gaudy outfit. He was less than happy he didn’t get picked, joining the two on the chair and taking the other arm rest. Kendall laughed at James as he crossed his arms like a kid pouting. 

Lastly, it was Logan’s turn. In the same style as the other two. Oversized jeans, jacket, sunglasses and hat. Throwing the shades off to the side once he started. It was hard to tell if he knew what a bad boy was since he went with dancing, very badly. When Gustavo said bad boys had a thing for dancing, this was the last thing he had in mind. Flinging his legs around and snapping his fingers, back to wildly throwing his arms in the air, while repeatedly asking ‘you like that?’ and making Kelly and Gustavo stare at him with blank expressions. Ending his bit with an over dramatic pose and knocking his hat off, skillfully putting it back on. 

“No.” It was an easy elimination for Gustavo, getting up and walking over towards the group, “Ok, so Kendall is the bad boy. You’re gonna need to start wearing black clothing and talking deeper, and slower.” He changed his tone to match what he wanted Kendall to do, clapping it over and walking away. Moving on and talking to Kelly about the next task. 

But Kendall thought of it differently, “You mean be fake.” Gustavo stopped in his tracks and James acted like Kendall was right, as if he didn’t change his entire appearance to fit the mold. Crowe rolled her eyes at his act. “I can’t. Besides, I’m terrible at faking.” Kendall stood up, going against the idea. Setting his foot down about the stupid changes for the band, taking his position of leader. 

“No, Kelly is terrible at faking.” Gustavo was pointing fingers at his co-worker. From the years they’ve worked together, they were bound to find flaws in each other. “I can always tell when she lies to me.” And he was right, Kelly tried to prove him wrong but she couldn’t form a sentence without awkwardly chuckling and looking around the room. 

Logan kept his arms crossed while James was just mimicking Kendall’s movements as he explained his reasoning, “Gustavo, we just don’t want anything fake about our band.” Logan and James stood and backed him up, aside from the unconscious Carlos. Crowe remained seated since it wasn’t her place to disagree or add input, the only thing she had to do was her job. 

“Your band?” Gustavo stepped towards Kendall, he wasn’t allowing anyone to call the band anything but his. “Your band?” He started to yell, “This is my band. Are you telling me that you’re gonna ignore me, and Griffin, and the record company and not be our bad boy?” He squared in on Kendall, but with the way he said it Crowe knew where he was headed. And Kendall fell for it, “Yeah, pretty much.” James was happy about his friend rejecting the position. 

The producer pointed at him, “Bad boy.” Kendall, and James, stomped in frustration. In a round-about way it was what he was looking for, just not with the look he was hoping for. “He’s got you there.” Crowe shrugged her shoulders. Kendall looked back annoyed, “Really?” he huffed at the situation and lack of help. 

Before Gustavo left he told Kelly to get Griffin over here since they finally had their bad boy. Kelly promptly left to do just that, leaving the band in the hallway. Crowe looked at the two, and one on the floor, bad boys. “You guys need to change. It’s a bad look.” Smirking at the joke. The two looked offended, at her comment and the pun, but went to change anyway, helping Carlos off the floor. 

Kendall turned to face Crowe, throwing his arms out. “You’re supposed to help.” Confusion struck her and stood up, “Why am I supposed to? It’s Griffin’s idea, he’s a weird man. And it's not like I can change Gustavo's mind.” If there was a way she could help then they would have to find it. 

But what kind of situation would this happen to any normal person? 

“You’re our assistant. Back us up, not them. We can’t let Gustavo or Griffin do this.” She rubbed her neck, it was clear he needed help since he pushed the issue on her. Usually him being the one in control and directing the others, now she was involved. Again. 

This time she had to take his place, “Look, as your assistant, I can try to help with not changing your look. I can think of something.” Beginning to pace, “I mean, what can Griffin do if you don’t want to be the bad boy? The others can’t do it, they suck. He would just have to deal with no changes to the band. Right?” Hands on her hips at the end of the odd speech, not up to par with Kendall’s, but it was better than nothing. 

Once the three came back in regular clothing, they headed to the studio where Gustavo and Kelly were waiting for the crazed man. Crowe stood by Kelly at one end as the boys formed a line across from them. And they didn’t have to wait long as Griffin showed up not a minute later, bringing in more heavy tension to the room and people waiting. 

“Why isn’t his back turned to the rest of them?” Griffin asked Gustavo, wasting no time with chit chat, disappointed in the lack of appearance of one bad boy. “Because he won’t do as I say! Which makes him the bad boy.” Gustavo pointed out, to which he was sort of correct. So in a way they did have a bad boy and Griffin got what he wanted. 

“And I don’t turn my back on my friends.” Kendall stated plainly. Gustavo threw his head back and mumbled to Kelly his annoyances. Except Griffin didn’t like things not going his way, going up to the frontman. Crowe wasn’t sure what he was about to do, he’s an unpredictable man and it bothered her so much. “That’s good. I respect that. But I said I wanted bad.” 

Crowe knew that kind of tone, like he had a backup plan in case this one failed. And once the rest of the band heard their CEO wanted a bad boy, they went back to playing the role. Abandoning the morals that Kendall tried to put up for the band. With James putting the fake grill back on, Logan had his sunglasses, and Carlos pulled out another board from behind his back. 

Where did he get that? Knowing what was about to happen. 

Carlos screamed and broke the board on his head, falling to the ground for the second time today. That caused Logan and James to take off the stupid accessories and go back to normal, or as normal as they could get. Kendall smiled as he found it funny, a sort of payback. 

Everyone looked at the boy on the ground and then continued on. “A bad boy is someone parents would never let their daughters date,” Griffin turned back around to face Gustavo, walking over to Crowe and putting an arm around her. “And I would let my daughter date any one of these boys,” Indirectly making it seem like they could be related, and definitely not in the looks department. 

Pointing his other hand in the direction of the band. “Which is bad.” The boys, Logan and James, looked disappointed in themselves when Griffin said that. “Do something about this, or I will. Wait. I already did.” He took his arm off Crowe and happily introduced someone to their dismay. 

The slight possibility of them getting no bad boy went down the drain to zero. 

“Say hello to Wayne Wayne.” In less than a second, an overhyped boy wearing a black and gold outfit came in. He pushed Gustavo out of the way and barged to the middle of the studio singing. 

“What? What? Yo, yo I’m Wayne Wayne from the mean streets of Detroit, I’m bad-bad as my bling-bling.” As he continued his rap about himself, Crowe was having trouble composing herself. Holding laughter in so much that she started actually coughing. 

I gotta stop doing that. Gathering herself before turning her attention back. 

The boys looked at each other, already uneased at the newcomer. “Give him the contract.” Griffin motioned to his worker and did as he was told, slamming the contract into Gustavo’s stomach. Griffin placed his arm around the new bad boy, “Isn’t he bad?” 

“Bad.” Kelly didn’t hold back her opinion, Crowe bit her lip to hide the forming smile. Everyone looked at Kelly and she tried to quickly cover it up but failed, “But great. I mean, really, really bad, but, like, in a good way.” Gustavo waved his hand to silently get her to stop as she was just making it worse. 

“Wayne Wayne, blow it up.” Griffin gave him a fist bump and ‘blew it up’, “Later later, Griff-Griff.” Griffin and his team left, leaving the new boy to the band. Crowe was having the time of her life, this was the most fun she’s had in forever. 

She went over to check up on Carlos as he was still lying on the floor, squatting down to see him. Lightly poking his face for any kind of reaction. Gustavo and Kelly were quickly going through the multiple pages of the bound contract, trying to find a reason to void it. 

Wayne Wayne jumped to face the band and James tried to be friendly and introduce himself, sticking a hand out. “Yo, Wayne Wayne, I’m-” But was immediately stopped as Wayne Wayne took over and slapped his hand away. “Wasting your time-time. Look, I ain’t here to make friends, ok?” Crowe glanced up at the boys, curious of what else the new recruit had to say. Wayne Wayne stared each one down, making sure they all knew, “I’m here to take Big Time Rush to the next level.” 

How is he gonna do that? 

“The Wayne Wayne express is leaving the station. So you fools step on..or step off.” He backed a step up, before showing off his huge ‘W’ bling out rings to the three. “Wayne Wayne out-out.” Leaving but not before shoving Gustavo out of the way again. Proving the act to be true. 

The boys were quick, “We don’t like him.” Crowe was also quick with a laugh, “You mean you don’t like-like him?” Everyone turned to her, not finding the same amusement as she did. “I’ll shut up.” She crossed her arms and stood up, staring at her boots instead of the judgmental faces. 

“Yes, you do.” Gustavo yelled at them, not liking the situation any better but having to suck it up because of the crazy CEO. “You all do. He’s the bad boy,” Carlos popped back up confused, startling Crowe. Putting his dazed state on her. “And he’s staying at the Palm Woods. So be good boys and make friend-friends with Wayne Wayne.” 

Carlos was lost, “Who’s Wayne Wayne?” Gustavo was done, he and Kelly left while letting the band and Crowe head back to the hotel. “Why does he get to make the jokes?” Talking to no one in particular. Kendall was the one who led the group back to the Palm Woods, not saying a word while Logan caught Carlos up to speed. 

Having another day of Wayne Wayne ahead of them. 

⟡⟡⟡

The next morning, the boys went straight past the lobby and headed out towards the pool with Crowe following after them. Sitting on lounge chairs and judgmentally watching Wayne Wayne across the pool, lifting the three Jennifer's up on a single chair. Showing off his strength to them and anyone else watching him. The girls cheered out Wayne Wayne’s name then laughed once he brought them back down. 

Crowe cocked her head, “That’s kinda impressive.” The band looked at her, offended at her compliment to the new group member. James rolled his eyes and started to complain about him, “First he joins our band without our permission.” Carlos continued, “Now he steals our girls-” Who got interrupted by Crowe, “Who has no interest in you guys.” He went on, “But it’s still not fair.” 

Wayne Wayne was just sitting with the Jennifers, talking and laughing. Crowe didn’t think he’s too bad if the Jennifers liked him, but then again she didn’t know the Jennifers well enough to trust their judgment. And it wasn’t necessarily his fault that he was put in the band, it was Griffin’s idea to have a bad boy and he just so happened to get the role. 

“And that’s why we’re gonna get rid of him.” Logan said, before whispering to the boy next to him. “Kendall, get rid of him.” Pushing it onto him. 

“Why me?” Kendall was confused at why he had to be the one to do it. “Because he scares us.” James answered for the group. “Not me.” Crowe said, finding him more funny, in a way, than scary. 

Kendall shot up and faced the four, “We are a band. And we’re gonna do this together,” Unbeknownst to him, the boy he was bad mouthing walked right into earshot behind Kendall. “Because we are not afraid of some loudmouth, backwards-hatted, droopy pants wearing-” before he got any further, the boys tried to discreetly get him to stop. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” 

And he was, making a furious face at the slightly taller boy. When Kendall turned to face him, he backed up as Wayne Wayne was closer than he thought. 

“You want trouble-trouble, Ken-dork?” He got up close and personal, “Bring it, bring it.” But Kendall wasn’t backing down and the boys got up to literally back him up, with Carlos bringing Crowe with them. “Yeah, we’ve decided that there’s only room for four members in Big Time Rush.” 

Crowe stood next to Kendall, nudging and shaking her head at him to not make things worse. If he wanted their assistant to help then he shouldn’t push his luck.

“Great-great.” The bad boy pulled his phone out and dialed, “Yo, Griff-Griff. The guys agree with me, five in the band is too many.” Once Crowe heard who he called, she was worried what their CEO would say, probably agreeing and making things even worse to the point where they can’t fix it. Wayne Wayne turned the phone so everyone could hear, “Sounds fresh, Wayne Wayne. I’ll stop by the studio to see which one goes. Griff-Griff out.” 

James shrieked at the response, it was pretty easy to tell the guys were freaking out too. “You see…my contract states that I’m guaranteed to front a band, and I picked this band.” Now Crowe was slightly freaked out, knowing how real everything was turning out to be. But it was apparent that the boys could care less about it, or just simply not know how much weight it held, “Ooh, a contract. We’re so scared.” 

She mentally facepalmed, figuring out how dumb they can be sometimes. Especially Logan since he was supposed to be the smart one out of the group.

“My contract also states that I get a posse.” Wayne Wayne snapped his fingers and three guys in gold and white outfits came out and stared the band down. “Scared now?” He taunted them.

The band backed up and agreed, mumbling about how those guys were bigger than them. Crowe stood in her spot, from fear or carelessness, she didn’t know. And if they tried to do anything, she knew how to defend herself, thanks to Luka and his annoying over protectiveness. 

Wayne Wayne looked her up and down, “And who are you? You their friend-friends?” He motioned to the cowering group of boys behind her. “I’m their assistant.” Correcting him and almost instantly regretting it, the band looked hurt by it. Except for James who just seemed offended. 

Logan, Carlos, and Kendall looked at each other, seemingly wondering the same thing but not asking. Kendall wanted to put the pieces together, he thought they were friends but she denied it. Not directly, but to them that’s what it seemed like. 

“So that means you're my assistant too.” He stated it matter of factly instead of asking. Crowe shrugged, “Uhh, I guess so?” Unsure if it was true or not herself.. “Then get me a coconut, I’m thirsty.” Wayne Wayne smirked at the girl. She raised her eyebrow, looking him up and down. He leaned closer to the girl and whispered so no one besides her could hear, “Please?” Leaning back and putting the facade back on. Crowe shrugged, “Yeah, alright.” The boys were shocked from the betrayal as she went to get the drink for the unwanted guest. 

She waited in line for 5 minutes before getting the coconut, grabbing a straw and placing it in. The bad boy moved over to another lounge chair, but it was easy to spot him in the ridiculous get up and posse surrounding him. Especially the one fanning him with a ridiculously giant leaf. 

Crowe walked up to him and handed the drink over. He took it and sipped, “Thanks.” It was a small surprise that he thanked her, thinking that he isn’t as awful as he made it out to be. Having her mind think of him differently than a few minutes ago. “No problem. Uhh, let me know if you need anything else.” Giving him a weak wave and leaving to find the boys. 

And it was easy to find them with the make-shift tree hats sticking out of the bushes. When she got close enough she could hear Logan say ‘mean’, what context that was in she didn’t care too much about. 

“What are you guys doing?” Kendall pulled on her sleeve so she was squatting next to them and gave her a questioning look. Darting his eyes back and forth between her and the boy sitting across from where they’re spying. 

He didn’t say anything but she figured out what he meant, “What? Oh. I don’t know. He said please.” Mumbling to him as he rolled his eyes. Kendall went back to their previous conversation they had before the girl arrived, “Nobody’s breaking us up. We’re a team.” James snarked, whisper-yelling out loud but mostly focusing on the girl, “Not everybody thinks so.” She rolled her eyes at him, it was like he was picking fights with her but she wasn’t going to entertain him. Staying quiet about her own remarks. 

The three, literally, in the middle of it looked at each other. Kendall pushed on, ignoring the two. “We’re not afraid of Wayne Wayne or anybody else.” It was like the world wanted to put it to the test as Camille popped up wearing a neon pink and black wrestling outfit. 

“Hey, guys.” Camille cheerly said. Screams came from the four boys as Crowe perked up. If she was really a dog then her tail would be wagging from the sight of seeing her friend. “Hey, Camille.” Her friend returned her smile then calmed the boys down, “Oh relax, I didn’t get the part. Maybe throwing the casting director in a flying headlock was a bad idea.” 

“You gotta show me that.” Crowe was shocked at the strength her friend had. “Camille, we’re in an urgent save-our-band mission right now.” Kendall pointed across the pool to where the problem was sitting. Camille turned to see what it was, turning back just as quickly, “Hey, when did Wally Dooley move to the Palm Woods?” The name confused the five, asking for clarification. She said the name again, “Yeah, he must be up for a bad boy role. We worked together on ‘The Magic Middle School’. He played Towel boy.” 

The five screamed “What?!” prompting the now unmasked girl to head into the lobby and show them. 

Camille typed into the computer and found exactly what she was looking for. She clicked the video, a clip from the show as it showed the ‘bad’ boy dressed in a white shirt tucked into red shorts. Three basketball players entered the locker room where Towel boy was, teasing him and using their magic to lift two hoses up and spray him with water, soaking him. Towel boy turned the joke around, saying he was the one who needed a towel rather than the players. 

Not bad. Nodding at the clip and look of Towel boy. 

“So Wayne Wayne didn’t grow up on the mean streets of Detroit.” Logan sounded happy at the revelation. Camille explained even more, “He grew up in a mansion in Dallas,” Crowe’s eyes widened at that, wondering why he was wasting his time here rather than the huge house he lived in. “His dad invented toast on a rope.” 

Kendall had enough of the act, “And he’s gonna kick one of us out of the band?” He backed up to face the five again and they all faced him, the girls standing next to each other. “Well, we’re gonna kick him out of the band, cause we don’t need no fakey-fakey, poser-poser,” And once again the person he was bad mouthing snuck up on him, the boys warning him to quit it. “He’s behind me again, isn’t he?” 

Camille revealed herself to the boy and waved, “Hey, Wally.” He took his sunglasses off and nicely said hi back, going back to beating the boys down. “Oh, and news flash: this town is full of phonies, and nobody cares!” Bringing the contract back out to remind them. “Hey, what do you guys think of the name Wayne Wayne Rush?” Showing the giant rings again to emphasize his decision. 

Ew. Disgust clear on Crowe’s face. 

Carlos was surprisingly the one to fight back, “Dude, once Gustavo finds out that you’re a phony-phony,” James butted in, “You are out-out.” The threat didn’t scare him one bit, laughing in their faces, “You guys, Gustavo is a joke, ok? Griffin has the power, and he’ll get rid of whoever I say. And I say…” Wayne Wayne put his sunglasses back on and closed in on Kendall again. “It’s you.” 

And sadly, he was right, Griffin had the power that Gustavo flaunted in front of the band. Showing who was really in control. 

Kendall gulped and glanced at his friends next to him, scared of what else he had to say. “And there’s nothing you can do about it, because you can’t stop the Wayne Wayne train.” Crowe fully lost the persona he was putting up as he backed away, him and his posse acting like a train leaving the station and making the sounds along with it. “Ok, stop this, it’s not cool.” The four stopped, with Wayne Wayne giving Kendall the sign that he was watching him. 

After he disappeared around the corner, the band bolted near the entrance. The two girls looked at their retreating figures then to each other, Crowe sighed, “It’s been, an entertaining few days.” Camille laughed, “You gotta tell me about it later.” 

Crowe’s tail wagged again, “And you gotta show me that move, I wanna do it.” The other girl nodded and Crowe knew she had to follow after the boys, but she also wanted to share the news of her role. 

“I’ll,” It’s better not to, “Text you later? And see when we can hang out?” Starting to back away but still faced her friend to see her response. “Yep, see ya!” Camille waved and smiled, heading towards the elevator to presumably change her clothes. I don’t want to rub it in her face. 

Crowe caught up to the boys as they waited for her, impatient, “What?” she questioned. “What took you so long?” Logan asked as the five began walking, two in front and two in the back. “I was saying bye like a good friend,” Biting back the smile. “Now where are we going?” Being in the middle of the four, Kendall spun around, “Tell Kelly we need to see Gustavo in his office.” She didn’t ask anymore questions and pulled her phone out, sending Kelly a message. 

“She said ok.” Crowe let the four know and switched the phone for her journal, an idea striking her thanks to the changing facade of the ‘bad’ boy. Biting her pen cap and chewing on it while she wrote, flipping to the previous page with her current song she was working on. 

‘Any kind of guy you want..if you decide to change your mind’. Hmm, maybe something like, ‘changing my point of view, every day, something new’. Yeah, this is definitely a love song. She grabbed a sticky note and stuck it to the page, ‘send Camille text later’ adding below it, ‘love song’. 

After she put her things back, they arrived at Rocque Records and headed straight to Gustavo’s office. 

“What?” Gustavo was already annoyed at the teens, his default mood. Logan waved his arms around worried, “Wayne Wayne is a total fraud.” James included the mentioned boy’s threat, “He wants to kick Kendall out of the band.” As Kendall threw his hands up in defeat. 

“Really? I would’ve bet on Logan.” The producer gave his opinion, which Crowe thought was wrong. And apparently the other boys agreed with that sentiment, but Logan laughed and shut it down, “Well, you would have lost!” 

“Wait, whoa.” Kelly was on the same page as the teens, “We can’t let Wayne Wayne kick Kendall out of the band. Gustavo, what are you gonna do?” Wanting him to come up with something to save the band. “Nothing.” He gave them a static look, then left the room. 

Crowe was shocked at this outcome, she thought he might have come up with something but he didn’t. All of them rushed after him complaining but Kendall was the one who got him to talk. “Gustavo, you can’t let this poser tell you what to do with your band.” 

Gustavo turned and looked disappointed, in himself the most. “It’s not my band, ok? It’s Griffin’s. Look, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t had a hit in a while.” She felt for her easily angered but surprisingly, very few times, kind producer. 

Gustavo gave her and the boys a shot, but how long would it take Griffin to notice how far they can go. Never giving them a chance to get their footing right. 

“This band is my ticket back to the top, and until I get back there…what he says goes.” Kendall was quick to compromise in teaming up but he denied. James ignored him and kept listing off what they needed, “We’ll need cool code names. I’ll be the falcon.” 

Ugh, falcons. Of course you would pick that. Crossing her arms from the unfolding event. 

“I’ll be the snowman.” Logan added his code name. “And you’ll need a tree hat.” Carlos pulled one out of thin air and confused Crowe again on how he keeps getting these things. Carlos rushed over and put it on Gustavo. 

Except he ripped it off and threw it to the ground, shouting his disagreements at the five. “Gustavo, we can come up with a plan.” Kendall was insistent on this idea and even Kelly agreed to it. 

Gustavo was heated, staring at the five teens dead in the eyes. “I don’t want you hockey heads pulling any of your schemes or shenanigans that are gonna get me in trouble with Griffin and the record company.” 

“Now, here are your lyric sheets for the song you’re gonna sing for Griffin in one hour.” Gustavo took the sheets and a marker from Kelly, going down the line to give it to the boys. 

“James.” 

He was giving up, none of them could believe it. 

“Logan.” 

They all thought that he might’ve had a plan in mind, but maybe he didn’t. 

“Kendall.” 

This is it, they’re done for. 

“Carlos.” 

But why was she included in this? 

“Crowe.” 

Gustavo handed her one too. Looking down she realized that he spelt her name completely wrong. Taking a peek at Carlos' paper next to her and noticed it was the same, then a look further down revealed the reason why it was like that. 

“Study them. Learn them. Got it?” Gustavo didn’t directly tell them, probably because he knew that Kelly could potentially mess things up if she was included. 

The five remained somber, “Got it.” 

⟡⟡⟡⟡

They only had an hour before Kendall would permanently be kicked out, so they had to think of something quick. The teens stayed in the building but went to the floor below them. 

“So, what are you guys gonna do?” Crowe asked them as she didn’t have a clue and knew they could come up with something. Only being included since Gustavo wanted her to help. Wondering if this counted as part of her job description. They were huddled in another dimly lit room that contained even more music equipment and replacements for it. Making sure no one could eavesdrop on them. She didn’t know who would want to but left it alone, wanting this to be easy. 

Kendall never gave a straight answer, “Griffin wants a bad boy, right?” Logan and Carlos nodded along while James pouted, “And it can’t be one of us. And definitely not Logan.” At this point they made it seem like Logan wasn’t even regular boy band material and he was over it. 

“Sooo, that means..?” The girl looked at Kendall, hoping he would spell it out. 

He nodded, “Yep, I need a new look.” Snapping his fingers at the group. “Crowe, you help me with the outfit. Sorry, James.” She smirked while James huffed, “Oh come on, why does she get to help?” Throwing his hands in dismay. 

Crowe bit back, “Cause I don’t have bad fashion choices.” Referring to his bandana idea and earlier bad look. “Seriously?” James said, looking towards Kendall then back to her, “At least I don’t look sad or devoid of any happy colors.” Knocking her sense of style down. 

She stumbled in her words, “That’s exactly what he needs to look like.” 

James didn’t like her one upping him, deciding the next best thing, “Fine, let bird brain do it this time.” Getting under her skin. Which worked in his favor. “Bird brain?!” Flaring up and balling her fists.

The three boys knew it wasn’t a good idea to say anything to get caught in the crossfire. 

Logan and Carlos didn’t think much about it, Kendall on the other hand was constantly thinking about it. Maybe this was the reason why she didn’t consider them friends, because his friend would always pick a fight with her. And he wanted to find out his reason too. 

Crowe clicked her tongue, “I’ll do a better job than you, hairball.” James shrieked, in defense of his hair. “I am not a hairball-” 

“Quit it!” Kendall hushed the two, “We don’t have time for this.” Ending the argument with that as neither of them said anything else. 

Crowe faced Kendall, “I know just the look. We just need to find it.”

Trying to remember where the clothes were located the very few times she went to the department. Her eyes lit up, “And makeup!” she lightly bounced on her heels, already coming up with different outfits. But Kendall was hesitant, “I don’t think we need makeup.” The other boys laughed at the idea of their friend having to wear makeup and Crowe doubled down. “Yeah, yeah, alright whatever. What else do we need?” 

From there, while she looked for the right room, the four boys started to sort out everything Kendall needed to do. Crowe wasn’t paying attention since she didn’t have to worry about that, instead leading the band down corridors. The girl could hear one of the boys mimic crashing and breaking sounds, something she was excited about seeing. 

Further down the hall she noticed a red staircase, leading them down. A sign saying exactly what she wanted, turning the knob on the door. And finding it locked. “Fuck.” Groaning. 

Crowe turned back, “We need keys.” How could she forget something so simple, knocking herself down for not thinking it through and letting them down. “Oh, we can look for some.” Logan took the chance and grabbed James along with him, gracing Crowe with the absence of the annoying boy. 

Once they left, Carlos wanted to help as well, “Or I can break it down.” He backed up a few steps and crouched into position, putting his helmet on and waiting for the two to move out of the way. And they did, letting him have a go at it. 

He rammed as hard as he could, but unfortunately ended up the same way when he tried to break a board like before. Luck not on his side and falling on his back unconscious, the two looked down at him and back at each other. Small laughs came from them. Crowe didn’t know how long it would take the other two, so it was time to try her method. 

Digging around in her bag, she tried to fish out a small black pouch. Kendall just stood next to her with his back on the wall, thinking of something to get her talking.  

It was the first thing he thought of, something he could ease into his questions. “Thanks for helping us with this, you didn’t have to.” Taking extra attention in knowing how she responded. 

“It’s not like I had anything else to do. Plus, my job is to make sure none of you guys are kicked out of the band. I guess, for now. Or at least still have one.” Crowe grabbed two picks from the pouch, crouched down and inserted it into the lock. 

If that happens I might go crazy. And who knows when I’m next, I really don’t want that. I don’t need to get fired. 

She sheepishly added, “And you asked for my help.” Kendall picked up on the tone. “Yeah, that’s true. Even if it is Griffin’s fault we have to do this. I’m just glad you haven’t bailed on us yet, Katie always reminds us how we’re ‘too much’.” Kendall remembered all the times his little sister would complain about them being too rowdy that she would get headaches. So who knows how annoying they’ve been for her. They’re still getting to know her and finding out how much she can deal with it. And she’s trying to find that point too, only used to one person annoying her. 

Crowe focused on notching the right parts. “Yeah, some of you aren’t too bad,” He knew who she was referring to. “It’s fun working with you guys, I haven’t done anything this fun or exciting in a while.” A soft click was heard, she turned the knob and pushed it open. 

Kendall looked to the side to see what she was up to, noticing the door was now unlocked and they could go in. “How the hell?” He asked the girl who was standing up properly and putting the pouch back in her bag. “How did you do that?” He was stunned, but Crowe moved inside the room and patted the walls to find the light switch. 

“Help me find the light.” Crowe didn’t bother to elaborate but Kendall really wanted her to. “Sure, but..how?” He copied her but on the other side, finding it then promptly flipped it on. She shrugged, “I forgot my keys most of the time back in Minnesota, I had to pick the lock to get back inside.” Focusing on the rows of clothes in front of them. 

Yeah, that sounds reasonable. And definitely not because I didn’t have keys to the house until I made a copy. Or anything else. 

Amazed by the countless varieties of clothes, even if this was the third or fourth time in here, she could barely comprehend how much was packed inside. “Now, let's find you the right bad boy outfit.” Getting excited at the different variations of ideas she had in mind. 

Dark and ‘scary’ is definitely the look I wanna go for. Maybe a hint of emo, who doesn’t like that? 

They went up and down the racks, pulling out mostly dark colored shirts, different types of jackets, and jeans with various designs. It was a few minutes later that they heard voices outside, worriedly looking at each other. Neither of them were able to reach the switch in time to turn it off. Kendall was inches away before pulling back and hiding in hopes of not getting caught. 

“Kendall? Crowe?” Logan’s head popped inside, scanning the room to see any sign of life. Crowe separated the clothes down the middle and felt relief at the sight of the boy. Kendall did the same, going to the door to check on them. 

She went back to sorting through the shirts while the boys talked amongst themselves, trying to overhear their conversation. They weren’t saying anything exciting, mostly about the trip they took to get the keys and why Carlos was on the floor. Kendall did mention how she was able to pick the lock, which caused the two to look in her direction. 

Crowe tried to focus on anything but the suspicious, or maybe curious, eyes on her, except she couldn’t handle it and glanced over. Logan went back to going over the plan with Kendall, it was James who held eye contact. A chill ran down her spine, avoiding all contact and shuffling away completely from the boy’s staring. 

James focused back on his friend's conversation that was circling back to the girl and both of them wondering what else she knew how to do. He was less than interested to join so he went back out in the hallway and woke up Carlos on the floor. Sitting in one of the seats near the wall and talking. 

Kendall noticed his friend's attitude towards Crowe and told Logan about his concerns, “I don’t think she likes us.” Logan was caught off guard, unsure of where this came from. “Why do you say that? We’re friends, aren’t we?” And Kendall thought the same thing, then he clicked the pieces together. 

“That’s the thing,” Kendall whispered so it was only them, catching Carlos up later. “I don’t think, that she thinks that we’re friends. But I can’t figure out why.” He racked his brain for an answer but the girl was giving him dead ends. Logan was skeptical, “She hangs out with us so I think she likes us just a bit.” 

“But she doesn’t hang out with us,” Logan raised an eyebrow and looked at Kendall then back to wherever Crowe was hiding, silently telling him that he was wrong. “Outside of work.” Kendall huffed, his friend was supposed to be the smart one and figure this out. He just needed a little bit more help this time. “Yeah, she does.” 

Kendall’s face fell flat, “Oh really, when?” He gave the shorter boy a chance, “Uhhh, oh! When she helped us with the crib. Crowe was with us the whole time.” Logan crossed his arms triumphantly but Kendall rolled his eyes. “Cause we dragged her with us. If we didn’t then she probably would’ve been with Kelly or Gustavo the whole time.” 

Logan still wasn’t convinced by his baseless theories, “But she could’ve left and she didn’t, so that’s something.” Kendall sighed and listed off the one that bothered him the most, “What about when we invited her over for dinner, and she said no every time. All like, twenty times probably.” Logan knew he was exaggerating. 

“Didn’t she eat with Katie one time?” Logan recalled the night she went next door, mostly because of Mrs. Knight sending food over. “In her apartment. And that’s all. We’re the ones who drag her with us because she doesn’t like us enough to actually hang out with us!” Kendall was close to yelling his frustration out to the public but Logan calmed him down as much as he could. “Why are you so worked up about being her friend anyways?” Logan had trouble finding the cause of this, unsure when it even started. It bothered him to see his friend this worked up when he’s usually the levelheaded one.

Kendall sighed and collected his thoughts, a previous talk with his little sister bugged him. 

When she came back from dinner, Katie told him about her ‘findings’. Family pictures, or lack of, aside from two. One of possibly her mom holding her as a baby, and the second with her grandparents, as they seemed too old to be her parents, and her celebrating a birthday. And when they redid the crib, she was helping Crowe unpack and didn’t find any more family pictures. Kendall wasn’t one to judge about that, but when she told him that Crowe freaked out over a box Katie almost opened. 

It was kind of obvious she was hiding something. He just wanted to figure out what, his own bad habit of trying to fix things. 

Logan’s concerns grew when he was quiet, afraid of it being an over ridiculous reason. Like him wanting everyone to like him, like how James is. It was known between all four for James to not like someone just because they didn’t like him back, it was hard to understand that logic. But he also knew it was bothering his friend, which bothered him in return. 

Except that Kendall wasn’t able to say anything when Crowe walked over to the two carrying a pile of clothes. “Ok, I found some stuff but you have to try them on.” Handing off the pile to the taller boy and glancing at Logan. “And we don’t have a lot of time left so we gotta hurry.” A quick check of the time revealed that half an hour had passed and they were cutting it close to finish on time. 

Logan pushed Kendall back into the room as Crowe talked, “There are three different options that you can choose, so pick whichever one you feel is the best.” Logan added his own thoughts, “Which means pick the one you hate the most.” Laughing in wait for his friend's new identity. “Ha ha, I already don’t like this.” The girl added more insult to injury, “Don’t forget, I gotta put some makeup on after you’re done.” She smirked knowing she was making it worse but what can she do, they needed to complete the look. 

Before Kendall could protest, Crowe closed the door on him and sat on the floor to go through her bag. Logan went to the other side of her, away from the door and sat down. “What all do you keep in there?” Thanks to Kendall, he too grew curious about knowing if she thought they were friends. Wanting to think about this more logically than just random guessing. And little did either of them know, she was debating on asking them to be friends. It’s just been hard for her to find the right words to ask. 

She shuffled things around and took some items out to show him, “Lots of things. Like my journal, bandaids, pens, sticky notes, tissues. Oh, and lots of other random shit like scissors, candy, change. Sewing stuff, my lock picking kit, and some trash.” 

“Don’t tell Katie you know how to do that. But, why do you have all of that?” Logan took a pair of scissors out of her hand, they were smaller than normal, gold and had markings but he couldn’t make out what it was. “I’m always prepared for the worst, or anything really. It comes in handy a lot more than you might think.” She had to learn things by herself and being prepared was one of those things, unfortunately. From times of fixing her old clothes or her wounds, to using the scissors and lock picks for past bad intentions. 

She remembered all the times in her, what Crowe called it, ‘rebel’ phase of getting five finger discounts. They weren’t some of her best moments but it was one of the only things that got her adrenaline pumping. It took awhile before she stopped, thankful it never got to the point of getting caught.

“And what is this supposed to be?” He handed it back to her and took a peek into the bag. “It’s a crane. See?” She took it and held it to show the beak where the blades were, snipping air then slipped it back into a zipped pocket. “You really like birds huh?” Logan grinned, finding out at least one thing she liked. Even if it did seem obvious. 

Crowe softly smiled, “Yeah, I mean, I call myself Crowe. It just made sense.” It was hard not to like birds, her mom was fascinated by them so she is too. 

Shuffling things around for the eye pencil and nail polish, noticing a folded paper sticking up. Shoving it deep inside to disappear. Finding what she needed and ignoring it, like usual. 

Logan saw her open up a bit and was glad that he was proving Kendall wrong, even by the tiniest bit. Maybe from here it’ll help the others to get her to open up to them. Even if one of them could care less, the other three wanted to. 

A door creaked and out came a newly dark attitude boy emerged, causing all of them to stand and take in the new look. “I really don’t like this.” Nothing on Kendall’s face showed amusement but it certainly showed for the rest. His friends laughed, “This is gonna be awesome!” Carlos jumped in excitement but James had to remind him to not break character later and ruin anything. 

Crowe tilted her head to get a better look at Kendall, “Not bad, I picked some pretty good clothes.” Squinting her eyes at James who rolled his eyes and gave Logan his attention.

“We need to take the keys back.” With that he left with Logan trailing after him. Paying no mind, Crowe went into the room to find a chair of some sort. “What are you doing now?” Carlos poked his head inside as she brought a stool over and placed it near one of the vanities, waving for Kendall. “Come here, I need to do your makeup and nails.” 

That scared Kendall, backing up and holding his hands up in defense. “No way. I think this is good enough.” Placing himself behind Carlos to separate them. “We need to finish the look, you just look plain like that if I don’t add at least one of these.” Shaking them to emphasize the point but he compromised.

“How about just the pencil thing? No nail polish.” If he had to choose, then the one easier to wipe off was his best choice. Crowe shrugged her shoulders to get this over with, the time cutting down even shorter now. “Fine, now get closer.” Once Kendall stood in front of her, a buzz from her bag stalled her. 

Chills ran through her. “Fun, Kelly needs you guys in the studio in 10 minutes.” Typing out a quick response and shoving the phone into her jacket pocket.

It was perfect timing as James and Logan arrived and heard it, the tension grew but no one decided to acknowledge it. “That’s fine.” Kendall snapped everyone into place, Logan nodded. “We’ll head there now and Kendall, I guess you show up a few minutes late?”

“Yeah, that’ll show them that you’re a bad boy.” Carlos was way too optimistic in Crowe’s eyes but was thankful for the brightness he had. “Ok, then I’ll sneak in before you arrive,” pointing to Kendall. “So Griffin doesn’t catch on.” Crowe nodded to the boys, staying calm for once and letting the boys handle the distraction for as long until she got there.

They shut the door to close the remaining two in and get to work. The small step stool helped Crowe in gaining some height to reach Kendall’s eye level. Taking the clear cap off the pencil and hovering, afraid of getting closer. “You’re not going to poke my eye out, are you?” Kendall chuckled and made sure he was standing comfortably so he wouldn’t move around to where it might happen. She swallowed a lump and exhaled, “I’ll try not to.” Crowe’s words didn’t make him feel better, so she tried to fix it. “I mean, I don’t poke my eyes that often so you should be good.” Her eyes darted anywhere besides where she needed them to be.

I hope so.

Kendall noticed her hesitation in moving. “You can get closer, you know.” Leaning in as she warned him, “Just, keep your eyes open and look to the ceiling, please.” The second part wasn’t necessary but it would help her in the long run for unwanted accidents. Steading her hand, smoothly drawing the pencil along his lower waterline and going over enough times for it to really stand out.

“One done, now the other.” Sighing and fixing herself over and waiting for his go ahead. Kendall blinked a couple times, getting used to the feeling of makeup near his eye. “Ok, I’m good.” He smiled and widened his eyes, looking up away from the pencil. 

It didn’t take long to complete the look, stepping off the stool and taking a final look at her work. Satisfied was the best way to put it, the black combat boots along with the dark jacket made it seem like this was made just for him.

Everything was in place but there was something that bugged Crowe still, like he was missing something. Kendall saw his reflection in the mirror, doing a double take at his new appearance. “I don’t want to look like this forever. So this better work.” He saw the girl in the reflection, lost in her own thoughts. Crossing her arms, she drummed her fingers while darting her eyes over him, trying to find the missing piece. It dawned on her what it was, “Jewelry.” It's a staple of any bad boy look to include any kind of jewelry they had, but for the time being they had to settle.

Pushing her left jacket sleeve up, she slid a small studded bracelet off and handed it over. Kendall took it and questioned her, “Do you always wear this?” He led the two out the room and into the hallway. Crowe made sure to turn the lights off and locked the door to not leave a trace that anyone entered. Heading to the floor above them to start the show. “I used to, with all the bad boy talk I wanted to wear that one again.”

He fiddled with the bracelet, “Oh, then don’t forget to remind me to give it back.” Crowe waved it off, “You can keep it, that’s my least favorite one and I broke it dozens of times. It’s on its last leg.” Fond memories washed over her skin, it was years ago that she dressed differently then she does now. Albeit it’s a bit toned down now but her roots were still there and easy to see. “So you’re telling me that you used to be a ‘bad girl’.” He air quoted the reverse of what he was, interested in how the girl acted before meeting all those nights ago.

“Ehh, kinda but not really,” washy over how much she should reveal, “More like sad emo, than bad girl. Even if, I did do some, bad things.” Crowe was pushing her luck, not wanting to trudge up the past. 

They climbed up the stairs and down the hall as Kendall continued their small talk. “What kind of bad things did you do? Did you and your friends ever get caught? Is that how you got that scar?” He was being generous, thinking she had more than one friend back in the cold state and pointing to her arm. 

Bringing her sleeve back down. “Just like, the usual bad stuff. Breaking things, sneaking out, stuff like that.” An old ‘friend’ of hers came to mind, “We did that for like, months.” Her tongue naturally lied. 

Shrugging and remembering how she got the injury. “And I got the scar from falling on my ass.” Kendall was shocked from the first part, “Really? I would’ve never thought, you don’t seem like the type.”

What does that mean?  Having trouble figuring out if that was rude or not. Making a mental note to ask Luka or Camille later. 

Before they got any closer to the studio, Crowe stopped. “I’ll go in first and see what’s going on. Hopefully they won't ask where I’ve been.” Peeking around the corner showed no signs of life, the only thing that did was inside the studio where they could hear faint noise. “Wait like, a minute before you show up. Then you can do whatever you guys planned.” She waited until Kendall nodded and quietly snuck around, making herself smaller and shuffling to the side of Kelly as Griffin was talking, catching the end of it. 

Something about Logan again and him retaliating in anger. Crowe signaled to the boys that Kendall was ready, now they just had to wait for the right moment. “Let’s hear my new bad boy band.” Griffin smirked to himself, happy with the outcome of his idea. Kelly didn’t ask Crowe about her whereabouts luckily, giving her relief of not having to come up with an excuse. 

There was a small back and forth with the boys teasing Logan and Gustavo was stalling the best he could until Kendall arrived. They didn’t have to for long as the boy sauntered into the room and did the lamest pose Crowe could think of, dramatically crossing his arms over his body so it looked ‘cooler’ than usual. The same thing Logan did when he tried to take the role. 

It caused everyone to stare at him in, what Crowe thought, bewilderment. She made sure she looked somewhat shocked as well, not wanting to reveal anything. It was good acting practice too. 

Kelly was the only one who seemed afraid of what was about to happen. Kendall and Wayne Wayne met each other in the middle, facing off one another. “Ooh, it’s a bad boy off.” Excitement came from Carlos as the other three teens joined him in wanting to see it. Both Kelly and Gustavo shook their heads, not wanting either of them to do something stupid. But Griffin grew curious, “A bad boy off? That sounds interesting. Doesn’t that sound interesting?” Crowe had to agree with him on this one, she wanted to know what the breaking point was.

“You know, one thing I know about bad boys is..” Kendall grabbed a mic stand from the side of the room and crossed over to where all of Gustavo’s records lined the wall. “They like breaking stuff.” Taking the stand and smashing it against an encased gold record, shattering the glass and causing it to fall. That caused Gustavo and Kelly to scream and for everyone else to lean over to see the damage, Griffin found it amusing, “He’s right. Bad boys do like breaking stuff.”

Gustavo ran into the room, yelling at what he did with everyone flooding in after him. Crowe stood next to him with her mouth agape, but Gustavo’s was for a different reason, “You smashed one of my platinum records?!”

This time Wayne Wayne took the lead, copying Kendall’s moves but doing more damage with all the records he could reach. And after each record he broke in the row, a vicious scream came out of Gustavo. 

Throwing the mic stand to the ground in victory. Kelly jumped on Gustavo’s back to stop him from possibly killing both boys, Crowe stepped back to not interfere. “Ooh, round one of the bad boy off goes to Wayne Wayne. Someone ring a bell.” And one of his assistants did just that, bringing out a bell and a small mallet to ding it.

“That is so cool.” The gold shined off the bell, Crowe wishing to ring it herself. Griffin pushed for the next round, having her, her bosses and Wayne Wayne’s posse crowd into the recording studio, where Wayne Wayne entered first with Kendall nowhere in sight. Crowe stood next to Griffin’s assistant and kept glancing at him, trying to gain the courage to ask. She wasn’t paying attention to Wayne Wayne or whatever he was doing, going on her tiptoes and whispering. “Uhh, do you think I can, or, am I allowed to ring the bell? If not then that’s totally fine. I completely understand that. You don’t have to. I don’t want you to get fired.” Rambling off.

Cowardly chickening out and regretting asking almost immediately. But he nudged her shoulder and held the tiny golden mallet to her, smiling and nodding that she had permission to. Crowe gladly took it and gripped it with both hands, bouncing on her heels. James peeked over Carlos to see what she was doing, caulking it up to something boring and ignoring it. 

Just then Kendall rammed Wayne Wayne out of the way onto the ground and started to sing, or rap, his bad boy song.

“Your rhymes are weak, mine fit like a glove, Gustavo’s got a face only a mother could love.” Gustavo certainly didn’t like that, shooting up to get him but Kelly held onto him and pushed him down back into his seat. Griffin was still beaming, “Round two goes to Kendall.” His assistant looked to Crowe, signaling for her to ring the bell. She happily did, hitting it twice and shivering from the sound. 

“I can’t wait for round three.” Griffin clapped his hands together, turning around and heading out to the hallway. Crowe gave the mallet back, thanking him and following the group out. 

Kendall left and went straight to Gustavo’s office, having everyone wait on him. They huddled together while Kendall locked himself in the office, hearing crashing and breaking just seconds after. Crowe stood next to Kelly, wincing at the sounds and wondering how far Gustavo allowed him to go.

And it was hard for her to know if Gustavo was acting or not, pushing through the crowd and sounding worried. “That does not sound good.” Griffin glanced at Gustavo then back to the locked office as Gustavo screamed, going to his door and trying to pry it open. “He locked it.” Kelly looked annoyed herself, he sarcastically nodded and fumbled for his keys as the sound quieted down.

When Gustavo was able to unlock the door, a puff of smoke flowed out along with electricity crackling. He flinched, going into the mess to see the damage. Crowe tilted her head in wonder. How did he do that?

It really looked like a storm had passed through his office, the group amazed as well. Bad boy Kendall came out with a sledgehammer, throwing it behind him before fully exiting the room. Then he posed again, leaving Crowe to wonder why he thought that looked cool at all.

The boys were smiling at him, being proud of their friend. “He destroyed my office,” Gustavo bolted out the room, “My music awards, and he used my drawer as a bathroom.” That made Crowe’s face turn to disgust quickly, hoping they weren’t serious. But if anything, it might’ve been true and she never wanted to find out. “Bad boys go where they want.” Kendall popped his jacket for emphasis, making the boys smile brighter and Crowe shake her head.

“That’s a new one.” Griffin looked at Logan when he said that, turning back to Kendall. “Original. And very, very bad.” Griffin and everyone else knew who won but Wayne Wayne wouldn’t allow it, pushing through the crowd and getting next to Kendall to look inside the office, screaming ‘no’ over and over. He kept looking back and forth in a panicked disbelief, “I’m the bad boy. Me!” Carlos stepped up, “Dude, he went in his desk.”

“So gross.” Crowe thought aloud and Kelly overheard her, nodding in agreement. Wayne Wayne pointed at Carlos furiously, “I’ll show you,” he turned to Kendall and then to everyone, “And I’ll show you, and I’ll show all of you. I’ll-I’ll-” He kept turning, trying to come up with something worse than Kendall. Except it wasn’t his best idea, deciding to square in on Griffin and kick him below the belt.

Causing Crowe to cover her mouth, from both shock and amusement. The boys gasped as Griffin fell forward, “Kumbaya.” 

Wayne Wayne took that as a victory but Griffin thought otherwise. Bringing a finger up and having his assistants grab Wayne Wayne, and his posse wasn’t going to get caught in the middle of this so they ran off. Griffin popped back up just as quick like it was nothing, fixing his suit. “You’re right, Wayne Wayne. Big Time Rush should only have four members.” 

“You can’t fire me.” Wayne Wayne yelled back, “You know why? Cause I have..” he pulled the contract out. “You have to put me in the band.” It was clear that he was desperate, the boys and Crowe could easily see that. And she hoped Griffin could gain some sanity and do something right, “I have to put you in a band, just not this one. They already have a bad boy.” 

Once they heard that, Kendall pointed to himself and showed off. Griffin’s assistants dragged Wayne Wayne to the back as Kendall broke his persona, “But I don’t want to wear these clothes all the time, and I won’t turn my back on my friends.” The boys and Crowe were glad to hear that, she was impressed that he stood up for himself and the band. 

“Fine,” Griffin stepped closer and dragged Crowe next to him, “And you can still date my daughter.” She had to blink a few times, confusion on her face as he continued. “But I want you nowhere near my desk. Griff-Griff out.” He fist bumped Kendall then left, Wayne Wayne dragging on the floor behind Griffin and still yelling out. 

The four boys and Kelly waved him bye as Crowe just stared at the sight. Each day with them being more chaotic than the last, and she was fine with that. 

They disappeared around the corner as Gustavo yelled, “You!” The six turned to face him as he took his sunglasses off, “Nice work.” 

She was surprised he complimented them but was appreciative nonetheless. The boys and Gustavo celebrated, doing an odd hand shake of some sort, but Crowe didn’t join. That was until Carlos took one of her hands and shook it so she was included, giving her hand back when they were done. Kelly was more than baffled, “Wha? But he- he smashed, and you..” She was struggling to form a sentence from the events of today, going into his office to see if anything was staged. Looking at Gustavo for an explanation. “I teamed up with the hockey heads, cause they do have good plans.” They all shrugged, Crowe subconsciously being in sync with them for once. 

“I was here the whole time. When did you plan this?” Kelly asked the group. The band pulled out each of their sheets from earlier, as did Crowe. The five put it together as Kelly read it, “‘Let’s get rid of Wayne Wayne’? Hey, I could’ve helped.” She put her hands on her hips in defense. “I’m part of this team, too, you know?” Directing it mostly at Gustavo as he explained again, “Yes, you are. But you’re still a horrible faker liar actress.” The five had to agree with him, which made Kelly try to show off her skills with fake crying. It only added to her being horrible at acting as she over exaggerated then immediately stopped a second later, “Yeah, you’re right.” 

With that, the boys threw the sheets in the air and celebrated again. “Alright, dogs. We’re done for the day.” Gustavo gave them the go ahead to leave, but Kelly also informed them on needing to arrive on time tomorrow to start recording. The five nodded and began to leave Rocque Records, cheering about their plan working and no one having to leave the band. 

Once they were outside, Kendall slowed his walking to match Crowe’s. “Oh here, your bracelet.” He almost took it off but she held up her hands, “You don’t need to. Like I said, that’s not my favorite one.” The three in front heard, “Favorite what?” Carlos hopped back next to Kendall. 

Kendall held his arm up to show off the old bracelet. Logan questioned her too, “That’s yours?” Crowe hummed and nodded. And Kendall wanted to add the fact he learned earlier, throwing an arm around her. “She used to be a bad girl. That’s how she knew what look to go for.” They were just as surprised, thinking and asking the exact same things Kendall did. 

Which didn’t surprise her in the slightest but all the questions made her embarrassed, her past making her embarrassed to be more specific. It was her own fault in talking about herself, feeling the heat rise to her face and all through her body. Deciding to bite her tongue and speed walk ahead of the askers all the way to the hotel. 

The five got to their apartment and this time Crowe followed them inside. “Hey mom, I’m a bad boy.” Kendall said happier than the usual bad boy. Each of them said their hi’s to Mrs. Knight, who held a frying pan, being careful not to step on the unconscious maintenance guy that was lying face down on the floor. 

All of them took a seat on the couch with Kendall plugging in the receiver to the tv and taking a seat himself. “Let’s check out Wayne Wayne’s new band.” 

Crowe stood behind the couch and covered her mouth from shock, smiling at the former bad boy Wayne Wayne’s new look. He was in an orange shirt and orange pants, along with three others behind him in different colors. On a children’s program and singing about how yummy eating bananas are. They found it hilarious, James and Kendall fist bumped, “He is really bad.” 

Katie and Mrs. Knight walked over next to Crowe as the program got interrupted by breaking news. A news anchor announced a warning for anyone on the freeway, as a police chase is in progress. Showing a close up shot of a girl in a car and trying to wave the camera’s away from her sight. 

“That’s Molly!” Katie yelled, making the teens confused. Continuing on about her being 20 and a con actress who disguises herself as an 11 year old, trying to land jobs in Hollywood. 

The maintenance man from before, joined them with a fresh brewed cup of coffee and a whisk. “I told you she was weird.” Katie told her mom with the maintenance man agreeing. “Mom?” Kendall lifted his hand to point at the tv, “Is that your rental car?” Mrs. Knight sighed, “Yep.” With that, Mrs. Knight left for the other room to grab her phone and called the rental service for a replacement vehicle. 

“Why do you look like that?” Katie leaned on the couch to ask her brother. Kendall caught her up on the events they did, bringing up Crowe’s help with the outfit and makeup. Crowe rubbed her hands in avoidance and said her bye’s for the day to everyone, stepping closer to the connecting door. Katie followed her and asked if she could come over, Crowe was about to accept before Mrs. Knight, still on the phone, said no since she still had homework to finish. 

Katie, just like Kendall, compromised and said she’ll do it at Crowe’s place. Mrs. Knight thought for a second and looked to Crowe for her approval too. Nodding her head as they both agreed, making her promise the work will be done when she comes back. Katie promised, taking her bag and going into Crowe’s place first and taking a spot on the couch. 

“How much work do you have?” Crowe cooled down, taking her bag and jacket off. “Just two sheets of math,” Katie brought her supplies out and began working. “It’s easy so it won’t take long.” She took over the coffee table and Crowe used the kitchen counter for her own work. Taking two things out. 

Skimming the pages of her journal and sheet of paper, thinking of which problem to figure out first. Both included finishing what she started, the song and the list. Choosing the second one since she had to ask Camille for help on the first, sending a short text. 

Moving onto the list while waiting for a response. Crowe silently groaned and kept tapping the pen on the paper, marking a jumble of dots. Picking at the mess of stickers at the bottom of the page, sticking and sturdy as ever. And impossible to figure out what the last thing had said. Even flipping it to the back wasn’t helpful since it was heavy, almost cardstock like paper. Her memory wasn’t any better, forgetting all about it. 

She didn't realize how long she was zoning out until Katie piped up, finished with her work. 

“You want a snack or drink?” Crowe opened the fridge and reached for some water, grabbing a second one for Katie. They laid on the couch and flipped the tv on, talking over it instead of watching. “So you knew that Molly person?” 

Katie threw her head back, exasperated. “Yeah, cause mom wanted me to make a friend. Since the guys ‘don’t count’.” Crowe looked at her puzzled. “And I kept telling her she was crazy, but she didn't believe me until now!” Throwing her hands up as Crowe questioned Mrs. Knights motive. “Why don't they count? And does it matter?” Fiddling with the bottle cap as Katie shrugged. 

“She wanted me to have a ‘girl type’ friend. I don't know why though, I'm fine by myself.” It was an odd comfort to Crowe, seeing a part of herself in someone else. But that also caused worry in her, afraid she could end up like her. But there was already something different about Katie than Crowe was at her age. 

“I get it,” Scared of admitting it, “When I was around your age I didn't have an-a lot,” switching the words, but Katie caught it. “Of friends.” Crowe swallowed the fear and pushed forward, not giving herself a second to think, “But, we can be friends. If you want to.”

Static was ringing in her ears, fizzing down when Katie smiled. “Yeah, I thought we were already friends.” 

Crowe froze. Blinking like it’ll change her hearing, smiling like an idiot from her vanishing worries. 

⟡⟡⟡⟡⟡

It was hours later in the middle of the night. Cicadas singing, buzzing cars passing by, moonlight sneaking in through the window. 

And a restless Crowe was awake on the couch. Staring out at the pool, in her normal state of over thinking. The paper laid on the table, finally getting the attention it deserved after all these years of neglect. 

Maybe a part of her was glad that Luka kept it instead of throwing it away. A fond memory of when they first met, at the ice rink after her first time horribly skating. Gaining long term injuries that still adorns her skin. And some on her heart. 

‘Cece’s list to making it BIG’ Red hearts and pink stars decorating the sides. She didn’t pick yellow because, in her younger self's words, ‘it doesn’t look good’. And yet, for whatever reason, the blob of stickers all the way at the bottom, wasn’t considered the same thing. 

At least the first thing can be checked off. 

‘Go to LA’ 

[palaeophilist]

happy

I woke up this morning with the headache that would never die, it seemed, in spite of Tylenol and prescription migraine medication for three days straight.

Was it the heatwave? the dryness? the first trimester? the doing-too-much? or was it an honest-to-goodness illness? Whatever it was, I woke up slowly after completing the daily Wordle, and then I prepared oatmeal for CS, took the dog out to potty, and got on with it. The clouds seemed glorious this morning, and the crisp air soothed me, and I realized I couldn't attend the first meeting of the day so I would have time to take myself for a walk. On the way to the walk, I remembered that Java Garden has an amazing pumpkin spice syrup that they make in house, and it would go great with my walk, and then I filled up my tank at Costco, and I played the new Ben Folds album, which turned out to be a festive journey, and I just felt, well, joy, for the first time in a long time.

I felt happy to be the sort of person who is able to smile sincerely at passing strangers, especially strangers who cheer for themselves even after missing a basket on a court where they are playing basketball alone, and at strangers who are picking up their little dogs and cuddling them in their arms. I was happy to notice the rollie pollies casting little rollie pollie shadows on the sidewalk and happy to imagine that all of the shrubs that I passed were sentient creatures happy themselves to make my acquaintance. I was happy to drink my pumpkin spice latte, feel the chill in the air, admire the morning light, walk not too fast because who has the energy for that? I am still a low readiness girl getting over some type of illness and that's OK. We can make space for that.

I felt gratitude for the ways in which AG showed up to caretake for me, and that feels like a huge deal because I don't remember ever being able to feel grateful for that kind of thing, because I am usually too busy feeling guilty that someone has to care for me that I am never able to admire how well they are doing it. I am so appreciative of the fact that he can anticipate my needs, that he made me a soup that used to make him feel better when he was sick, and that he rubbed my body when it hurt to make it better, and that he took CS to the movies so I could have a few hours of just rotting on the couch by myself. The waves of gratitude made me even more grateful for the way the day felt, and I hope the entire second trimester feels just like this morning.

I am looking forward to making space to spend together for the holidays. I am grateful for all the good things to celebrate. For the particular way my home gets bright and cheery at Christmas, and that season is coming around again. That's all I wanted to say. Just a quick remembrance of what it feels like to feel good, when it feels like I've just been a pile of blah for the past few months.

Oh, and it's really wonderful to see CS's excitement about the new baby. He is so scientifically interested in everything, and beyond that, just so entirely joyful about having a baby sister, and I couldn't have imagined how wonderful it would feel to share this news with him. What a special thing to imagine together, the way our family will feel and how it begins to become.

[riboism]

frontier psychiatrist- chapter 2 [discontinued]

pairing: yunho x f!reader genre: angst, thriller, suggestive? still not sure yet

chapter warnings: mentions of mental illness, abduction, themes of violence

wc: 0.7k

disclaimer: the actions portrayed in this story are NOT reflective of those who suffer from BPD, depression, or anxiety as a whole. please do not generalize people suffering from these illnesses based on what you read in this story. this is all purely fictional.

a/n: feedback is much appreciated! It motivates me to keep writing :)

series m. list

“that boy needs therapy”- the avalanches

Jeong Yunho. DOB: 99/03/23. Height: 184 cm. Weight: 68 kg.

Currently on medication for depression and anxiety, as well as undergoing talk therapy and anger management sessions as treatment for borderline personality disorder. 

You remembered the first day he came to the psychiatric hospital. He was quiet at first, which was common with new patients. But soon, he opened up to you and was able to make a lot of progress. You admired his strength and resilience and he quickly became your favorite patient. You cared for him deeply, more than you did with your other patients, and that was probably your first mistake. His soft eyes and handsome smile were enough to cloud your judgment. He was so gentle and kind and your heart ached for him when he shared his traumas with you. You wondered how someone so sweet and innocent as him could go through so much pain. His sweet way of talking to you did more than make your heart flutter; it also made you ignore all the obvious signs that something was very much wrong with him. 

You didn’t think much of it when he asked you to lengthen your sessions with him. Or when he’d linger outside your office, waiting for you to come back from your lunch break. Or when his jaw would clench when he saw you showing the same kindness you showed him to other patients. How did you not see it when he stole your scrunchie? You had told the custodians to keep an eye out for your favorite strawberry printed scrunchie. The next day, one of them told you that they saw Yunho wearing it around his wrist while he slept. When you asked him about it during your next session, he denied it. You never brought it up again. 

And then your best friend got married. You took a week off for the wedding, only to receive 16 missed calls from the hospital on your second day in. You called back, listening as a very nervous staff member pleaded with you to come back. Apparently, Yunho learned of your departure and felt like you abandoned him. 

“He was being violent, we had to sedate him,” their voice trembled “You need to come back, he’ll only listen to you.” 

Needless to say, the outburst extended his stay in the psych ward. The other doctors suggested you drop him as a patient. He’s too attached to you, they said, we should transfer him to another hospital. But you disagreed. He was your patient and you were hell-bent on treating him. You knew you couldn’t heal him completely, but he needed you and you had to do your best to help him. He had serious abandonment issues and you didn’t want him to think you’d given up on him. 

You should’ve listened to the other doctors.

A few months had passed since his outburst, and Yunho showed a lot of improvement. He was much calmer now, more in control of his emotions. He didn’t have a meltdown when you took off from work again to attend a loved one’s funeral. Before you knew it, his discharge date arrived. You watched him as he waved you goodbye before turning on his heels and walking out the hospital doors. 

And then he abducted you. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday. You woke up on an old mattress on the floor, your brain pulsating in your skull. Your vision was blurry, still adjusting to the new environment. You tried to recall how you got here. All you could remember was getting out of your car after you parked on your driveway, and then-

“You’re up.” The familiar voice startled you. Your eyes focused on the tall figure before you, still trying to make out his face. “Here,” he said, coming closer to you. You flinched, backing away from him until your back was pressed up against the wall. You tried to scream but your voice cracked. 

“Shh…here, drink this. It’ll help with your head.” You trembled in fear as his large hand gripped your jaw. He tilted your head up, holding the bottle of water to your lips. You stopped shaking once you recognized the man before you. Jeong Yunho.

You pulled away from his grasp, trying to get up on your feet and run. But you couldn’t get very far, not with the cuffs tightly secured around your feet. This time, you managed to scream, and you cried out for help. Yunho shushed you again, pressing his hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. 

“It’s okay Dr. Y/L/N, you have nothing to worry about. I’m going to take care of you now. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

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chapter 3 →

[no-droids]

Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT.  Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting.  “Turn around, let me see.”

“No.  I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says.  You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in.  “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it.  You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle.  Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him.  He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence.  “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing.  You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth.  Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl.  He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it.  You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?”  You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries.  The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace.  “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now.  “Way too big.”

“Too big?”  You blink at him.  “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no.  It’s fucking… rust.  It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character.  There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—”  You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens?  It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull.  “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh.  “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully.  “Are we on Corellia?”  You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron.  “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill.  Different setting, same kind of people.  Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them.  You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else.  It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs.  “Someone… nice.  It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you.  Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to.  Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy.  But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?”  You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace.  “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again.  “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore.  “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words.  “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second.  “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment.  “We can stay with your… friend.”  

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step.  You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle?  You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated.  You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again.  That’s what’s called a friend, right?  

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it.  After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit.  You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright.  Fuck, it’s so bright here.  You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it.  Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now.  But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance.  “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely.  You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him.  “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink.  What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!”  The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long.  “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second.  “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration.  Probably both.  “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!”  She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground.  “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot.  How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide.  He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his.  He talks to you.  He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without.  Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos.  “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders.  Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?”  She faces him and pokes his armor again.  “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase.  Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point.  He said she was nice?  And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks.  Fuck, there’s no way.  There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond.  Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation.  Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue.  Maker, five hundred credits.  You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it.  He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around.  Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side.  You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now.  Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does.  Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it.  You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him.  Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway.  You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing.  It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him.  That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.  

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right?  Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently.  Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you?  You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape.  He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk.  Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask.  “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her.  “Pre-Imperial or post?  Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it.  She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable.  You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night.  You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse.  You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck.  Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror.  Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though.  She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about.  She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being.  On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears.  It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement.  She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing.  Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later.  You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset.  You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life.  However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do.  After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself.  You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game.  There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare.  But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game.  The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point.  The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point.  You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void.  You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best.  Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it.  “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand.  “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair.  Peli sets the mug down and sighs.  “You’re a good mechanic.  I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile.  But it’s a hidden one.  A fond one.  One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him.  You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him.  Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace.  It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him.  Nothing can touch you.  You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it.  This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous.  You love the baby.  You love him.  You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?”  She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit.  “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer.  Of course you do.  If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without.  Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go.  You’ve never experienced anything like that before.  There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age.  So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them.  You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy.  You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family.  You don’t know of anything you could want more.  Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment.  Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence.  You know what it means to live for yourself.  You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different.  As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better.  Now you have other people to live for, too.  

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago.  He used to terrify you.  You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up.  Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition.  Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do.  You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea.  But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation.  “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?”  She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal.  “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them.  Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface?  I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you.  “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it.  Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work.  This is what Din does, right?  Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet?  Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin.  “But only if you win this round.  What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand.  A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7.  They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave.  Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done.  After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape.  You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating.  You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before.  You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted.  It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired.  You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open.  Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you.  Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now.  Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is.  Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could.  Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that.  You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted.  He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.  

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level.  And fuck, nothing stops you from looking.  He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either.  He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs.  Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time.  Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now.  Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all.  “But… shit, but…”

“But…?”  You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides.  “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him.  All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside.  Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful.  “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long.  “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him.  Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you.  The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck.  “Shit.  I… I need to clean up.  Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss.  You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters.  “Uh.  Go tell…”  He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so.  “Her.  That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?”  You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused.  “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat.  “The mechanic, with the… droids.  Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?”  You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point.  “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that.  “Never asked.”

“But you—?”  You blink at him.  “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy.  It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it.  Yikes, you absolutely did say that.  You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response.  “Ha.  Oh.  Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom.  Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?”  He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far.  You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw.  “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered.  So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would.  Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help.  His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle.  “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you…  Mind blank, no thoughts.  Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try.  “There’s no reason.  I was jealous.  It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid.  I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off.  Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?”  He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it.  You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about.  It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar.  He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you.  “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar.  “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore.  “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again.  “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point.  Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly.  You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here.  She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him.  “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops.  Holy shit, is she serious?  You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly.  Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him?  Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so.  You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important?  You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again.  If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough.  Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough.  It’s an elementary school version of what this is.  And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend?  Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.”  He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point.  Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder?  Lover?  No, not good enough.  Partner?  No.  No, not wife, definitely fucking not—  “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder.  “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness.  The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing.  You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here.  Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.  

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food.  A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps?  Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things.  While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well.  Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful.  The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you.  You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically.  So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one.  He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch.  It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye.  Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well.  You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life.  You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it.  Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.  

No, you think in frustration.  You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time.  You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times.  Miss, miss, wild miss, miss.  Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you.  Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise.  He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit.  “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was.  Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing.  He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast?  That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?”  You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch.  “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again.  “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon.  “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature.  Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking.  “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando?  I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips.  They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again.  “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin.  “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off.  “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him.  “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards.  “Of course not.  Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you.  Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus.  Focus, you can do this.  You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life.  The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours.  His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows.  He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on.  Maker, chill out.  Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot.  This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong.  You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center.  You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target.  Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more.  You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit.  Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh.  “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down.  “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong.   Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are.  So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind.  He’s your biggest distraction, all the time.  He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.  

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?”  You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf.  “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him.  He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused.  You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically.  You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out.  You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot.  You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right.  You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop.  Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable.  Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago.  No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere.  The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit.  They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands.  But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there.  He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either.  He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize.  It’s not fun because he’s too good at it.  This is life.  This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element.  You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you.  Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder?  Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think.  No.  You have seen him relax.  You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.  

But… only with you.  A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck.  Why does that turn you on so fucking much?  It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit.  The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it.  You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it.  You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders.  He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back.  Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason.  There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator.  He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime.  Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf.  The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots.  Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.  

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this.  His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too.  You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him.  Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more.  So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point.  And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue.  He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it.  Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already.  You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out.  You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public.  Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else.  Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response.  He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it.  This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else.  This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue.  His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue.  While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth.  Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with.  You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it.  He endures.  Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando!  Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing.  The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.  

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming.  Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at.  Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.  

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance.  The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever.  Handling it is all on him.  He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun.  It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong.  So wrong.  You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss.  Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs.  But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length.  Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him.  His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want.  His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache.  You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise.  “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth.  You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner.  The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean.  His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going.  Is that fucked up, you wonder?  What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving?  Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that.  The coast must not be clear, you have to assume.  Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t.  You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants.  He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows.  What would he think?  That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent?  Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself.  You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit.  Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss.  He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on.  You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair.  Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand.  And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this.  You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again.  Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified.  Debased.  And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum.  You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins.  By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants.  You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest.  You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble.  Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that.  He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake.  He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense.  Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet.  “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck…  Fuck, is he serious?  You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard.  How does this work again?  What does this do?

“Wh-What?”  You croak—fuck, your voice is gone.  “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it.  Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield.  “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath.  “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way.  “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace.  A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady.  The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained.  “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again.  Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot.  Nope.  So you shoot again.  And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again.  “Expensive.  Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no.  Just, no.  There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap.  You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place.  “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What?  N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right?  Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be.  You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding.  If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away.  Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something.  Is he messing with you again?  Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate.  Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready.  You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is.  You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint.  Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened?  “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him.  “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all.  Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No.  Shut up.  Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything.  Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh.  Oh, no.

“Uh?!”  Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic.  What the fuck?  No fucking way.  Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot.  “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you.  You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.  

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb.  There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.  

It fucking bends.  Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away.  Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it.  You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him.  “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door.  You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance.  The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n, tommy, wilbur and phil

requested: yes/no

an: part 7 of the great adventures series - a rollercoaster of emotions

warnings: cursing, jokes about death (like the vlog) , didn’t proof read as its 6am sorry for any mistakes

it had been around a week since you last spoke to tubbo, the pair of you got into a heated argument and honestly you didn’t want to be anywhere near the boy. no one heard from you since you and tubbo blocked each other, ranboo would talk to you about how you need to forgive and forget and Tommy would do the same to tubbo eventually you unblocked each other however apart from that it was pretty much useless neither of you were willing to talk to the other person, it was just one of those things that needed time, soon enough you’d be friends again. at least you hoped that would be the case. later that day Wilbur sent you a message asking what time he should pick you up tomorrow not wanting to argue you let him know a time and went off to get ready for the night.

The car ride to Alton towers was pretty quiet the majority of the ride was spent playing random car games like eye spy or singing along to the radio as there was no traffic you got there rather quickly giving you longer in the park. you loved theme parks and Tommy knew this so he took the opportunity to invite you and get you out of the house, he also knew he would need the support. Phil began recording as you all made your way through the park the sky car was first so you could get to the other half of the park Tommy made it pretty clear he wasn’t the biggest fan of this and you and Wilbur didn’t help his cause by discussing the recent crash in Italy that killed a group of people, you pointed out all the rides you passed teasing Tommy whilst Wilbur interviewed him on why he wanted to hit 10 million subs, as soon as Tommy mentioned the girl from college your eyes widened and you sat trying not to laugh as Wilbur and Phil sat telling him to call her. Tommy looked at you trying to get back up but you responded by telling him you want to speak to her.

once off the sky car you stood with an arm around Tommy's shoulders as Wilbur spoke to the girl who you’re hoping is in on it and that they’re not calling up the poor girl unexpectedly. as soon as you were informed that her favourite ride was the smiler Tommy pulled you into a hug hiding his face in the crook of your neck

“Are you serious”

“you’ll be fine it’s the safest ride here...if you ignore the crash”

“y/nnnnn”

the four of you walked around the park looking for an easy rollercoaster as you make your way up to the smiler, the blade caught Wilbur's eye so the three of you made your way whilst Phil decided to stay back to record, you sat next to Tommy reassuring him that he’s going to be fine and how it can’t be that bad as a family with a young child got on the ride after you.

“if I pee myself will you laugh at me”

“yes..actually that’ll make it easier for me”

“Please don’t do that Wilbur”

“only for you y/n”

the ride started slowly however the speed soon picked up you sat laughing as Tommy went on to make references about technoblade and how he’s never going to die. soon enough the three of you began ‘singing’ the lyrics to road trip in an attempt to calm down a little bit. was it working? no. a few minutes later the ride came to an end as you made your way off of the ride you heard a child screaming about how fun it was

“awe”

“how is that six-year-old shouting I loved it”

“are we cowards”

“yes, yes you are”

you made it to Phil first and rambled on about how fun it was before Wilbur and Tommy made it to you both wanting to go home

on your journey to the next ride, Tommy pointed out claw machines and dragged you to them, Phil had a go first and didn’t win the dog Tommy wanted, you had a go determined to win however like Phil you didn’t win

“This is bullshit ill buy you a toy dog”

“Why are you never satisfied”

“Good question”

you walked away from the machines with the others Tommy complained that he was being forced to go on the rides, you pointed at the smiler and Wilbur announced you could all go on that now, the rest of the walk was pretty quiet after that. soon enough you were in the queue to go on duel, you were walking with Phil not realising that Wilbur was currently telling your best friend that he was going to die, the only reason you found out was because Tommy ran up to you asking if he was going to die

“Tommy, no who told you that... Wilbur stop laughing it’s not- it’s not funny”

“y/n you’re quite literally laughing”

you put your finger on your lips and walked off. you sat with Phil so you could have a break from Tommy screaming in your ear as soon as Tommy yelled there were guns the ride began, you weren’t the best at this ride you missed the target a few too many times than you’d like to admit, once the ride was over Tommy made the mistake of laughing about how low your score was you made eye contact with Tommy and placed your hand on his shoulder

“Tommy... you screamed at everything the entire way around. if that ride was any longer i’m afraid I’d lose my hearing”

“didn’t you also do shit Tommy”

“fuck off”

and with that you left the ride walking through the gift shop, you and Tommy were like little children picking up anything that was covered in bright colours, you and Tommy found a squishy monster and named it Clarence you ended up getting attached and Wilbur stayed with you as you paid for it whilst Phil and Tommy were leaving the shop

“Phil we lost y/n and Wilbur”

“sorry y/n got distracted”

you all continued walking to the next ride Tommy instantly got distracted by the dryer outside of the river rapids ride and spent a good few minutes asking to go into the dryer. at this point, you noticed another toy shop and ran off to that one whilst they argued with Tommy about the dryer a few minutes later you met up with them again as you began making your way to the next ride

“what I hate the most about Phil is his kindness”

“wasn’t kind enough to let me win on duel”

“I pray on his downfall”

Phil turned to you only to be met with you nodding as Tommy goes on to talk about hating his generosity

“Phil I've been thinking about you... it’s ruined my day”

“mine was ruined by Tommy screaming at stupid o clock in the morning”

“y/n it’s 12 pm”

“okay and I usually wake up at 3 pm this is early for me”

you stood in the queue for river rapids, as much as you wanted to make Tommy calm down you hated this ride and Wilbur saying there was a chance of drowning made you hate it even more

“y/n will we be fine”

“no this is horrifying I remember the incident where someone was dragged under a ride like this”

“Y/N”

“what are you two thinking about then”

“I’m thinking about the beyond”

“I’m thinking about the sweet release of death”

“you might be going there”

“no, we won’t”

you and Tommy began to panic as you got closer to the ride, Tommy announced the floor was moving which tricked your brain into believing that the floor was moving, Wilbur was still talking about you all dying in a few minutes whilst laughing at Phil trying to make him stop despite the fact he was clearly laughing. Tommy got on first as you were making your way to a seat Tommy pulled you over to him so you were sat together. a worker came over and told you all to keep your seat during the ride

“can I get off”

as soon as you finished your sentence the ride began to move making the others laugh

“ill take that as a no”

a few minutes later you forgot you were scared as you were too busy laughing about the fact that so far out of the four of you the only person getting drenched in water was Phil. this newfound confidence didn't last long the ride began going faster and you and Tommy got drenched in water

“We made it through the second most dangerous part”

“heh...”

you looked at Phil tilting your head waiting for him to confirm that Wilbur was just trying to scare you again. your thoughts were interrupted by Wilbur beginning to speak to the camera

“Alton towers is a very safe and risk-free theme park fun for all the family”

he flipped the camera so the three of you could be seen Phil was laughing Tommy had his head in his hands and you were sat with your hood over your head hiding your face so you couldn’t see what was going to happen. Phil told you to hold on but he was interrupted by Wilbur using the camera to record the four of you together again it was clear you and Tommy were not having the most fun on the ride compared to the others. the ride crashed into the small wall next to the ride causing it to jerk forward making the four of you hit your leg

“my fucking thigh”

“y/n there are children nearby”

“y/n, Tommy you two are lucky to be alive”

you and Tommy turned to face each other then looked back at Wilbur who was continuing to chant that you’re lucky to be alive clearly ignoring Phil who was telling him to stop. eventually, the ride came to an end and you all got off, Phil helped you walk around for a minute as your legs felt extremely weak after that ride

“you okay now y/n”

“yeah yeah thank you, Phil. I'm never going on that ride again”

you all made your way to the centre of the park Wilbur disappeared as you and Tommy stood begging Phil for cotton candy, your only argument being that you really wanted it

“please Phil”

“We can have a little”

“we’re growing Phil we need more than a little”

“it’s diabetes in a box”

“it’s pure joy”

“yeah it’s fun in a box let us get some”

“stop being a dick”

Wilbur came running out of a shop carrying as much cotton candy as he could shouting for you and Tommy to take some and run which you gladly did. the pair of you sat on the grass eating as much cotton candy as you could

“ITS BLUEBERRY”

“that is so sugary”

you and Tommy both grabbed a fistful of cotton candy waving it at the two adults in front of you both, resulting in Phil calling you both goblins, they both walked away leaving you two to enjoy each other’s company for a little while whilst they had a break from the pair of you screaming.

“that’s..that's Tommy and y/n”

it was almost time to face the smiler but before that, you had to conquer oblivion again this was another ride that terrified you but Tommy's reaction to the ride made you laugh for a good few minutes until you realised you were in the queue

“oh fuck. we are going to die”

“you’ll impress the girl and y/n you’ll impress tubbo”

“ill buy her flowers”

“This is a death trap” you went on first and sat a few seats away from the middle Tommy not far behind you

“if we die ill never forgive you”

“you’ll be fine”

“will we though”

“I mean”

“Tommy she was hesitant to answer that get me off this ride”

just like last time the ride started just as you finished trying to get off the ride

“y/n you really need to stop asking to get off the rides it makes them start earlier”

the way to the top of the ride was mainly just you and Tommy yelling curse words trying to stay calm

“Phil do we have to”

“Why could I not stay with Wilbur”

“awe look at the view”

“can we just stay up here- oh shit don’t look down”

“any last words”

“lovely knowing you all”

just before the ride was about to go down the drop Tommy grabbed your hand only letting go for a minute whilst you got off of the ride, as soon as you were making your way to Wilbur so you could all go on the spinball wizard ride he held your hand again keeping you close. your way to the ride was a range of Wilbur telling you all about the smiler or Tommy telling you all he was worried he was going to piss

“what the fuck is yours and Wilburs obsession with announcing you might piss on the ride”

you sat with Wilbur for this ride as he was the only person you hadn’t sat with yet and Tommy sat behind you both, you and Wilbur spent the ride screaming, yelling song lyrics or saying your goodbyes

“for lmanburg”

“Should I be worried.. you did you know create an explosion”

you spent the rest of the ride laughing before it came to an end. you all made your way to the smiler making jokes about how it’s all the girl from college wants to see him on.

“you ready Tommy”

“let’s go home”

“no”

“y/n you’re supposed to be on my team”

the four of you made your way through the gates ignoring Tommy who was yelling about it being a prison simulator, you sat at the end next to Tommy

“so this is safe”

“apart from the crashes yeah”

“y/n? is it safe?”

“it’s safe Tommy I can see you’re genuinely scared I wouldn’t lie in a time like this..maybe”

you and Wilbur agreed to become his wingmen and a few seconds later the ride began, you spent the ride laughing quietly as Tommy began confessing his love

“POGCHAMP”

“I WISH I SAT SOMEWHERE ELSE”

as soon as the ride ended you stood as a group again and called the girl from college, Wilbur practically yelled about how Tommy went on the smiler only for the girl to ask who Tommy was and how she wasn’t friends with him

“it’s okay mate”

“you okay Tommy”

you and Wilbur pulled Tommy into a hug.

a few minutes later you all made your way back to the car park as it was getting late. once in the car you handed Tommy the squishy monster you both named Clarence, Tommy screamed whilst pulling you into a hug before asking you how and when you were able to buy it. when you were halfway home you began to get a migraine Tommy pulled you into a side hug so you could rest your head on his shoulder and have a nap for the rest of the journey back home.

a few days late you received a message

tubbo: I miss you

y/n: I suppose I miss you too

tubbo: that’s good because I’m outside please let me inside

y/n: on it!!

taglist:

@l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @c1loudee

[honeypiehotchner]

kiss me on the mouth and set me free (Damon Salvatore x fem!Reader) -- one shot

Hi my lovelies! I know this is not my usual content whatsoever, but I’ve been watching TVD with my best friend (@treat-winchesterswith-kindness​) and she was begging for a Damon smut, so this is the result. And I have to say...I enjoyed the hell out of writing this one xx.

Beta’d by @treat-winchesterswith-kindness​ and @a-radical-notion <3

Warnings: (Birthday) SMUT! (Slight) virginity kink, Daddy kink, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), biting (of course), size kink

Damon’s fingers touch gently underneath your chin, tilting your head, forcing your eyes to meet his. Not for compliance, he’d never do that to you. But for attention, for focus, for sincerity. He wants you to know his true intentions, the kind that only you can see when you’re looking into his eyes.

The usual mischief isn’t there. Instead, swirling in his eyes, are the softest emotions you’ve ever seen. The most genuine. The warmest.

Slowly, you nod. Your silent, willing compliance. Your silent, please.

As he leans forward to connect your lips--

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Your dream is ripped right out from under you by the smirking vampire standing in your bedroom. “Damon, what the hell?” You sit up in bed, rubbing your forehead. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Yikes, what’s with the attitude? My feelings are fragile, you know.” He grabs a pillow off your floor and hugs it to his chest as he quite literally falls onto the reading chair you have by your window.

Your only response is a glare.

“Come on, do you not know what day it is?”

“No,” you mutter, dropping your hands onto the bed in defeat. “What day is it?”

His expression is surprise, sadness, and unamused all at once. “Your birthday.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. You guess that is today. You’ve been so busy lately. You knew it was coming up, but you weren’t aware it was coming up this quickly. And now it’s here, and you have no plans.

Or at least you thought you didn’t have plans.

“Up, up, up,” Damon orders, waving his hands at you as he stands. “We’re celebrating, you’re not allowed to say no. Up.”

One thing you’ve learned about being friends with Damon Salvatore is that once he’s set in his ways, he isn’t budging. So, despite feeling like lead has been injected into your bones, you let him drag you out of bed -- literally. He reaches both hands out and you accept, wrapping your fingers around his and allowing him to tug you to your feet.

You and Damon have always been close. More than close, actually. You’ve never kissed or anything, at least not on the lips. He kissed your forehead once when you were sobbing over something. You kissed his cheek once in public when a guy wouldn’t stop hitting on you. And the two of you have held hands before, but more as an “I don’t want to lose you” measure in large crowds. You love concerts, and Damon does too (especially rock) but he hates the crowds because he hates losing sight of you.

You wouldn’t be surprised if everyone just assumed you and Damon are dating. You know the two of you aren’t -- because he’s definitely had sex with other women while you’ve been friends with him -- but you also know his behavior might lead others to believe otherwise. You also know that’s kind of his whole intention.

He’s protective. It’s what he does best. When you’re next to him, no one who isn’t your friend will look at you. And when you’re not with him, you’ve noticed the number of people who approach you with ill intentions has considerably decreased.

Once you’re known indirectly (or directly, you guess) as Damon Salvatore’s girl, no one comes near you. Exactly how Damon likes.

You don’t mind it. You hate being bothered. You’re surprised you let Damon bother you for as long as you did before you caved. You can’t lie, you liked it. You liked him. You still do.

But Damon isn’t the settling down type. He’s not the type to be monogamous, at least not from your experience. You do wonder at times what his goal was whenever he’d tell you about his sexual encounters. It wasn’t like he was bragging, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to get a reaction out of you.

So, obviously, you didn’t give him one.

Damon doesn’t always get what he wants. He just thinks he does. And you like to make him believe that.

“Are you ready yet? I’m starving,” Damon calls from the hallway.

You roll your eyes. “No. And you can’t be starving, you’re dead.”

“I know,” he smirks, sauntering into your room. “Look at you.”

“Look at me?” You scoff. “I wore this outfit last week.”

“Yeah, but you look...hotter, I don’t know. Maybe it’s your birthday.”

You roll your eyes again, a habit you do most often when you’re with Damon. “Whatever. Where are you taking me?”

“Oh, just, all your favorite places.”

“You’re full of shit, Damon.”

+++

After a full day of doing all of your favorite things, most of which Damon hates, by the way. You have no idea why he’s been entertaining you all day, but you’re assuming it’s only because today is your birthday. He’ll go back to his usual self tomorrow and hang out with you only when it doesn’t involve things he hates doing.

“Which one of your comfort movies are we watching to end the day?”

You eye Damon skeptically from the kitchen. He’s currently on the couch, flicking through Netflix lazily.

You don’t want to question any of this until tomorrow, so you tell him which movie to queue up, and you hear him muffle a groan.

You return to the living room with a giant bowl of popcorn, plopping it in the middle of you and Damon. He presses play on the movie, and you eat your popcorn with a smile.

Of course, you should’ve known it was too good to be true for Damon to keep his mouth shut all day because about halfway through the movie, he drops the bomb you had been waiting on.

“So...you’ve really never had sex?”

You roll your eyes, but don’t respond.

Earlier today when the two of you were walking around, Damon kept pointing out cute guys. And they were cute, you’ll give him that, but you had no idea what his deal was. After five or six guys are pointed out, Damon asks you, “Come on, you’ve never had birthday sex? A one-night stand on your special day?”

You had laughed and shoved his arm, and confessed, “I’ve never had any sex, period. So no thank you. Can we please go?”

You knew it was way too good to be true when Damon dropped the subject immediately and moved on, letting you drag him away to your other favorite spot.

Of course, you should’ve known he was only waiting for the right time. You did know. Which is why you haven’t answered him right now.

But he keeps going.

“What about held hands? Kissed anyone on the lips?”

“First of all, you’ve held my hand, and second of all, of course I’ve kissed someone on the lips, I’m not a nun!” You lie.

He looks skeptical. “When was it?”

“I was…” He gives you the look harder, not compelling you, but might as well have been. “Fine. I’ve never had sex, and I’ve never had my first kiss. Are you happy now?”

“Of course I’m not happy!” He gives you another look, this one like you’ve gone batshit crazy. “You’re missing out on one of life’s greatest experiences!”

“And this is exactly why I never told you,” you toss a popcorn kernel at him, watching it bounce off his forehead. He looks up at it, but he doesn’t blink. “Not everyone thinks sex is all there is to life, Damon.”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant--”

“That’s exactly what you meant.”

“I just mean if...you’re waiting…”

“Please, stop. Talking.”

“You don’t need to wait.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Because I’m right here.”

You stare at him blankly. “What?”

He shrugs nonchalantly like he’s not the biggest manwhore around. “I’m here.”

“You’re joking. Quit fucking with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you-- Well, at least not yet--”

“Oh my God, shut up!” You laugh, swatting at his arm, hating the way you’ve gone hot all over.

Damon Salvatore is attractive. Scratch that-- He’s more than attractive. He’s the kind of attractive everyone says they want in a guy, but obviously, it’s too much to ask for, so they settle for a little less. You can’t ask everyone to look like a God, but Damon does -- though you’ll never let him hear those words leave your lips. Never.

The prospect of having sex with Damon has crossed your mind more than once. Probably a thousand times, if you’re honest, but you always knew it would never happen. He’s Damon Salvatore. First of all, he doesn’t do anything besides casual sex, and second of all, you’re pretty sure his sex only includes experienced partners. You don’t exactly fit either of those criteria.

You never even thought he looked at you that way. You figured if he had, he would’ve made more jokes or insinuated things. But he never has with you.

“I’m being serious, you know.”

At this point, fifteen more minutes of the movie have gone by. But you haven’t been paying attention.

“Can I ask why?” You say, keeping your eyes focused on the TV screen.

“Why what?”

“Why now? Why are you suddenly interested? Because if it’s just to get your dick wet, I will kick you out.”

“What do you mean suddenly interested?” He counters.

“What do you mean?” You fire back, finally looking at him. “The whole time we’ve been friends, you’ve had more one-night stands than I can count. You never flirt with me. And just today you were trying to find someone for me to have birthday sex with. Are you serious?”

“Okay, yes, I have had a lot of one-night stands, and yes, I was being...obnoxious today, but I have flirted with you.”

“Since when?”

“Since every day I’ve known you!” He cries. “Did you not notice?”

You slump back into the couch cushions. “Well, I guess not.”

More minutes pass. The movie plays and you try to pay attention, silently wishing the couch would swallow you whole right now. This shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is.

“I’m not saying you have to have sex tonight, but whenever you’re ready...I’m here.”

“Of course you’ll always be there for that.”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way,” he says, and you would’ve brushed him off again if he wasn’t looking into your eyes so deeply, and reaching for your hand. Not in a way that insinuates anything, but for comfort.

Silently, you turn your hand over and let him hold it. “What if...What if I’m not ready for sex yet, but…”

“But?”

“But…” You sigh, averting your eyes back to the movie. “What if I want you to kiss me?”

“I can do that.”

You nod, but you don’t move. Your hand stays gently held in his, your eyes glued to the movie. You suggested it yourself, yet you’re nervous.

Distantly, you hear the bowl of popcorn moving to the coffee table. You feel the cushion beside you dip slightly as Damon scoots over. And then…

“You’re going to have to look at me if you want me to kiss you.”

You feel his fingers gently lifting your chin, turning your gaze toward him.

“Are you sure?”

You roll your eyes, not as harsh this time because you’re too busy buzzing with the fact that his fingers are still on your chin. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

“Okay, okay,” he teases, his thumb stroking your jaw.

He moves slow, not wanting to rush you, but he moves so slow that you wish he’d use his speed. Before you can make a comment about it, though, his lips are finally on yours.

Kissing isn’t what you expected. But since it’s with Damon, it’s amazing.

He still moves as slow as possible, his hand moving from your chin to your jaw, cupping your face, pulling you closer. You have no idea what to do with your hands, so you leave them in your lap, curled into fists.

Damon pulls back, pecking your lips once, then twice, before finally pulling away.

“How’s that for a first kiss?”

You don’t bother responding. Instead, you grip his shirt in both hands and pull him back to you, kissing him harder. A growl releases itself from the back of Damon’s throat, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip in retaliation.

You open up for him instantly, fists releasing his shirt when his tongue strokes into your mouth gently. His hands find your waist and squeeze, massaging your skin, tugging you closer until there’s practically not even a centimeter of space between the two of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, a small whine leaving your lips when he pulls back.

“Damon…” You whisper, your vision hazy, but in the best way.

“Look at me,” he says softly, his lips ghosting over yours.

You blink slowly, looking back into his eyes. “Hm?”

“Do you want more?”

You nod pathetically, still annoyed with him for stopping.

“Words, little one,” he taps your nose with his index finger. “What do you want?”

“More,” you say almost instantly. “I need more, Damon.”

“More it is,” he smirks, giving you what you need.

You inhale deeply when he kisses you, and when you exhale, your breath fills Damon’s lungs. Your fingers thread through his hair at the base of his skull, your arms keeping you steady around his neck. His lips devour you in every form of the word, claiming you, coaxing you to open up to him. His hands tug on your hips, pulling you into his lap, straddling his legs.

Your comfort movie plays on the TV in the background, the volume turned down, but still there. Somehow, it makes more of your nerves melt away. Damon’s touch makes the rest of them disappear.

Damon pushes your hair back from your face as he holds you captive with his kiss. Another nip to your skin and he pulls back.

“I want more,” you blurt, “but I’m not a one night stand.”

“You are most definitely not a one night stand,” he replies softly, pecking your lips. “If you want more, I’ll give you more.”

“Give me more,” you all but demand, rocking your hips. “Now.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tightens his grip on your hips, stopping your movement. “Just because it’s your first time doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”

You fully stop your movement out of surprise and annoyance. “Why not?”

“Because…” He thumbs the pout from your lips. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Damon,” you groan. “Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I haven’t fingered myself.”

He chuckles lowly, grabbing one of your hands and lifting it up into view. “I am a lot bigger than your fingers, princess.”

You shudder at the nickname and fail to hide it.

His usual mischievous smirk stretches across his lips. “You like that?”

You nod. No use in trying to hide it.

“Princess,” he murmurs. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me,” you say proudly, already tired of the teasing.

He smooths his hands down your arms. “That’s not asking nicely.”

“Please, will you please just fuck me already?”

“Nice of you to say please,” Damon replies, pressing a kiss to your lips. “But I need to get you ready first. Don’t pout, kitten. Come on.”

He shifts his weight to lift you up, laying you back on the couch. Slowly, your pants are dragged down your legs. You wait for him to take your panties, too, but he doesn’t.

You lift your head, but Damon stops you before the comment leaves your mouth. “Patience, princess.”

You throw your head back into the pillow with a groan, one that quickly morphs into a moan when he mouths your clit over your panties. His tongue darts out to tease your hole through the fabric, smirking into your pussy as you squirm. He thumbs your clit before massaging your lips.

“There we go,” he murmurs. “I can feel you getting wet, and that’s what we need, Princess, I don’t want to hurt you...not unless you ask.”

A flash of a wet dream you had a few nights ago, where Damon’s mouth was in your neck, his teeth breaking skin only barely, but enough to taste.

“Did you just get wetter? Oh, Princess…”

The sound of ripping fabric fills your ears when Damon’s teeth tear your panties away. The sudden cool air on your wet pussy causes your hips to buck, and Damon’s hands promptly push them back down.

He crawls up your body, briefly paying attention to your collarbones and neck, daring to nip there, but not breaking the skin, and leaving as quick as he came.

His entire body covers yours as he leans down, pressing sweet kisses to your lips, smirking when he finds your lips already parting for him. And when your hands find the buttons on his shirt, he chuckles, but keeps kissing you, fiercer now as you unbutton every last one, leaving his shirt hanging wide open.

“You feeling good?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“Just checking, baby,” he coos, kissing both of your cheeks, then your nose.

He slides back down your body, settling over your hips. Now, without the barrier of your panties, you can feel his breath on your pussy. Before you have time to process that feeling, though, Damon is diving in headfirst -- literally.

Damon is not a stranger to going down on a woman, and it’s actually his favorite thing in the world to do.

He doesn’t even try holding you down. One arm is stretched across your hips, while his other hand is busy massaging your lips, coating his fingers in your wetness. You expect him to thrust his fingers into you then, but a loud moan has you looking down to see Damon’s fingers in his mouth, tasting you.

He opens his eyes and catches yours, smirking around his fingers as he pulls them out of his mouth. “You taste good.”

You scrunch up your nose, earning a laugh from him.

“I’ll make you taste one day, kitten, you might like it.”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t start pouting now,” he says, keeping his eyes locked with yours as his fingers trail down to your entrance. “Just one for now, Princess,” he whispers, spreading your lips and pressing in.

One isn’t much, so all that you feel is pleasure and heat in your core.

“More,” you whine, lying back down, breathless. “Please.”

“There’s my good girl,” he coos, kissing your hip bone. “Asking so nicely. I’ll make you feel good, don’t worry.”

Another finger enters you and it is a bit of a stretch, but still not much. He was right, his fingers are bigger than yours -- and you’re sure his cock is bigger, too -- but it’s still not enough.

“More,” you cry, the word breaking into a choked moan when he scissors his fingers, opening you up.

“There it is,” he smiles, leaning down to flick your clit with his tongue before sucking gently on the bundle of nerves. He continues scissoring his fingers until he hears your moans growing quieter, and that’s when he adds a third finger.

Now you feel the stretch, but it isn’t painful. Your moan is louder than you expect, your back arching off the couch, and Damon swears for a second he might’ve stumbled upon an angel.

A small whimper leaves your lips when he curls his fingers, pressing into your g-spot ever so slightly. Not hard enough for immense pleasure because he doesn’t want to wear you out immediately, and he knows you aren’t used to that level of pleasure -- not yet at least.

He pauses his assault on your hip bone, never biting hard enough to leave a mark, to return to your clit. He’s not sure if you know it, but you’re close. He can feel your walls fluttering and squeezing his fingers, the tell-tale signs.

Once you feel his mouth back on your clit, sucking and nibbling gently, you’re blinded by the pleasure that crashes into you. It’s as if the skies opened up and struck you with lightning straight from the sun.

When Damon moans into your pussy, the vibrations send waves of pleasure through your every fiber, and you have no choice but to cum all over his fingers.

Something you do when you’re pleasuring yourself is you stop almost immediately, but Damon continues, milking every last bit of your orgasm until you’ve calmed down. He leans his head on your hip while he continues massaging your walls until he can pull his fingers out without hurting you or startling you.

The emptiness you feel when his fingers leave you is a little startling, but only so much so that you need something else inside of you. Which is why while he’s busy sucking on his fingers again, making a complete mess, you’re sitting up and tossing your shirt over your head.

“Woah,” Damon says around his fingers, his eyes widening when your bra comes off, too. “Hello.”

You almost glare at him. “I need you inside of me.”

Damon raises an eyebrow, licking his lips. “Pardon me?”

“Please,” you groan. “Please, I need more, I…”

“Shhh,” he shushes you, his fingers massaging soft circles into your thigh. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

He nods. “Lay back, Princess. I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

You obey, mostly out of exhaustion than compliance, and Damon knows that. You’ve always been a bit of a brat, but he’s seeing even more of it tonight.

He makes a show of shrugging off his shirt, watching you watching him, your arm bent underneath your head to prop you up. One leg is up and the other is down, and you look like Heaven.

Damon undoes his belt and tosses it away, taking note of the way your eyes follow it all the way to the floor. You don’t even look back to him until his pants are hitting the floor, and him stepping out of them catches your attention again. Black boxer briefs are all that is left, and they’re barely containing him.

He loves how intently you’re watching him. The genuine curiosity sparks in his eyes when he pulls his underwear down, kicking them aside. You blink slowly, marveling at the sight of him. He’s...pretty.

“Like what you’re seeing, baby?”

You nod slowly. “Mhm. Taste?”

“Next time,” he promises, kneeling on the couch, pushing your legs apart. “Tonight is all about you, Princess.” He presses a kiss to your lips to seal the deal, and you accept it, reminded of how empty you feel now that your legs are spread again.

You go quiet when you feel his cock nudging your entrance. He stretched you, but he feels so big.

“Is it...Is it gonna fit?” You ask, your arms wrapping around his neck again for support.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead, cheeks, nose, and chin. “You tell me when to stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

He kisses you again, sweeter and softer this time, but it’s only a distraction for when he initially enters you. He could tell you needed the distraction, and he was correct.

When you begin to feel him, your nails scratch his skin and he stops, staying there, waiting for your word.

He goes slow as promised every time you ask for more, and stops whenever you say so, or when your whimper is louder than expected.

Soon, though, he’s fully seated inside of you, and you feel sufficiently full. At peace. And ready for him to fucking move.

“Move, please, Damon, I need you to--”

He pulls out slightly and snaps his hips, knocking the breath out of you. He watches your face, but there are no traces of pain, only pleasure.

A rhythm slowly forms, one that you enjoy, until you need more and when you ask for more this time, Damon doesn’t hold back.

So much so that it forces a new name from your lips.

You didn’t mean to say it, but when he stops moving out of surprise, you can’t help but whine it once more. “Daddy, please.”

“God,” Damon groans, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. The rhythm this time is slow and dizzying. “Say it again.”

“Daddy,” you whimper instantly, bucking your hips, pulling him in deeper.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your vein. “You have no idea how hard it is not to just…” He pauses, letting his teeth graze over the sensitive skin there. “And when you call me that…”

“Daddy…” You cry out, feeling him nudging against your cervix.

“My sweet little girl,” he breathes. “Letting me take her virginity. That’s my Princess, my baby…” His teeth graze your skin again, teasing you, and then…

“Please,” you mumble, closing your eyes. “Do it.”

He freezes, and you feel it, but you’re tired of him freezing, so you wrap your hand around the back of his head, pressing his mouth into your neck.

“Do it,” you repeat, even more breathless. “Please.”

Damon can’t resist, not when you feel this good wrapped around him, when you’re begging, when you’re pushing him closer, yearning for it.

He speeds up his rhythm, chasing his high. He doesn’t trust himself to cum with his teeth in your neck, but he can cum right before, and sink them in while you’re cumming. The pain won’t be as intense while you’re mid-orgasm.

Almost as soon as you feel Damon’s seed spilling inside of you, your back is arching, your own waves of pleasure shooting through your body, your second orgasm of the night capturing you. And when you least expect it, because you assumed he had decided against you, Damon’s teeth sink into your neck.

It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before, but it’s one you’ll be asking for more often.

Your body relaxes, Damon’s now half-hard cock sitting snugly inside of you while he drinks from you, and when he finally is done, you’re floating blissfully.

You catch only a glimpse of his face before it returns to normal, and he kisses you gently to get your attention.

“How was your first time?”

“Amazing,” you murmur, scratching gently at the base of his skull. “Really...amazing.”

“Do you want me to move?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Stay.”

“Okay, well I need to pull out of you, but then we can cuddle.”

“Fine,” you huff, dropping your arms from his neck.

Slowly, he pulls out of you, leaving you empty once more, despite the pleasure still thrumming through your body. “You can warm my cock another time, okay Princess?”

“Hmph.”

He stands and shakes his head. “Alright, it’s nap time for you.”

You look up hopefully. “Bed?”

“Yeah, come on.” He slides his arms underneath your legs and back, lifting you up bridal style.

You’re asleep in his arms before he even makes it to your room.

[rubysunnday]

it’s a love story

a/n: this is a looonnnggg one, but i enjoyed writing it a lot. Thank you to @gryffindors-weasley who’s stories have inspired this one - if you want more sweet Colin please go read their stories!

words: 3,703

summary: Y/N has loved Colin since they were children but it was one-sided. She was content to stand aside and watch Colin move on without her. Until Marina.

Unrequited love hurt.

It was easy to lose yourself in night-time fantasies of a life with the one person you loved - dreaming of your wedding, your house and the day they confessed their feelings to you.

Y/N had loved Colin ever since she’d been a child. It’d started off as nothing more than platonic love - they’d been best friends since childhood, and they’d stayed close over the years as they both grew up and turned into something that vaguely resembled adults.

She’d never revealed how she felt to him. Y/N didn’t want to tell him and run the risk of ruining their friendship. She simply stood aside and watched him flirt with and at almost every woman in London. It never bothered her - it was how Colin was. He flirted and played around but never settled.

Until Marina.

Y/N hadn’t thought twice about how he flirted at Marina. Admittedly, it had hurt to see how close they’d been at Daphne’s wedding party and how besotted Colin seemed to be with her. But Y/N had just thought Marina was another passing fancy who would be married and vanished after the season ended.

But the garden party changed that.

She hadn’t wanted to go. Ever since Daphne’s wedding she’d been keeping her distance from Colin and the Bridgerton House in general, not wanting to set herself up for anymore heart ache and pain then what she was mentally prepared for.

As her carriage pulled up to the gardens, Y/N felt her hands begin to shake. It was ridiculous how nervous she was - nothing had even happened yet! She was just nervous to see Colin and have to disguise her feelings from him and Marina.

Before the wheels of her carriage had even stopped rolling, Eloise ran over and flung open the door, looking up at Y/N expectantly. Benedict reluctantly chased after his sister after his mother shoved him in Eloise’s vague, general direction.

Eloise squinted up at her, attempting to read Y/N’s mind. “Nope, you’re not running away,” she said, reaching up and grabbing her friends’ hand and practically pulling her out the carriage, sensing Y/N’s desire to be anywhere other than there.

“Oh, Eloise, don’t start,” Y/N complained, barely catching herself on Benedict’s outstretched arm as she missed the step entirely and lost her footing.

“If I have to suffer, you have to suffer,” Eloise replied, almost pouting.

Y/N sighed, still clutching Benedict’s arm as she regained her sense. “Eloise, I don’t want to be here. I can’t cope with... well, that,” she waved a hand in the vague general direction of where Colin was.

“And I can’t cope with my mother doing what she does best,” Eloise shot back, snatching Y/N’s hand and pulling her into the gardens. “Now, come along, dear Y/N.”

Not trusting her friend, Y/N grabbed Benedict’s hand and dragged the man along with her, ignoring his muttered complaints as he reluctantly followed after his sister.

Everything seemed to be going fine. Y/N hovered around Benedict and Anthony, making small talk with the two and strategically avoiding looking at or being in the vicinity of Colin and having to talk to him.

Every time she looked over at him, he was with Marina, smiling dumbly at something she’d said and looking stupidly doe-eyed at her.

Marina hadn’t done anything to Y/N and was probably a lovely person, but she still infuriated Y/N beyond belief for no reason at all. Her mere existence irritated her.

Benedict looked up, having asked Y/N a question that had been met with silence. He noticed her staring at Colin and nudged Y/N’s arm. “Stop staring.”

Y/N blinked and turned her head away from Colin, plucking an invisible thread off the cuff of her dress. “Thanks,” she muttered quietly. She hadn’t realised she’d been noticeably staring.

Despite never saying anything, both Eloise and Benedict - and presumably the rest of the Bridgerton household since neither sibling could keep their mouths shut - knew about Y/N’s unrequited love for Colin.

When they’d been children, Colin and Y/N had gotten ‘married’ in the back garden of Bridgerton House. It’d been a big event involving all the family and the staff and had ultimately ended in the two getting a ‘divorce’ that evening when Colin threw a carrot at Y/N. But it’d been obvious even then how perfect they were for the other.

Y/N looked up as someone gently knocked their knife against their glass. Her heart almost stopped when she realised it was Colin and that Marina was standing next to him looking very pleased.

“May I have everyone’s attention?” Colin asked as silence fell over the gathered party.

Y/N was trying not to think the worse. She could see the confusion on Anthony’s face at what his brother was about to do but Y/N knew, deep down, what was about to happen.

“I would like to make a small but important announcement,” Colin continued, practically beaming. “I have happy news to impart.”

Y/N could hear her heart beating. She knew what was coming. There was nothing else that Colin could say that would make sense and that would make Marina smile so much. She unconsciously reached out her hand and grabbed Anthony’s arm, squeezing it tightly.

“I have asked Miss Marina Thompson to be my wife, and she has accepted.”

Everyone around them gasped in delight. Benedict was smiling, Lady Featherington was beaming, and Anthony looked like he was about to throttle someone.

Y/N felt as if her entire life was falling apart in front of her. She’d lost the one thing that meant everything to her to someone else. Her grip on Anthony’s arm increased and he looked over at her.

“Smile,” Anthony whispered, despite his own surprise and anger. “And go congratulate them.”

It took a moment for Y/N’s mind to realise that Anthony had even spoken. But a moment later she nodded, plastered a smile to her face and approached Colin and Marina with false joy and gratitude despite the fact her heart was breaking apart inside her.

For the rest of the week, Y/N stayed at home. Despite the invitation being extended to her to join the Featherington’s and a few of the Bridgerton’s for dinner, she declined it, unable to bear the pain of seeing Colin and Marina stare lovingly at one another.

The seventh day of hiding dawned annoyingly early and Y/N, who felt as if she hadn’t slept in months, found herself pottering around her house with no purpose in mind.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

Y/N turned around to face her butler. “Yes, Simmons?”

“Miss Eloise Bridgerton is here to see you, ma’am. She’s refusing to leave.”

Y/N sighed and pursed her lips. “Of course, she is,” she muttered. “Where is she?”

Simmons gestured to the lounge and Y/N headed down the corridor towards the room.

“Eloise, I swear -” Y/N cut herself off abruptly at the pained yet excited look on Eloise’s face as the woman ran up to her and all but crashed into her.

“The engagement is off,” Eloise said all at once, her excitement overtaking her need to speak.

Y/N blinked. “I - what is off?”

“Colin and Marina Thompson’s engagement,” Eloise said again, elaborating a little more. Y/N blinked again. “What?”

Eloise grabbed Y/N’s hand and dragged her into the living room, thrusting the latest Lady Whistledown into her hands.

Y/N hadn't read it in the past week - every page being focused on Colin and Marina and how happy Daphne and the duke had seemed. Every description of anything related to love added insult to injury.

She scanned it quickly and stared at the words with wide eyes. The paper fell from her hands as she looked up at Eloise.

“She... she’s pregnant?” Y/N whispered, almost not daring to say it. “What, when, how - I mean, I know how but...”

“I didn’t know how,” Eloise admittedly sheepishly.

Y/N’s head shot up, Colin and Marina forgotten. “How did you not know? You grew up with three older brothers!”

Eloise shrugged. “It just... never came up. Anyway,” she fluttered the piece of paper in font of Y/N’s face, “Colin’s free.”

“Eloise -”

“What? Y/N, there is nothing standing between you and Colin.”

Y/N sighed and slowly sat down on the sofa. “Eloise, your family’s reputation is... in a treacherous position. If I’m seen flinging myself at Colin to try and benefit from this... I’m not that sort of person. Maybe in a few weeks when its all calmed down...”

Eloise looked her friend up and down. She sat down next to her and took her hand. “Okay. I don’t agree with it but, okay.”

Over the next few days, Y/N began spending more time around the Bridgerton’s, visiting their house like she had before Colin’s proposal.

All of the Bridgerton’s, bar Colin, knew why Y/N had vanished for a few days but said nothing of her sudden re-appearance. Y/N put it down to feeling ill - she tried not to fall apart when Colin asked after her with concern in his voice and worry in his eyes.

“I’m fine now,” Y/N told him, smiling. “Just a blip.”

“Good,” Colin replied, matching her smile.

Y/N sipped on her tea, casting her eyes down as she felt her stomach flutter at the sight of his smile - even if it didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you attending the Queen’s garden party tomorrow?” Y/N asked, setting her cup down on its saucer with a soft clink.

Colin nodded. “Daphne and the duke are back in town... so, yes, we’re all going to be attending. Are you...”

“Yes, I’ll be there,” Y/N replied, trying not to smile at the palpable relief that appeared on Colin’s face at her answer.

Despite everything that had happened over the past few days, Colin and Y/N’s relationship hadn’t changed. Yes, Y/N was still longing after someone she would likely never have but she’d missed her best friend too much to sulk in her own misery for much longer.

The day of the Queen’s Garden Party, Y/N joined the Bridgerton’s, walking in with the family, her arm in Colin’s.

“Isn’t this lovely?” Violet asked, smiling as she put her arm around Hyacinth. “All of us together again. And Y/N.”

Y/N laughed. “Thanks, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Yes, it’s lovely indeed. We should tempt scandal more often,” Colin muttered. He grunted lightly as Y/N elbowed him in the stomach. “Ow.”

“Hush,” Y/N replied. She was highly aware of everyone staring at them - a given considering the scandal that Marina had brought down upon the Bridgerton’s.

After a few minutes, and after the Queen had accosted Daphne and the duke, Y/N wandered off from the Bridgerton’s, mingling with the other guests and indulging herself in a glass of lemonade and a biscuit.

“Oh, Miss Y/L/N!”

Y/N closed her eyes at the shrill, grating voice of Cressida Cowper. She was the last person she’d wanted to see let along speak to. Y/N plastered a smile to her face and turned to face Cressida.

“Miss Cowper, how are you?” Y/N asked.

“I’m wonderful, thank you. I just wanted to know what you think you’re doing,” Cressida replied, her tone cheerful but the words sounded and felt forced.

Y/N frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Cressida.”

“Mr Bridgerton - Colin, I mean. You’ve been fawning all over him since the news about Miss Thompson broke -”

“I haven’t been fawning, I’ve been trying to be a good friend,” Y/N replied slowly, her frown deepening.

Cressida waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, but we all know that your ‘friendship’ is a disguise for your unrequited love for Mr Bridgerton.”

The empty glass in Y/N’s hand all most fell to the floor, but she kept a tight grip on it as she looked at Cressida. “Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s well known that you are in love with Colin and that he doesn’t know. And if he did, well, that would be your friendship over, wouldn’t! Perhaps you are even Lady Whistledown and wrote that article on Miss Thompson to have Colin all to yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying here, Cressida -”

“Oh, I’m not implying anything, Y/N,” Cressida replied, smiling slyly. “We both know the truth about your relationship with Colin. I just can’t imagine how hurt he would be if Lady Whistledown turned out to be you. Besides, it’s not like you actually think he could possibly love you? You don’t deserve him.”

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” Colin asked, stepping into the conversation and putting a hand on the small of Y/N’s back.

Y/N turned her head away and, despite the tightness in her throat, swallowed and smiled. “Yes, Miss Cowper was just leaving,” she said firmly.

Cressida all but stamped her foot as she turned and flounced off. Colin watched her go and then turned back to Y/N, frowning in concern. He was no stranger to the stings Cressida and her mother often gave out to the Ton.

“What was that about?” Colin asked. “I didn’t really hear much -”

“Nothing,” Y/N cut in. Colin’s hand was still resting on her back and she could feel the heat of his hand seeping through the light pink silk of her dress. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t just be friends and pretend her feelings didn’t exist when they did.  She took a shaky breath in, clenching her lace gloved hands tightly as they shook. “Excuse me.”

Ignoring Colin’s worried and hurt expression, Y/N stepped away from him and walked off towards the back of the gardens in search for some peace and quiet.

Y/N found a small side garden amongst the hedges and darted into it, kicking the small white picket fence gate shut behind her - forming a very pathetic barrier that Colin could probably climb over.

Cressida had always had the ability to get under her skin. Normally she would simply forget and move on with her day but everything Cressida had said - minus the Lady Whistledown accusation - was true.

She didn’t deserve Colin. That was partly why she’d been so content to let him marry Marina - because she didn’t deserve him. And why would he love her? Compared to Marina and every other women Colin had flirted at or with, she wasn’t much of anything.

“Y/N?”

Y/N closed her eyes at the sound of Colin’s voice, mentally wishing him away. She refused to turn around and face him - she could feel the emotions beginning to win over her and could feel her eyes burning.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What did Cressida say?” Colin asked, walking up to her and putting a hand on her back where the fabric was nothing more than a sheer covering.

Y/N could feel the heat of his skin and the soft skin of his hand and suddenly wanted him to just go away and never speak to her again because it would make things so much easier.

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” Y/N said softly, a stray tear escaping her eye and dripping on to her cheek. She felt Colin still and knew he’d heard at least some of what Cressida had said. “You heard, didn’t you?” Y/N asked quietly.

Colin didn’t answer for a moment. “I... I heard the last few sentences.”

Y/N laughed humourlessly. “Of course, you did,” she said, her laugh mixing with sobs. She turned around to face her best friend with tears in her eyes.

Colin looked at her, stunned by the broken expression on her face. In the years he’d known her, the only time he’d seen her that broken had been when her mother had passed away and she’d sobbed into his arms all night. “Y/N/N...”

“No,” Y/N stepped to the side, away from Colin’s outstretched hand. “No, I’m sorry.” She inhaled sharply. “I can’t... I can’t do this. I know - I can’t.”

Colin lunged forward and grabbed Y/N’s wrist as she turned to go, yanking her to a halt and forcing her to look at him. “Y/N, wait.”

“What, Colin? So, you can make fun of the fact that I’ve been on love with my best friend since I was sixteen?”

“No, I just... I need an explanation - I need someone to explain because my head is spinning,” Colin replied. “I don’t understand.”

Y/N sniffed, looking down at the grass. “You own my heart, Colin,” she said simply. She looked up. “When I dream of my future it's with you. You are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with - the one I see myself loving until I die.”

Y/N paused, swallowing down the tears that wanted to fall. She had to say this now, to get it over with and make it clear. Even though it was physically hurting her. “And I know you don’t feel the same way so, we can just leave this here. Nothing else has to be said about it. I’ll leave and we don’t have to speak of this again - or even see each other if that’s what you want.”

Colin said nothing. He was too stunned and surprised by the sudden confession and the events of the past few days to form a sentence. Y/N nodded sadly, taking his silence as her answer, and left the gardens.

She tried to hide her tear-stained face and broken heart as she emerged back into the main party. She’d arrived with the Bridgerton’s and had no way of getting home without them. Y/N spotted Anthony near the entrance and quickly made her way over to him, desperate to leave before anyone cornered her or spoke to her.

“Anthony,” Y/N said softly, nudging his arm.

Anthony turned around as the people he had been talking to walked off. It took him all of thirty seconds to take in her teary eyes, her shaking hands and the broken look on her face. “Y/N...”

“I’d like to go home, please,” she said quietly, her voice breaking on the last few words.

Anthony, to his credit, didn’t ask why. He nodded and took her arm, steering her out the garden. He caught Benedict as they passed, the two sharing a quick and quiet conversation. She caught the pitying stare Benedict gave her, the simple action making her tears free fall once again.

The carriage they had arrived in wasn’t waiting out front for them. Anthony looked around for it but saw no sign.

“I’ll be back, are you alright to stay here?”

“I’ll be fine,” Y/N replied, nodding.

Anthony squeezed her shoulder and walked off with a determined stride to find their carriage.

“Y/N!”

Y/N closed her eyes and turned around. “Colin, don’t -”

Colin skidded to a halt in front of Y/N, scattering the pebbles of the driveway with his sudden stop. He was panting, as if he’d ran from the garden to the driveway without stopping.

“Just, listen,” he said, cutting her off. “I... I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say.”

“I know, you don’t like me, it’s fine -”

“Will you,” Colin walked forward until he was inches away from her, “just listen?” He took her gloved hand and held it in his. “I didn’t say anything because you caught me entirely off guard. The past few days have been chaos and I need a moment to think. Because the last thing I expected was you to declare your love to me in a garden on a random Thursday. The truth is, Y/N, is that I have loved you ever since we had our wedding in the gardens of my house.”

Y/N let out a snort of laughter despite her tears. “I thought you didn’t want me,” she said softly, looking up at him. “Why would you? I don’t deserve you -”

“That,” Colin said, putting a hand on Y/N’s cheek and wiping away the tears with the pad of his thumb, “sounds suspiciously like the words of a Cowper. Y/N, I love you. I thought you didn’t want me!”

Y/N laughed tearfully and leant into Colin’s hand, still resting on her cheek. “We’re idiots.”

“That we are,” Colin agreed, nodding. “Y/N... the way I feel when I’m with you... there is nothing on this earth that is comparable. I’ve been waiting my entire life for you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I thought Marina would be the one to make me forget you but every time I looked at her... I thought of you. I thought about how much I want to kiss you -”

“Then kiss me,” Y/N said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “And make it a good one, Colin.”

And suddenly his lips were on hers and there was a hunger and a need as he kissed her. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest. Y/N’s hand went to the back of his head, her fingers combing through his curls. She could feel his heart pounding and could feel the warmth from his skin as his hand moved up her back.

It was years of waiting and pining and wanting the other. Y/N needed Colin like she needed to breathe, and Colin needed Y/N like he needed water to live.

Y/N reluctantly pulled away from Colin, her hand still in his hair. She rested her forehead against his. “I love you.”

Colin rested his forehead on hers. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again, staring at her. His hand was on her waist and the other one was on the back of her neck, stroking the skin gently. “I love you too.”

“So... are we organising another wedding?”

Y/N dropped her head on to Colin’s shoulder at the sound of Anthony’s voice and groaned loudly.  “Seriously, Anthony?!”

“You two kissed in the driveway,” Anthony pointed out, crossing his arms and attempting to look intimidating despite the stupid grin on his face. “Now, are we going or staying, because I’ve still yet to find our carriage.”

“We can stay,” Y/N replied, her hand entwined with Colin’s. “And when we walk back in there, we’re going to break the Ton.”

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist  ///  Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

[egcdeath]

second chances

pairing: softdark!steve rogers x reader 

summary: you wake up on the side of the road with no memories, no possessions, and no place to go. luckily, an attractive stranger arrives just in time to help you out. 

word count: 4.6k

warnings: there are some soft moments, but this is ultimately a dark fic!!! alluding to kidnapping, deceit, mention of knife, drugging, abuse (mostly mental/emotional, but implied physical), amnesia, brief alcohol mention, nightmares, mention of bodily harm, bed sharing **if i’m missing any warnings, let me know

author’s note: this is my first dark fic without a dark reader, so please be nice! it took me nearly a whole month to get it where i want it to be (i’m a slow writer, i know) but i’m actually pretty proud of this. 

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

After what seemed like years of waiting, the opportunity finally lent itself, a small pocket knife sat right in your peripheral view. A dangerous mixture of adrenaline and impulse filled you, not even granting you the time to think before you were clumsily extending your arm, and wielding the knife. 

The blade popped out, and you held it with a shaky hand in front of your captor.

“Really?” he scoffed, “you’re gonna kill me.”

There was no attempt on his part to stop you, in fact, he smiled and leaned back slightly.

Your whole body trembled at this point, you could barely form words, let alone move. But this was your chance.

“So do it, Y/N. Kill me,” his voice steadily rose as he approached you, long legs making their way across the room.

Before you knew it, he was standing in front of you, hand approaching your own. He wrapped it around your wrist and gripped down on you like a snake, causing you to emit a tiny yelp.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, voice steady as your hands trembled around the grip.

“Exactly. You’re still as fucking pathetic as you were the day I met you,” a slap stung your left cheek, a mark that was sure to be there for the days following. 

The knife clattered as it hit the linoleum floor, and you followed its path, crumbling on the floor and breaking into tear-less sobs. 

“Remember this moment, sweetheart. You’ll never get a chance like this again,” he swooped up the knife before walking away from you, leaving a broken woman in his wake.

——

You went from experiencing nothing to everything all at once. Your brain seemed to be attempting to escape your head as it pressed against your eyes, and you struggled to open them, lashes feeling like they were glued together. Rain poured down on your head, and you concluded that it had been pouring on you for a while, as you were completely soaked to the bone. 

As you looked at yourself and your body, a curled up and bruised mess on the side of the road, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly happened to you, or at all. You weren’t even sure that you had memories apart from the ones that were processing in that exact moment. It was as if you’d exited the womb for a second time, clueless to where you were, who you are, or how you got there. 

You shivered as you pulled yourself to your feet, weak ankles shaking in glittery heels and body trembling in a half-torn dress. Wherever you came from couldn’t have been good.

You slipped off the shoes and held them in your hands as you walked down the side of the deserted road, bare feet sloshing in mud as you did so. You didn’t have an idea where you were, or where the nearest sign of life was. You were tempted to walk on the soaked, petrichor scented road, but you knew that that wasn’t your best idea.

You truly had no good options. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to save you. You wanted to collapse back onto the ground, give into your screaming body that was becoming more and more tired by the moment. Hot tears began to slip down your face, contrasting the cold of the raindrops falling onto your body. 

All hope was lost, you’d die any time now, and that would just be it. You looked up at the overcast sky and screamed at it, mentally begging for someone, anyone, to help. That you’d forever be grateful to god, or the universe, or whatever it was that was out there that put you in the situation you were in. 

You screamed and sobbed until your throat was raw, and you weren’t sure you’d be able to produce any more sound, sitting down onto the damp ground and wishing for your inevitable death to be a swift and painless one. 

Yet, your pity party was crashed just moments later by a beaming red light and the soft hum of a motor coming down the road. This was your one chance. Who knew when the next time you’d see a sign of human life was?

You jumped to your feet and waved your hands like a madwoman, trying to catch the attention of the male behind the driver's seat. He began to come to a stop, pulling over a bit to see you better.

His face was angelic, a strong jaw and soft eyes that looked like they had seen more than the average person. When he spoke, you felt heaven become drowsy with harmony. Or maybe you were just really tired. Regardless, your pleas to a higher power had proved fruitful, as your knight and shining armor had just pulled up beside you to save the day.

He rolled a window down, and you got closer to the door.

“Need a ride, ma’am?” he called.

You simply nodded and approached the vehicle, opening the door hesitantly. You sat down on the seat, and jumped a bit when you felt heat radiating onto the back of your thighs.

“I’m Steve. You?” 

You chuckled awkwardly, “that’s a great question that I wish I could answer. It’s actually kind of a long story. Well, I assume it’s long since I can’t remember any of it. But maybe I will later. Nice to meet you anyway, Steve.”

He nodded understandingly, completely unfazed by your lack of name. Maybe he had prior experience with hitchhikers, as he was approaching this situation with a nearly suspicious calmness. “Well… where’re you heading?” the man asked, looking over at you.

“I, uh, I have no idea,” you said raspily, throat still sore from your previous screaming.

The blonde’s lip quirked at this, as if he were holding back a much bigger smile, “that’s fine. I’m heading a few towns away, but I was thinking of stopping and getting some breakfast. You interested in that?”

You shrugged, becoming slightly uncomfortable in the quickly dampening seat. Steve glanced over at you after putting the car in drive, and noticed your discomfort from your prior stay in the rain.

“We can stop by a bathroom first. I’ve got some extra clothes with me in the back,” he suggested. You nodded quietly, looking at the vast, and empty road ahead. 

----

You sat in a diner booth dressed in a thick jacket and comfortable sweatpants that oddly enough, seemed to be exactly your size. Steve approached the table with an extra plate of fries, and set it gently in front of you. 

“So you don’t remember anything?” he asked, stealing a fry before sitting down across from you. 

You shook your head, bringing a salty fry to your mouth, “I swear I just woke up there. No memories, no nothing, no place to go. I mean, I was gonna die out there if you didn’t get me.”

Steve scoffed a bit at this, “that’s not true. I’m sure someone would’ve helped eventually.”

“Maybe. But I’m glad that it was you,” you looked up at him, and the fondness he was looking at you with was nearly suffocating. 

Steve paused for a moment, mulling over his next words as if he was looking for the exact right thing to say.

“Would you like to stay with me? I mean, I know we just met each other, but I just have this feeling. Like I was meant to find you. Besides, it doesn’t seem like you have anywhere else to go.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you excused after a moment, popping out of the both and heading towards the ladies room.

You handled your business, and stared at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands. Makeup ran down your face, and it almost appeared that you were melting. Who would pick someone up in such a state? You had to question this Steve guy’s character a little bit. You couldn’t remember the exact phrase, but it couldn’t be smart to get into a car with a stranger. Especially a stranger offering to take you to some secret location with them. After all, he could be a murderer, a kidnapper, or a rapist. You would be none the wiser.

But he fed you, clothed you, and offered you a form of shelter. He couldn’t be too ill intentioned if he was willing to go out of his way to help, right? Maybe he just wanted to keep you off the streets, and that was why he was willing to take you to wherever it was that he was going.

Your stomach turned the longer you watched yourself, the longer you thought. Perhaps your intuition found that something was off. But who even knew if you could trust your intuition, after all, you were basically a day old, and you didn’t seem to have any other option.

——

You ended up going back out into the diner and accepting Steve’s offer. You didn’t really have much of a choice, and he wasn’t exactly a bad one. 

Steve was quiet for the majority of your trip, only speaking when he noticed that you’d moved your sights from the window over to him. He didn’t seem to be a fan of the way you were studying him, but for some reason your eyes kept finding him.

Hours had passed in the day, and night was quickly approaching. You dozed as you watched the starry night from the passenger window. Your eyes were becoming heavier by the moment, hours worth of watching flat landscape, combined with the complexity of your day finally catching up to you.   

——

Cold. You felt cold. The floor was cold. The blood running through your veins was cold. Your brain was cold and freezing, hindering you from properly processing what was going on in front of you. 

A searing pain rolled through your body as you tumbled down the stairs, back into a room that was suffocatingly familiar.

“I should’ve never allowed you to leave. Ungrateful,” a faceless man followed you down the stairs and hovered over your now battered body. “I give you a home and you complain. I take care of you, giving you almost anything you could ever ask for. You complain. Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position? With someone like me taking care of them?” 

“You told me you loved me, you goddamn liar. I let you come upstairs, and you try to fucking kill me. I should kill you,” he seethed, leaning down over you.

But I won’t.

The words were unspoken, but familiar. A threat uttered to you before, usually followed with an ‘I’ll make your life a living hell instead.’

You were unable to speak, as if someone had ripped out your vocal cords. Suddenly the faceless man was reaching down and holding the bloody organs in his hands. Your blood ran cold once again. 

“You can’t even fathom the hell I want to release on you right now,” he continued, chest puffing out with exaggerated, angered breaths. “But I’ll be the bigger man. Because I love you,” he dropped the cords on the ground beside you, and your eyes flicked over to the mutilated part of yourself. “Y/N, I need you to prove to me that you love me.”

You wanted to beg, to plead and tell the man whatever he needed to hear in order to release you, but you were completely powerless. 

The man hoisted you up with ease, and you soundlessly whimpered. He carried you into a small, plain room and set you on the flat, stiff mattress on the floor. 

“Come on, Sweetheart. You know I’m doing this for us.” 

The faceless man kissed your forehead, and the feeling of dread overtook you.

——

You awoke with a gasp, clawing at your own neck to make sure that your vocal cords were still intact.

“You alright?” Steve asked, glancing over at you. “Should I pull over?”

“No, I’ll be fine,”  you whispered.

“Take some deep breaths for me, okay?” he advised, setting a reassuring hand on top of yours. “We’ll be at the hotel any minute now.”

——

Your nerves were absolutely fried by the nightmare. Your hands shook like leaves in the wind while you stood next to Steve as he checked you into your hotel room.

“How’re you doing?” he asked in the elevator, setting his large hand on top of yours once again. The gesture was calming, even if you felt a slight undermining feeling of something unsettling.

“A little better. I probably just need to lay down somewhere comfortable.”

Steve nodded and squeezed your hand, “you’ve had a long day. You have first dibs on the shower. Maybe it’ll help you relax.” 

The smile that Steve was giving you was comforting. You felt glad that he was the person to have picked you up.

The elevator made a little ding noise before the doors opened, and he guided you to your room. 

You made a beeline to the shower, not even taking the time to be impressed with the size of the hotel room, the amenities, or the quality of it. You just wanted to shed your clothes and find at least a moment of peace. 

You exited the bathroom after about a half an hour, and walked out into the suite in just a towel. 

“Can I borrow some more clothes?” you glanced over at Steve, who was openly checking you out from the comfort of the bed.

Wait, the bed.

There were way too many things going on for you to be focused on the fact that there was just one bed. Maybe Steve would offer to sleep on the sofa.

“Yeah, that’s fine. My teammate left some clothes in that smaller blue suitcase. It’ll probably fit,” Steve paused for a few moments as you found the aforementioned suitcase and looked for something comfortable that you could actually sleep in.

“Who did that to you?” he asked, gesturing at your bruised legs.

“I don’t… I don’t know. It’s all so blurry,” you sighed, settling on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

You changed quickly in the residually steamy bathroom, and sat down at the foot of the bed. 

“Do we need to have a fistfight over who gets to sleep in the bed?” Steve joked and you shook your head.

“I can sleep on the sofa, if you want.”

“No way. You deserve something comfortable,” he got out of bed, and approached the bathroom to take his own shower. “Get nice and cozy, friend. You deserve it.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and you moved up to the top of the bed, slipping under the covers and sighing aloud from relief. Your body was finally having a chance to relax, and the hotel bed was surprisingly comfortable. 

By the time Steve returned from the shower, you were already half asleep, and very unaware of your surroundings.

As you fell out of consciousness, you had blurry visions of confinement, punishments, and pain. You once again woke up with a gasp, but this time Steve was standing over you. 

“Deep breaths, okay? I saw you thrashing and mumbling something to yourself. I think you were having a bad dream.”

You nodded and panted, trying to catch your breath and slow down your hummingbird heart rate. 

“You’re safe, I promise.”

“Can you stay with me?” you stammered out.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve got into bed beside you, and rubbed your back as you curled into a fetal position, “just try to relax, okay? There isn’t anything to fear when I’m here with you.”

You nodded, clutching onto Steve’s genuine tone. Something about him just made you feel… safe, despite the possible red flags around him. 

After Steve got into bed with you, you were finally able to fall into a dreamless and peaceful sleep. 

——

You woke up to an empty and cold bed. You blinked a few times and looked around the room, eyes stopping on Steve as he watched you from the couch, eyes quickly flipping between yourself and the book in his hands in an effort to cover up his staring. 

The whole ordeal made you feel slightly off, but the realization that you were essentially mooching off a stranger felt worse. 

You hopped out of bed and anxiously paced towards the bathroom. “Shit, Steve,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t be taking advantage of you like this. I should probably leave.”

“Where else do you have to go?” Steve almost defensively questioned, frown deep on his face.

You took a deep sigh and shrugged, “I… don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have to go,” he began, sounding unsure in his words, “stay. With me,” he stood up and walked over to you, grabbing the back of your arm softly. “You’re not taking advantage of me. If anything, you’re helping me. I get pretty lonely on these kinds of missions, so please, stay with me.”

You turned to look at Steve, the deep creases in his face at the thought of losing you. With just a glance, you knew that you couldn’t leave. 

——

The next few days of your life had proved your theory. It was almost alarming how quickly Steve became your anchor in the midst of a new, overwhelming world. 

The first thing that he did for you was tell you what your name was. As confused as you were to how exactly he figured it out, (he told you that he knew some weird tech guy. You were prepared to go with anything), you were grateful that Steve was able to help you out a piece of your old life back together.

He was oddly patient with you as you learned more and more about your surroundings. You were most impressed by the grocery store, and may or may not have spent hours inside of that food palace, spending much more of Steve’s money than was socially acceptable. 

For the next few months, you stayed at a safe house with Steve, spending the majority of your time looking down at your reflection in the lake in the backyard, wondering if your memories could ever come back.

You’d grown closer with Steve in that time as well, he was really the only person that you’d gotten close with since you’d lost your memories. Now that you were thinking about it, you hadn’t said more than three sentences to anyone else. By that measurement, your next closest friend was a gas station cashier.

In fact, you’d started dating Steve. Granted, you couldn’t completely wrap your mind around it all, despite the hours of rom-coms you’d watched while Steve was gone on missions. You just knew that you cared a lot about Steve. When he was around you, your heart fluttered. He was the only person you truly felt comfortable with. He protected you time after time, and voiced to you just how much he adored you. 

It made you feel wanted, to know that despite all of the confusion, you still had a place in this world, even if the place was just Steve Rogers’ heart. 

——

Steve arrived at the safe house late at night after nearly a week of being off on another mission. The bed creaked as he got into bed with you, and pressed up against your sleeping form. 

“Steve, sometimes I have these really awful dreams. Mostly when you’re not with me,” you began out of the blue as his arms snaked around you. “It’s always this faceless man just… abusing me. And I can’t even do anything about it because I’m too weak. And I can’t say anything because he stole my vocal cords. It sounds so silly, because it’s all just a dream, but it all feels so real. I just... I need you to promise me that you’ll protect me no matter what. Especially against him.”

“Of course,” he whispered against the back of your head, “I promise that I’ll protect you from him. He’ll never even get the chance to let the thought cross his mind.” 

“I love you, Steve,” you mumbled sleepily, “please never leave me again.”

He’d been waiting to hear those words.

——

Your fingers wrapped around a warm mug while Steve put the finishing touches on your breakfast. He’d decided to go all out that morning, with an impressive spread of food that would put most buffets to shame. For a moment, you questioned if you’d forgotten about some important holiday, or an anniversary.

Steve set a plate down in front of you, then pressed a soft peck to your forehead, “enjoy, sweetheart.”

You grinned softly down at the food, and at the affection, “what’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Just relieved to be back. I don’t like being away from you for too long,” he settled into the seat across from you, and took a sip of his own coffee.

“Mm, you sure? You’re not always this chipper post mission.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head just the slightest bit, “alright. You got me. I wanted to save it as a surprise, but I hate keeping secrets from you,” Steve paused.

“So… what’s the secret?” you pressed, bringing a forkful of food up to your mouth.

“I’m retiring.”

Your eyes widened as you heard the news, and you nearly choked, “are you really?”

Steve simply nodded, “I’m ready for the next chapter of my life with you.”

Your heart fluttered at the sweetness of his gesture, and the slightest hint of nerves. Why was Steve so willing to give up his entire livelihood for someone he knew for less than a year?

You felt bad for questioning his motives, considering that Steve had been nothing but good to you in the time that you knew him. If it wasn’t for him, you probably wouldn’t even be alive. He had proved himself to be an amazing, loving man, who had bent over backwards to keep you safe and comfortable. He trusted you, and it was time for you to do the same.

“I’ve been plotting this for a while, to be honest. You might think this is a little fast, but I even have a permanent place for us to stay.”

You couldn’t find it in you to be skeptical for much longer, your feelings of adoration for Steve overruling your hesitance to jump into something like that with him. 

You smiled softly as Steve spoke, getting up and pacing over to where he was seated so you could give him a hug, “I.. yes, that’s fast, but it’s also kinda amazing,” you sighed softly, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “When are we leaving?”

“Tonight, if that’s alright with you. I was thinking that we could spend the day packing up and… celebrating,” he winked down at you, and you looked up to shake your head fondly. 

“That sounds like a plan,” you gazed at him with adoration, and leaned up to press a soft peck to his lips that was lovingly reciprocated. 

——

Music pounded against your eardrums as you ground against a handsome stranger, one you couldn’t see, but instinctively knew. The smell of sweat, liquor, and sex filled your nose, the rancid combination oddly comforting in a retrospective moment. 

“We’re leaving!” A voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like years informed you. Your face broke into a wide grin when you heard her voice. “But it doesn’t look like you care!” she jeered. “Good luck!” your friend laughed, disappearing in the sea of people. 

“You’re coming home with me, right?” he asked, a hot breath against your cheek. 

You nodded. The words refused to come out. 

“Good,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss to your neck.

Out of the blue, you weren’t in the club, but in the small basement room from before, staring at nothing in particular while sat at the edge of your vanity’s seat.

“I’ve tried everything with you,” he commented, leaning against the doorway casually. You felt the need to apologize, to tell your captor that you didn’t mean to do what you did, that you loved him. Plead for him not to punish you. “After months of submission, I thought that we were finally getting somewhere. Why’d you have to throw it all away?” 

Glancing up at the vanity, a woman with sunken eyes, a pained expression, and fading bruises looked back at you, just long enough for you to briefly become that messy, drunken woman at the club once again. 

“I’ve tried everything with you. The easy way clearly didn’t work,” he continued, “you leave me with no other options, my love,” the man sighed, sitting down next to you casually. “I want you to know that I’m doing this for us. You know that nothing good ever comes easy, right?”

The syringe went into your arm like a hot knife through butter, and your muscles clenched as fire filled your body. You went to scream, but your throat was still out of commission. As you went down, your vision and thoughts began to blur before you couldn’t decipher one thing or another. The final noise you could make out was the distortedly slow rendition of It’s Been a Long, Long Time on the record player.

In an out-of-body moment, you watched as the man pulled your relaxed body down to the floor, cautiously pulling the clothes off of you and making you cringe internally at the sight of yourself in such a state. He left your body alone for a moment as he looked through the negligible amount of clothing in your closet, grabbing the same dress from the night at the club and pulling it on your limp figure.

It was torn and messy, not unlike the state it was in when you found yourself conscious. The faceless man muttered something unintelligible to himself before hoisting you up bridal style and taking your body out to the car. 

You watched in terror as this all played out, your slack face looking disturbingly at peace compared to how you’d appeared before. In fact, even in your ghastly state, you felt at peace. 

That peace quickly came to an end as you watched yourself get ditched on the side of the road, and as your body slowly began to twitch back to consciousness, your dream began to fade away.

——

You dragged your suitcase up through the garage, grateful to be at your final destination with the man you’d fallen in love with. You hoped that after moving in, the dreams might finally stop. After all, your dream in the car felt somewhat final. You were trying your best to be as positive as you could manage in such a strange situation, and from the outside, you had to admit that the house was gorgeous.

Stepping inside felt like the worst case of deja vu you’d ever experienced, as if your memories were repairing themself with every millisecond you were in the home, gazing at furniture you hadn’t seen in months, and smelling faint scents that you’d forgotten existed. Feature by feature, the puzzle pieces of the faceless man came together.

The longer you observed, the worse the feeling became. Waves of grief, fear, and pain were rolling over you again and again until you were completely drowning on it. The realization hit you with a ton of bricks: this was the house from your dreams.

Steve came up behind you, snapping you out of your panicked trance. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek and squeezed you close to him.

“Ready for the first day of the rest of your life?”

[innaminitus]

Gingerbreads

Pairing: George x reader x Fred

Request: WEASLEY TWINS CHRISTMAS SMUT YES PLEAASE where they both like the reader but like make a deal that it’s either both of them for her or none of them? THANK YOU

Warnings: smut, no twincest

Word count: 2671

A/N: BIG NOTE: if you are not okay with this kind of fic, you are free to not read it. there is plenty of similar fics all over tumblr, you can avoid them, too.

first fic from my Christmas at Hogwarts series! Feel free to send requests!

The hallways were filled with candles and glittery chains, on every corner there was a Christmas tree, decorated with all kinds of ornaments, gingerbreads and dried oranges, filling the air with the specific scent of holidays.

Disgusting.

You hated the so called ‘holiday spirit’ and basically everything that involved anything associated with Christmas. It wasn’t your fault, really. You remembered times when you actually quite liked Christmas. Not much of it you remembered, though, since you were just a small child when it all fell apart. It was Christmas, after all, when your father murdered your mother right in front of you. Cinnamon and oranges only made you anxious now.

Suddenly someone bumped into you from behind.

“Hey, Portkey!” The Weasley twins blocked your view and both walked backwards in order to see you.

“Stop calling me that…” You furrowed at the nickname, but couldn’t help but to smile.

You got the nickname after the circumstances in which you met the twins.

You were scrubbing the cauldrons in Snape’s office as your detention when the door opened and Filch jumped on his chair in which he has been snoring for at least half an hour now. Snape stormed through the door, dragging two boys by their collars. You saw them before, the famous Weasley twins, the jokers of Hogwarts.

“Messrs. Weasley will help Miss Y/L/N clean the cauldrons. I expect them to be clean enough to see my own reflection.”

“Of course, professor!” Filch nodded his head. “I’ll make sure they will!”

But despite what he said, right after Snape left Filch sat back on his chair and started snoring once again. Fred or George laughed at him and grabbed one of the sponges you were using to clean one of the cauldrons from something thick and sticky.

“I’m Fred” one of them said “and this is George.” He pointed at his twin who cringed at the sight of dirty cauldrons.

“I’m Y/N,” you murmured without taking your eyes off a particularly dirty place.

“And how did you end up here?”

You smirked and looked up.

“I turned Filch’s mop into a portkey. He ended up on the roof every time he touched it.”

They both laughed at your words.

“Brillaint!” said George. At least you thought it was George. “We gave the whole first year Fainting Fancies.”

“Only to test them, of course.”

“But Granger ruined the fun.”

You stopped scrubbing for a second and looked at them with dismay.

“What on earth are Fainting Fancies?” you asked, not sure if you actually want to know the answer.

“Ah!” Fred straightened, obviously very proud of himself. “Our invention! We are working on sweets that make you ill.”

“Sweets that make me ill?” You raised your eyebrow.

“Exactly. You take one and have, in example, instant fever. Perfect before an exam you forgot about.”

“You guys are really something else.”

It was in the middle of September. You have become quite inseparable ever since, the jokes and hours of detention really brought you together.

“Ready to leave for Christmas?” asked Fred, almost tripping over an old rug.

You dragged his arm and forced him to walk next to you, afraid he might actually fall next time. George also joined your side.

“I’m not leaving. I always spend Christmas here.”

“Well, actually that makes sense. I wouldn’t like to spend Christmas with a Slytherin either,” Fred laughed, but George stormed him with sight. “What?”

You only talked to George about what happened to your family. One night you were changing the lenses in telescopes in Astronomy Tower, so instead of stars they would show a giant eye of a person who would use them and ended up looking at the night sky filled with dark clouds. You were talking about everything and nothing, and from word to word you ended up confessing it to him. How your father killed your mother, because she wouldn’t join him as a Death Eater. How you run away through the back door of your house and, swallowing tears, stormed to your neighbors. How the Aurors would take your father to the Azkaban and leave you at an orphanage. How no one would adopt you.

“It’s just… Celebrating Christmas in an orphanage is never fun. I much prefer it here than there.”

Fred’s smile fainted. “I’m- I’m sorry, Y/N, I had no idea.”

“That’s fine.” You waved your hand at him. “You couldn’t know.”

He looked at his twin, they exchanged looks that seemed to say more than any word could.

“Alright, that’s it,” George said. “You have to come with us for Christmas.”

You shook your head with a faint smile. “It’s alright, boys. I’m fine on my own, really.”

“Well, we’re not.” Fred stopped, blocking your way up the corridor. “That’s it, you’re coming with us. I already told mom you would.”

You furrowed. “No, you didn’t.”

“But I will, so you better go pack yourself.”

You sighed. Would it really be so bad? Would you go down memory lane and get fifteen panic attacks by the time you step through the door of their home or would you finally soothe the horror you’ve been living in for past twelve years? There was only one way to find out.

“Alright. I’ll go.”

***

You were nervous during the whole train ride, and now you felt as if you were about to jump from your own skin because of anxiety. With the rest of the Weasley siblings and, of course, the one and only Harry Potter you were waiting outside the King’s Cross station for Mr. Weasley, who was going to pick you up. In a car, they said. You couldn’t possibly imagine how exactly you would fit in a car with all the baggage, but magic surprised you way too many times for you to still question everything. This time it was no different – although Mr. Weasley parked a simple black car, he supposedly got from the Ministry (it had something to do with Potter, but you didn’t ask too many questions) inside it was as big as a van. Every single one of you could fit inside, and you still had plenty of room left. They all chattered and laughed during the way, but you were too stressed to even listen to them. You regretted your decision already. You should be at Hogwarts, in your dorm room, alone, reading a book and drinking unholy amount of hot chocolate with marshmallows. The elves would always bring you some food and this perfect beverage since you never joined the rest of the students which stayed as well. But it was too late now.

The car stopped before an old, weirdly crooked house which looked like a patchwork blanket you had when you were little. Somehow it made you feel warm inside.

You got out right after Ginny, with your bag in hand, unsure what to do. You locked your eyes on flying lights around the roof of the house. Could it be fairies? Or just enchanted string of plain lights?

All of the sudden you felt heavy arm around your shoulders. “Hey, Portkey, you alright?” Fred asked, his sight following yours. “Yeah, I know it’s not much, but–“

“It’s perfect,” you interrupted, smiling.

His face brightened and you noticed sparkles in his eyes. Pretty.

“Go on, lovebirds!” Ginny waved at you and you noticed that it was now only you and Fred standing outside. You blushed suddenly and hurried inside.

“Oh, hello, dear!” Mrs. Weasley smiled at you and grabbed your arms, squeezing them lightly. A big warm smile bloomed on her face. “You must be Y/N! How lovely to finally meet you, I’m so glad you’ll spend holidays with us!”

“Thank you for having me.” You smiled back. This woman just greeted you like an old family friend, not an orphan she sees for the first time in her life. It was… oddly nice.

***

You were sitting on a sofa, your knees under your chin, staring blindly at the yule tree, your sight blurred to the point where you only saw points of colorful light. The dinner was wonderful. Mrs. Weasley asked George in a letter what your favorite food was, and of course made it just for you. She also made sure there was no scent of gingerbread spice. It was just a little too much for you.

“You’re not asleep?” Someone’s voice interrupted your mindless procrastinating.

You blinked and turned your head to look at George walking down the stairs.

“Not yet… I’m a little overwhelmed. Don’t mind me.”

He sat next to you. The sofa was quite small, that’s why you put your legs down, and now his thigh was touching yours.

“I know my mum can be… intense. To say the least, but she means well.”

“I know that, and she’s lovely, really, it’s just… I don’t know. A lot to process for me. I haven’t had real Christmas since I was a kid. And you are all trying to make me feel welcome…” You turned your head from him, suddenly ashamed. “I feel like I don’t deserve any of it.”

A second passed, then another, and you felt his warm fingers under your chin. He gently turned your face back to him.

“You deserve everything, Y/N.” He moved so close to you that for a second you were sure he was going to kiss you, but he hesitated mere millimeters from your lips. Hotness flushed your cheeks. He smelled like pine tree and suddenly you decided it was now your favorite scent. You waited for a second that felt like an hour, and slightly moved away in the same moment he moved forward. A small gasp escaped your lips, he leaned even more, undaunted, and kissed you gently. No tongue, not even opened mouth, just lips touching lips. It was a long kiss, though, and when he moved away you felt uncomfortable chill on your mouth.

“George–“

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t–“

“No,” you interrupted. “Do it again. Please.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. His hand landed on the back of your neck, he pulled you to him, and butterflies erupted in your stomach. Enough with the gentleness, he was needy, as if he’s been waiting for your lips his whole life. His other hand was on your thigh, he was turning you more towards him as his tongue slid into your mouth.

“Well, well, well.”

You parted immediately, somehow ashamed. Fred slowly walked down the stairs, a hint of smile on his face. “What do we have here?” He stood before you, hands crossed. “I thought we had a deal, Georgie.” Wait, what? “It’s either both of us or none of us.”

You blinked once, then twice, but couldn’t understand the situation. You looked at George, hoping that maybe he would make it clearer.

“I know, I know,” he sighed “but I couldn’t help myself.”

Your heart missed a beat, but not in a pleasant way. Were they… making a bet?

“Can any of you tell me what the hell are you talking about?” you asked, lovely moment from just a mere minute ago long gone.

George rubbed the back of his head and exchanged looks with Fred. They were doing it again, communicating without words.

He sighed. “We– we both like you, okay? And we agreed that none of us will be with you… unless the other one would also be involved.”

You swallowed hard. Did he mean… to be with them both? At the same time? It seemed crazy but… you liked them, too. They were both handsome, obviously. Would it be so bad?

“Okay,” you said, the steadiness of your voice surprising you. “We can– we can try.”

They seemed as surprised as you were, looking at each other once more.

Fred was the first to speak, after he cleared his throat. “Then maybe… let’s go to our room?”

You nodded and followed him up the stairs, feeling the warmth of George’s body behind you.

It was oddly arousing. You had to be quiet, to not wake anyone. You knew you’d have to be quiet later when… When what exactly? Were you going to have sex? Or was it just your hope?

You entered the twins’ room, bathed in moonlight. It smelled like pine here as well…

Suddenly a hand was on the back of your neck, Fred’s tongue first, a split second before his needy lips landed on yours. You didn’t think, you didn’t wait, you gave back every kiss, your tongue next to his. While his fingers were tangled in your hair another set of hands played with skin under the hem of your shirt, bolder with each passing moment. He traced the curves of your body, shamelessly traveled up, and up, his soft fingers caressed the side of your breasts only to finally land on your hardened nipples. You moaned in Fred’s mouth at which he bit your lower lip.

“You like how he touches you, huh?” His voice no more than a whisper, sent shivers down your body. “Wait till I touch you.”

George rolled your nipples in between his fingers, but soon his hands were gone, because Fred lifted you up. They seemed to have one mind, what one thought the other acted. George sat on one of the beds, Fred seated you between his brother’s legs. His fingers hooked on your pajama pants and your panties, but before he took them off he took a look at you, one eyebrow raised in silent question. You could go back now, they wouldn’t blame you. Only… you didn’t exactly want to go back. You lifted your hips, your answer just as silent as his. He grinned and slid your clothes down your legs. George gripped your shirt and soon it was also gone, but you weren’t cold. You had two bodies to warm yourself and you were gladly going to use them.

George’s soft lips traced the curve of your neck while Fred was watching your arousal grow under his brother’s touch. His hands slowly parted your thighs, showing your already pulsating pussy. His twin’s fingers were kneading your breasts and mercilessly pinching your nipples while his mouth landed on yours, kissing you passionately.

He caught you by surprise, really. Almost making you jump when you felt warm tongue spreading your folds, surprise quickly turning to pleasure when Fred’s tongue started to, gently at first, play with your dripping pussy. Oh, but he was impatient. Soon you were a moaning as he was sucking on your clit and slowly pushing one finger inside of you. George wasn’t planning on being any worse than his brother – his skillful fingers could probably make you come just by playing with your nipples and soon you were biting your lips almost till they bled, only to not moan their names.

The pleasure was unbelievable. Feeling of two bodies against you, flicks of Fred’s tongue and moves of George’s fingers and his lips on yours – it was all too much to bear, too much for one person to experience. And you found yourself lost in this pleasure when Fred joined another finger deep in your pussy. Your muscles clenched on him, he started sucking on your clit, George’s fingers pinched hard and all of the sudden you were almost knocked out by the most intensive orgasm you’re ever had.

They gave you a moment to come down from the high and slowly started to undress when you suddenly heard a knock on the door.

“Can you wrap it up?” You heard Ginny’s whisper. “Mom asked me twice already where you are, Y/N, I’m running out of excuses.”

You got all red and slapped your hand over your mouth, looking at the twins who tried very hard not to laugh. Fred handed you your clothes and George leaned to your ear “We’ll finish it tomorrow.” A shiver went down your spine. Well, now you’ve had new Christmas memory to hold onto.

[i-just-like-goats]

Miya Atsumu x Female Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: The Inarizaki team have all placed bets on when you and your longtime best friend Atsumu will finally get together. Kita is close to losing the bet, time for him to step in.

It is known to all students at Inarizaki High that Atsumu was a lady’s man. Sure he wasn’t a womaniser or a player, but that didn’t stop him from breaking hearts everywhere he went. His mere dismissal of a girl would lead that girl to burst into tears, straight up rejections even worse. His casual flirtatious comments did not at all help with his reputation, leading oblivious girls to believe he actually held interest in them. How wrong they were.

Whereas you. You deemed yourself nothing special. Nothing too flashy, unlike a certain someone. You didn’t stand out in a crowd, and most certainly never attempted to shine or take the spotlight. You left that to your best friend.

Miya Atsumu.

“Hey could you-“

“No.”

“Will you please put in a good-“

“No.”

The first two girls had left, their hopes crushed, you felt relieved they had gone to class until another girl replaced them and effectively disrupted your short lived peace.

“Y/N!” She said, her voice oozed with fake sweetness.

“Do I know you?” You asked bluntly.

“We sit next to each other in chemistry, silly. Don’t you remember?”

“And?”

“So I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?”

“If it’s homework we had none. If it’s class work I’ll send you my notes. If it’s anything else; leave me alone.”

“I just need you to give this little gift to At-“

“Not interested.”

With that you swiftly walked away, which left the unnamed girl open mouthed with shock. This was the daily routine you had to put up with. Reject all of Atsumu’s fan girls who approached you in order to reach him. Truth be told it was extremely tedious, but you couldn’t really complain - after all you were the one who befriended him. It was a small price to pay for being friends with him.

“Hey I was wondering if you could set me up with Atsumu?” A different girl asked.

Scratch that it wasn’t small. At all. It was a big price to pay. Very tedious. Very irritating. Very time consuming. By the time you reached your first class - English - you were already exhausted and plopped yourself into your seat.

“Don’t you look wonderful?”

“Well you wouldn’t look so hot either if you had to fight off Atsumu’s admirers in the space of one morning.”

Osamu noticed your sharp tone and held his hands up in mock surrender. You shook your head at him and started writing down what your teacher was saying.

Lunch came around and you made your way to your usual table next to your best friend.

“There’s my favourite best friend!”

All eyes were on you as you made your way to Atsumu. Some looked with contempt. Some with envy. Others with anger. All harboured ill feelings towards you. He had that certain look in his eye when you walked over to him, like you were the greatest thing in the world. His smile widened once you took the seat across from him, Atsumu’s eyes sparkled with joy as though it was his first time seeing your face again. Suna scoffed at his expression, not before taking a sneaky picture of proof about how much Miya Atsumu was whipped for Y/N L/N.

“Where were you all morning! I missed you so much,”

“I was dying,”

Silence. Atsumu tilted his head in confusion. Next to him, his twin stifled a laugh.

“Bro, your girlfriend here was busy fending off the wild animals that make up your fan club. She had no time to see your stupid face, and the last time you saw her was yesterday,”

Everyone in proximity of your table tensed up at Osamu’s words. From the table next to yours, Atsumu’s fan girls glared daggers at you.

“Yesterday was ages ago,” Atsumu whined.

“That’s what you focus on?” You ask incredulously.

Instantly Atsumu’s demeanour changed and he glanced to his left.

“Way to go Osamu, now Y/N’s on their hit list,” Atsumu said dryly.

“Well if you didn’t flirt back none of us would be in this mess,” Kita kindly passive aggressively informed his teammate.

Ever since Atsumu’s first official match, girls had been flocking to Atsumu like a swarm of bees to their queen. Every day the Inarizaki volleyball team had to deal with squealing fan girls gushing over Atsumu’s talent for volleyball, essentially distracting the players and disrupting practice. At first Atsumu shamelessly flirted back, basking in the attention, now he, as well as the others were fed up. In short, Kita was tired. Tired of the fan girls. And most importantly tired of the fact that you and Atsumu weren’t dating yet. At this rate Kita would lose the bet that Osamu and Suna had coerced him to take part in. He had bet that you and Atsumu would be dating by the end of the month, which was this Saturday, and the way things were going between you two, he’d probably have to ask you out himself for Atsumu in order to win the bet. On the other hand, Osamu bet that Atsumu would ask in their third year, Aran bet that you would actually ask instead of Atsumu and Suna bet that Atsumu would ask at the end of next month. It was decided that the losers would do what the winner wanted for a day, with no complaining whatsoever. A whole day of getting the team to do what he wants without complaints. A dream come true for Kita.

“It’s the end of the month on Saturday. Two days,” Osamu sing songed.

“So?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing,”

You dropped it and shrugged. Opposite you, Kita sent a saccharine smile towards Osamu, while the latter playfully smirked back. Kita had a plan.

Two day passed as usual, nothing significant happened; that is until the end of the second day. As usual, you made your way out of Physics with Atsumu; your best friend filled in the silence with his cheerful chatter. Unusually, Kita stood there at the end of the corridor.

“Hey cap! What brings you here?” Atsumu inquired.

Kita seemed to snap out of whatever was bothering him, for his face returned from his previous scrunched expression to his more neutral expression.

“Hm? Oh I came here to speak with Y/N. If that’s alright with the two of you?”

You nodded, though intrigued as to what Kita wanted to talk to you about, Atsumu on the other hand stayed silent. Before you left with Kita, he crushed you with a hug and sent puppy eyes at your retreating figure, walking next to his captain.

During the walk out of school grounds, Kita mentally prepared himself to convince you to ask Atsumu out, allowing both his and Aran’s plan to work, so that the pair won the bet - Kita was too engrossed in his thoughts. A while passed before you and Kita spoke; you were already halfway home before you confronted Kita.

“Kita?”

“You have feelings for Atsumu, don’t you?”

Kita panicked at your sudden dialogue and spoke the words that first came to his mind. His panic was not conveyed through his steady tone of voice. Truth be told, it was more of a statement than a question, it certainly caught you off guard. The latter half of the sentence seemed to be added hastily as though to soften the bluntness.

“What makes you say that?” You answered evenly, and turned your face away from him, a small blush settled firmly on your cheeks.

“Answering my question with a question I see,” he teased, “Everyone knows, the both of you don’t hide your feelings very well, it surprises me that you two aren’t dating yet,”

“I know he has feelings for me, I’m not an idiot, I see the way he looks differently at me and I see how he’s more clingy towards me than the others. I’m not an idiot,” you repeated.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,”

“I think you do know. Idiot,”

You pouted and let out a huff.

“Fine. Fine,” you finally conceded, “I’m not an idiot but I am a coward. I guess - as cliché as it sounds - I don’t want to ruin our friendship. What if it doesn’t work out and we end on bad terms? Years of friendship would be wasted and gone in an instant. I just. I just don’t want to risk that happening,”

“What’s life without a little risk,”

At Kita’s attempt at lightening the mood, you scoffed and shook your head.

“Sorry, that was unlike me. What I meant to say was you won’t know until you try. Sure there is that possibility that the relationship may end badly and the precious friendship between you and Atsumu would probably be lost, but there is also a chance that this relationship will end happily, with no heartbreak. I can’t guarantee that everything will be peachy; obviously there’s going to be some problems along the way but knowing your stubborn personality I am confident that you will fight for you and Atsumu, because I know you care way too much for him to let him go,”

Kita’s speech surprised you, this was the most encouraging thing he had said to you. Ever. You smiled.

“Thanks Kita. I really needed that,” you said as you finally reached your house.

Kita made his way to his house, waving as he walked down the steeet. He left you with a lot to think about.

Later that evening you called Kita again, and talked until he decided that it was time to go to sleep.

That morning you walked to school with Kita in a comfortable silence. Once you reached school you spoke.

“Ok I’m going to do it,”

“Yes you will,” Kita encouraged.

Confidently you walked up to your long time best friend, then suddenly turned the other direction.

“I can’t do it,” you cried out.

Exasperatedly, Kita shook his head and forced a strained smile.

“Y/N do you want to do this or not?”

“I do,”

“Then go get him,”

“I’ll do it while we walk home,”

Anyway, the school day passed, honestly you couldn’t remember what happened, it was all a blur.

“Atsumu?” you called.

“Yup?”

“Do you want to walk home together?”

“Yes! I’m still kinda annoyed you walked with Kita, Kita of all people instead of me,”

“Sorry about that ‘Tsumu,” you replied bashfully.

With that you both made your way out of school. Little did you know Kita, Osamu, Suna and Aran followed you both from a distance. Osamu and Suna because they just wanted to go home. Kita and Aran to make sure you confessed.

“Get ready to do what we want for a day,” Kita stated.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Suna questioned.

“Kita and I formulated a plan,” Aran answered cryptically.

“Guys shut up Y/N stopped walking,” Osamu whisper shouted.

You had indeed stopped walking, leaving Atsumu to carry on walking and talking. You had been quiet the whole walk, which wasn’t unusual, as you normally let Atsumu talk, while you listened. You were just too lost in your thoughts.

“Y/N?”

Atsumu had finally noticed that you were no longer by his side.

“Hellooo. Earth to Y/N,”

“I like you,”

Atsumu was taken aback. That was not a reply he was expecting.

“I just really like your smile, your personality even though you can be quite big headed at times, I like your laugh, I just like you for you, not in the way that those girls like you for your looks and skills. I like everything about you even your flaws,”

“Whoa, for real?”

You glanced at his expression and burst out laughing.

“You look like surprised Pikachu!” you wheezed out.

Atsumu joined in with your laughter. The two of you continued laughing for several minutes.

“I like you too,” Atsumu said once both your laughter finally died down.

You turned your gaze towards his eyes. His beautiful eyes that held all the stars in the galaxy.

“That’s a relief,” 

[masterjedilenawrites]

I’m not good at making requests, so forgive me if anything come out wrong.

But, could you do something were reader and Tech are fixing some eletronics and listening to cientific things, and start talking about a wrong thing people said there, so they get distracted and when realize, they’re in to a awkward position (like him btween her legs or sth like that)

I love your writing and thanks (: <3

Omg I've been so soft for Tech lately and this prompt is perfect 💚 I hope this is what you were looking for, I really enjoyed writing it!

Tech x reader | 2k words

...making bacta the most important scientific achievement in history...

"Dank farrik," Tech huffed beside you.

You came out of your daze at the sudden exclamation and looked at your friend with concern, trying to quickly figure out what had gone wrong. You were helping him with a project, though what it was exactly you weren't completely certain of. All you knew was it involved digging into the walls of the ship and untangling a lot of wires. You'd been instructed to hold onto several of them, keeping them pulled taught out of the wall so Tech could fiddle with the other ends, and the dullness of the task had caused your mind to wander.

"What's wrong?" you asked, doubtful you'd understand any explanation, but wanting to be sure you hadn't done anything to mess up his progress.

He waved a hand at you dismissively, not pulling his attention away from the work in front of him. "Just the radio," he mumbled.

You hadn't been paying attention; it had only been turned on as background noise to keep you from going insane with boredom. And since it was tuned into some kind of scientific news frequency, you didn't really understand much of what was being said anyway.

...with the most influential application simply being in the field of medicine, providing us higher life forms with a versatile tool in maintaining our quality of life, and potentially even prolonging it...

Tech huffed again. Scoffed. Your mouth quirked at how upset he was getting. It was kind of cute.

But, you had to debate whether engaging with his frustration would be worth it. He had only recently calmed down from his outburst earlier that day, the only time you had ever seen him genuinely upset. Wrecker had accidentally knocked over a piece of machinery that was... well, something very important, apparently. No one was too sure. But Tech had spent most of the week carefully arranging its parts just-so, so that when all his hard work went crashing onto the floor, his breathing had suddenly resembled that of a charging Nexu. He'd drawn himself up, trying to match his brother's height, and ordered the poor guy to never step foot in this part of the ship again. The other Batchers had tried to defend him and were subsequently banned as well.

That left you as the only option for help.

Maybe that meant he wouldn't kick you out for debating him....

"Sounds like they're saying some pretty reasonable things. Am I missing something?"

Tech's fingers, which had been deftly working through the wires before him, clipping some and splicing others, finally froze. The clone's face tilted over to you, his eyes looking a little too judgmental through those glasses for your liking.

"You think bacta is the most important scientific achievement?" he asked. You didn't like his tone, either.

You scrunched your mouth in thought, actually giving the question serious consideration. While you mulled it over, Tech stood up from his hunched position in the wall and started pulling on some of the wires, unraveling them from their tangled mess.

"Yeah," you finally decided. "I think medicine in general is pretty important. And bacta specifically is the strongest known substance to deliver fast and effective healing."

Tech was mostly focused on the wires, but he spared you a glance.

"And treating symptoms is the most important thing for humanity? Here, hold this." He added another wire for you to hold in your hands.

You knew it was a loaded question so you chose to answer it with one of your own. "Well if it's not bacta or medicine, then what would it be?"

"Electricity," he said quickly and assertively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. He continued to focus more on his work and you were annoyed he didn't seem to want to offer up an explanation to his opinion, despite having made you give one. He'd finally untangled the wires and was back to leaning into the cavern in the wall and setting them into their proper places.

"Why electricity?" You hated how dumb your question sounded; obviously you understood the concept and understood its importance. You just really wanted to challenge him to give you some explanations.

"For one, most medicines would not be able to be mass-produced were it not for the electrically-run vats in which they are made." He held his hand out behind him and made a grabbing motion. "Blue, please."

You sorted out the blue wire and passed it over.

"For another," he continued, his voice sounding distant as he leaned further away into the wall, "we must ask what constitutes a quote-unquote important achievement. For example, is an achievement worthy of the title simply because it improves our quality of life? Green, please."

You handed over the corresponding wire. "I'd say it's more about preserving life. Even outside of war, there's enough injury and illness that would end life were it not for medicine to heal them."

"Ah, but in that same reasoning, electricity also sustains life. It powers sources of light and warmth, which can also provide a means of boiling water and cooking food. All keys to survival. Yellow, please."

"So does fire," you shot back. "People survived long before electricity, and there's still plenty of civilizations living fine without it."

Tech finally emerged from the wall and took the last few wires from you, the red and black ones. He met your eyes with an earnestness that let you know how much he was enjoying this conversation. "And people have survived without medicine. At least the manufactured forms that you're arguing for, like bacta. Traditional medicine is as sufficient as fire."

Before you could respond, Tech moved to the side, motioning toward the wall with his head and holding up the remaining wires.

"Now, unfortunately these last ones need to be clipped in down below. I'm not able to fit through the lattice of the floor, but someone of your stature easily could."

You stepped forward and peered down. It was a mess of machinery and pipes and beams, but you could clearly see the port where the wires had been yanked out earlier. You knelt down, resting your stomach on the edge of the wall, but paused before bending over.

"If it wasn't for bacta, you wouldn't have been born." You were confident in your comeback and thus didn't linger for his reaction, turning to bend down into the ship with your wires instead.

You were disappointed to hear his soft chuckle from above you.

"And what do you think powers the bacta tanks that hold the clone embryos?"

You were glad he couldn't see the frustrated frown on your face. While you tried to think of a new point in your debate, you snapped the red wire into the proper port. But then you realized you couldn't quite reach the black one, and started carefully shimmying forward, deeper into the wall.

"It seems we have circled back to the initial question," Tech offered in your silence. You felt his hands hold on to your hips, steadying you as your legs lifted from the floor, most of your body now inside the ship. You didn't think anything of it, though, your focus split between your task and his words. "What makes an achievement the most important? Both medicine and electricity are capable of preserving life, but neither are essential to survival. So, what criteria are we left with?"

You were finally within reach of the last port and pushed the wire into it. "Sounds like you already have the right answer, so why don't you stop teasing me and just say it?" you called up to him.

"I...I didn't mean to sound like I was teasing."

You could hear the apology in his voice, how truly caught off guard he was to hear that you had perceived his attempts at a friendly debate, a conversation, as mocking or disrespectful. Your stomach knotted up in guilt, making your journey to wiggle back out of the wall a little more difficult.

"I'm sorry, Tech," you said through a grunt as you tried to push yourself back. "I didn't mean to sound rude. I just don't know the answer."

You felt his arms snake around your middle, pulling you the last of the way out. You came to rest on your knees, breathing heavily at the sudden increase in air supply. Tech was crouched alongside you, his chest against part of your back, his arms still holding you.

"I honestly don't know the answer, either," he blinked down at you, speaking quietly. "I don't know what criteria would constitute the most important scientific achievement. I thought maybe we could figure it out if we kept discussing it."

You craned your neck around to look at him, unconcerned about the discomfort it took to do so. You needed to face him fully. "Or... maybe we don't need to figure it out? I mean, does there need to be one achievement labeled more important than any other? Can they not all be valued equally?"

"I suppose..." he relented. But only a little. "It is a fun thought exercise, though."

You smiled at that, and it made your heart flutter a little to see him return the expression. There were a few seconds between you where you sat pleasantly in each other's arms... before the realization hit that you were in each other's arms.

"Uh," Tech stuttered first. His eyes looked about frantically as if the more he saw of you practically sitting in his lap, the more he would know what to do about it.

Your face was hot and your heart thumped forcefully in your chest. But you weren't panicking. Even though you'd been around the Bad Batch for a while now, this was the first time you'd gotten physically close to any of them, especially this dorky genius, who made you feel just a little better about life than the others did. You hadn't been sure why, not until this moment, your face being mere inches away from his own. Now it clicked.

His arms had removed themselves from your frame and he was starting to crawl backward on the floor. You quickly grasped his shoulder to stop him.

"Tech, wait."

He froze, looking at you with wide, apprehensive eyes. His shoulder was tense so you relaxed your grasp and simply let your hand rest on it gently. You gave him a small smile. Thankfully these little gestures were enough encouragement for him to lean back to you. He still looked at you timidly, but he wasn't pulling away anymore. It seemed like maybe he had been feeling the same things about you.

"Yes?"

He was waiting for you to make the next move.

"So, this project," you stalled, needing just a little more time to work up the courage. "What is it again? Why did I just crawl into the bowels of the ship?"

Your face was creeping closer to his, breath gently fanning across each other, warm but refreshing.

"I... I..." Tech seemed to be short-circuiting. "I was just, uh, re... redecorating."

Your nose had just brushed his when you suddenly frowned and moved back to look at him questioningly. "Redecorating... wires?"

You were very amused at how flustered he seemed to be in this situation. But then the tables turned as Tech rolled with it.

"Yeah, I didn't like the way they looked in there. Wanted to change things up. You know me."

The smile on our face spread as he talked and you couldn't hold back your laughter any longer. You bent forward, resting your forehead in the crook of his neck while your body convulsed with giggles. Tech laughed along, bringing his arms back around you to hold you in place. When you finally looked up at him and the shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face, you knew you'd finally found your courage.

"Oh, Tech..." you chided, pressing your smiling lips against his own.

[oriigirii]

Streamer MC headcannons with the brothers 💞

"You were quite a known face on social media back in the human realm, playing games, doing unboxings, just vibin in general, fans around the globe looked forward to your streams a lot! However, considering the sudden (unannounced) invitation to the exchange program, you had to leave all of that behind out of the blue. It wasn't as bad at first, but you have to admit you do miss the feeling of being able to do goofy shit online. Luckily for you, with the advance technology of Devildom and some spicy magic, the internet had synced with the human realm, and thats when you decided to finally re-enter the streaming scene. How will the brothers react upon seeing your peculiar past time?"

Head empty, No thoughts aside from the brothers just bothering the MC while they stream so here you go haha

Warnings: None, just crackhead energy and a lotta mispellings

Gender: Neutral!

Hotel: Trivago

* [ ಠ╭╮ಠ ] Lucifer *

{How did he know about your career?}

I honestly don't see him as someone who goes on the internet a lot

(He screams boomer to me, change my mind)

He doesn't have the time either, he's too focused on work!

So him finding out is gonna take a while

But! He did find out the hard way when shrilled screaming was heard from your room when he was passing by with some paper stacks in his arms (courtesy of Diavolo)

This man felt his instincts kick in, he ran as fast as he could, papers forgotten, and he immediately slammed your door open. Splinters scattering around, your door definitely damaged, as his eyes held a glare and his demon form was out, wings spread in a threatening display.

He was ready to beat someone's ass as he had thought someone had hurt you in here.

But all hes met with is you, infront of your chair and PC, and a game over on the screen...

To say he was unamused was an understatement cause you just lost your internet priviliges for giving him a heart attack (He said it was because you were being rowdy and noisy but with what you saw you knew that wasn't the case)

Good luck tryna puppy-eye your way to his heart to let you continue streaming lol.

If by some miracle you managed to wriggle your rights back from his hands, he'd warn you not to be so loud next time.

You already learnt your lesson though~ (Hopefully)

{How does he feel about your streams?}

Not everyone's the same, so if you were the shy soft streamer who does more art streams or something akin to a podcast, you can bet that Lucifer will be putting you on while he works, he kinda knows your streaming schedule at this point and if you were running late, he'd force one of his brothers to take over your dish washing duties or any chores you were stuck with

If you were the loud obnoxious meme type, hed still try to watch out of curiosity, and as much as he appreciates that you were getting comfortable here in Devildom with how you laugh and joke around, he still can't approve of it. Its too loud, its much like his brothers energy and he has enough of that already, so he probably doesn't watch as much.

He has countlessly came to your room to shush you and at this point your fans had made a compilation of each time Lucifer had barged in to tell you off

Look he likes it when you scream, but not when hes in the middle of work okay--

At this point, chat has deemed Lucifer as dad and you as their mom/dad.

If he ever catches wind of this he'd definitely be teasing you in private for centuries to come.

Overall fine with it, as long as don't do something stupid on stream.

* ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Mammon*

{How did he know about your career?}

I would say he found out by him crashing into your streams midway but that's too predictable, hence why you've Mammon-proofed your bedroom during streaming hours!

Thanks to our wizard daddy, you have managed to cast a simple lock spell on your door and as well as a sound proofing

You love your broke idiot, but you did wanna keep the tone of your stream today a bit more chill, you wanted to have a proper Q&A with your fans to hopefully clear any bad vibes around your 3 month disappearance.

When Mammon has learnt your door was locked he definitely was a bit pissy, he knocked on your door loudly even and was calling out for you to let him in, but to no avail.

Bro he's scared.

He usually was allowed to enter, and you usually answered if you did need to be left alone for a bit, so just leaving him hanging got his mind racing and he had to press up his ear on the wooden door to try and hear if you were okay

When this continues on he finally resorts to getting help, but the only one in the house ws Levi, so he kicks down HIS door.

Levi boutta summon Lotan for interrupting him honestly

But as Mammon exclaim you weren't answering and he worried for your wellbeing, Levi rolls his eyes and scoffs,

"Idiot Mammon, they're streaming don't bother them…"

Streaming? why didn't you tell him???

Rude much.

He did huff and now was forcing his way to use Levi's PC for a moment

Can Levi stop him?

Nah.

He was busy on his console, and if he stood up now hed be breaking his world record so he was at a terrible state so he just resorts to threats of him drowning the Avatar of Greed if he does anything stupid on his PC.

He immediately logs in to your streaming platform and he watches for a bit,

You were more dolled up now just to look decent on stream, and he felt this jealousy rise as you interact with your chat, especially to those saying I love you's and stuff, and you even said it back? the audacity! You were his werent you? Were you replacing him with these nobodies?

He huffs as he realized that those who paid got their message highlighted, and thus, he starts donating. (Mind you this was Levi's account...)

"Mcccccc Open the dooorrr"

"Ill behave i promiseeeee"

"Cmon pleaseeee?"

Chat is c o n f u s i o n

NGL, they thought Mammon was a creepy stalker and red flags were being waved everywhere

but as chat was pondering who the hell he was, you can only sigh and look at the camera with that unamused expression, but ugh! you just KNOW hes doing that kicked puppy expression of his, and maybe it really wont be so bad

So you snap your fingers and say, "Okay MonMon, its open, Im giving you 3 seconds"

Mammon wasnt deemed to be the fastest out of his brothers for nothing

As soon as you got to '2', you were already tackled by the white haired male and chat went wild.

Now that you've shown your life in Devildom, maybe its time to introduce chat to your boyfriend no?

{How does he feel about your streams?}

You get paid to sit infront of a camera, do I have to say anything else?

But really though, as much as he enjoys the thought of getting so much cash from something so simple, he prefers the joy of being able to proudly exclaim that he was your first man!

ohhhh he thrives on the salt of your overly attached stans

but for those who fully support you, he always feels so mushy and shy when they say the ship you guys so hard

The fanarts has him WEAK (he may or may not have saved a few)

You usually do streams alone, but now you've allowed the door to be left open to let Mammon join whenever

Chat pogs when he enters with so much confidence, only for it to crumble when you kiss his cheek on stream.

Overall finds it fun to spend time with you, but just dont play scary games cause Lucifer might hang him upside down on stream.

* ▘▂▝ Leviathan*

{How did he know about your career?}

He is honestly the most attached to his D.D.D and he catches wind of almost anything going down in the internet, so your 'revival' being hyped up was something he definitely saw and he was just s wo o o ned

His Henry 2.0? a famous streamer?

Were you truly a blessing gifted upon him or was he dreaming?

He definitely didn't bring it up at first as he didn't wanna make it a big deal, but you notice hes been more in his head lately, and you have tried asking him what it was but to no avail.

You have to corner this little snake if you want answers and he eventually admits that he knew of your persona online and was incredibly shy to ask you to stream with him

He's a streamer himself afterall but maybe he doesnt stream as much as you do nor does he have as large of a following, so his intrusive thoughts attacked him and made him think that maybe since he wasnt as famous he didnt deserve to be in the same stream as you

Please tell him to join you and gib him kiss U3U

He'll absolutely m e l t

But now, as you make the announcement to your viewers and Levi to his, the internet explodes as a special collab stream was hapening between the expert gamer and avatar of envy of Devildom along with the beloved exchange student and streamer of the human realm

Your usual viewers reach between 10-15k, but as you start stream, that number boosts higher and beyond

Before streaming though, Levi was incredibly nervous, he'd picked the games for you to play that he knew you would enjoy with him, but his mind kept racing about whatthe fans thought, he didnt wanna disappoint them

But you had to remind him that whatever they say will not matter in the end as this was merely for fun, this was YOUR stream and you guys were gonna do what you want and nobody can have a say on it. (Maybe except Lucifer)

You usually talk for him with your bubbly personality, and to calm his nerves, he hs your pinky wraped around his where the camera can't see it.

Regardless, his thoughts subsided as you two delve into your stream that lasted a solid 7 hours, you definitely promised your chat that you and Levi will be doing more streams together from now on.

Once the cameras cut and yall are left alone, Both of you collapse on bed, and despite you being asleep already, Levi was just far too giddy as everything dwells on him.

Having a player 2 by his side now had never felt so intoxicating and he as just so lucky to have you.

{How does he feel about your streams?}

He obviously adores it, although some streams he wouldnt join just so he can play games on his own

He's still an introvert afterall, he needs his alone time

But he prefers that alone time with you, his Henry.

So when youre about to go stream, he kinda becomes a bit pouty, but with a simple promise of kisses (and maybe even more if youd like) he would let you go, but his attention would disappear from his game altogether.

He might just end up watching you instead

May or may not, at some point, just chat you and ask if its too late to join you

You do allow him to join you and play from the comforts of his room as both of you can simply play via internet, you give him the comfort to not turn on his mic or webcam either and you have no idea how he appreciates that.

Will definitely fight someone online when they start claiming you as theirs (-cough- stans) Please make sure it doesnt escalate to him summoning Lotan

Although the comments would often get to him, and as much as he can fight them online, he still does find himself pondering if they were true, so you need to give him a lotta lovin and reminder that he is your player 1 and no one else can ever fill that place.

------

Wow 3 brothers this time, what an improvement, anyways hope yall enjoy! I think its pretty clear who I simp for depending o nthe length of each lol, but do let me know if you guys want a part 2 for the rest of the brothers, or even the undateables!

[lightsovermonaco]

Speed and Stress: Part 2

Masterlist

Thank you to @acollectionofficsandshit for betaing, your comments on this one were unhinged gold 

Word Count: 3.1k

Recommended Vibes: “Perfect Day” by Tundra Beats

Part 1

Your brother was late. Not that anyone was surprised.

“Got the time mixed up,” he says as you climb into his absurdly tall truck. Living in Texas for three years had turned him into somewhat of a country boy, though not enough that he forgot his upbringing. He was still a blue blooded Los Angeles boy, just with a love for trucks and longhorn cattle.

“At least I wasn’t waiting for an hour this time,” you say and sling your bag to the backseat. Deciding to get right to the good stuff, you clasp  your hands together. “So! I have some news.”

Hunter grins at you. “You finally found a job?”

You roll your eyes and shoot him a pointed look. “No, dipshit. Better than that. I got us paddock passes for the whole weekend.”

“WHAT?” He jerks the wheel, horns honking at you as other drivers swerve. You grab the dash to steady yourself, laughing at his outburst. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get general admission tickets? How the hell did you get paddock passes?”

“May have met someone pretty high up at McLaren in Los Angeles,” you say, examining your nails.

“Like, Zak Brown? You met Zak Brown?” Hunter was such a fan boy, you had to laugh. His love for McLaren ran so deep he practically bled blue and orange. The only reason you watched the sport was because of him shoving it down your throat for years, but damn if you weren't glad for it.

“Daniel Ricciardo.”

Hunter choked on air but managed to stay in his lane this time. “And you waited until now to tell me?”

“I didn’t know it was him when I met him! He was on a motorcycle and I stopped to help film a tiktok and then-”

“Of course you’d stop,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re a sucker for bikes.”

“Yeah well, lucky that I am, cause all I had to do was flirt to get us those passes.”

Your intention had never been to take advantage of Daniel. It was more the opposite in fact; you were just living in the moment and capitalizing on the once in a lifetime opportunity to flirt with your celebrity crush. You had to admit, it turned out better than you'd ever thought it would.

“I can’t believe you seduced Daniel freakin’ Ricciardo,” he says, shaking his head. “You astound me.���

“I didn’t seduce him!” You protest.

"Sorry my bad. You charmed him. That sound better?"

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. I damn near had a heart attack when I figured out it was him but he was kind enough to let me brush it off."

"Well, thank god for your two-wheeled obsession because without it, we would be watching the prix from the nosebleeds."

You laugh and shake your head. Hunter tended to have a poor filter when he was excited and tended to spew whatever was on his mind. "Just watch your tongue this weekend, alright? I'd rather embarrass myself than have you do it for me."

Hunter gives a mock salute. "Yes ma'am."

**********

You'd stuffed five different outfits in your bag in preparation for the grand prix weekend. In theory, it shouldn't be hard to decide what to wear. But Friday morning you changed clothes so many times you lost count. No matter what combination you tried you weren't satisfied.

Finally, you give up and settle on a McLaren polo and denim shorts. Simple and comfortable, but form fitting enough to catch Daniel's eye should you run into him.

You knew you shouldn't, but you pull out your phone to text him anyway.

Thanks again for the tickets. Let me know if you've got any free time so I can properly thank you!

You hit send before your brain has the chance to overanalyze the message. You check your phone obsessively the entire drive to the circuit, only half expecting a response. You tuck your phone in your pocket when you get to the gates, determined not to let it get to you. Daniel warned you he would be busy, and you knew that responding to you was likely on the low end of his list of priorities.

Hunter gets you to the circuit a half hour before they let fans in and you have to listen to him ramble about driver stats the entire time. Normally you don't mind; guessing who's most likely to win each Sunday is something of a competition in your household. But today, you couldn't focus enough to put any thought into your prediction, instead just blurting Daniel's name.

"You're only saying that cause he's into you," Hunter says, grinning savagely. "He struggles in Austin and you know it."

"So? He's in a McLaren this year. You saw his pace in Bahrain, and that was with a damaged floor! He'll podium for sure." You cross your arms and return his grin. "Besides, he's motivated."

"Oh, is he?"

"I told him I'd buy the winner of the United States grand prix a drink. Up to him whether it's him or Verstappen."

"Oh my god you have a date with Daniel Ricciardo?"

"Dude, chill out. It's not set in stone. Honestly, he's probably forgotten that I exist."

"Has he texted you?"

You glance down at your phone and are greeted with an empty inbox. "No. Not after the initial time so I could have his number." You shrug and pick an invisible piece of lint from your arm. "But he said he'd be too busy anyway."

"Guess we'll see once we get to will call, huh? If he's forgotten about you."

"Yeah." An odd feeling rolls through you. It feels a bit like nerves mixed with hope, but you stamp down on it. You were here to enjoy yourself. The trip of a lifetime had been handed to you on a golden platter and you were wont to let something as trivial as nervousness ruin it.

Bells chime as you step into the blissfully cool will call office. A blonde woman with a bit too much blush dusted on her cheeks greets you with a smile. 

"What can I do for you?"

"Picking up some tickets that were left for me by a driver?" You try, unsure of the proper procedure. "I don't have a paper or anything."

She waves a hand in the air as if she expected as much. "All I need is your identification. They should be under the name."

"Oh uh, of course." You motion for Hunter to hand over your wallet and show the woman your driver's license.

"Great. Wait here and I'll grab those for you."

You drum your fingers on the desk while waiting for her to return. After what feels like ages she re-emerges empty handed.

"I'm not seeing anything here with your name on it," she says, her plastic smile at odds with her sincerity. "I'm afraid your tickets aren't valid until Sunday."

"Can you double check? Daniel said they'd be here-"

"So sorry. There's no record of anyone dropping tickets off for you."

You blink, holding your tongue in the face of her blunt response. "Okay. I guess ill try and get it sorted out."

Hunter breaks the tension. "Can't you call him?"

"I can't just call him, I'm sure he's busy."

"Either that or we don't get in. Just do it, he gave you his number and specifically told you to let him know if there were any problems, didn't he?"

Yes he had, but that didn't mean you wanted to disturb him. He was probably knees deep in some sort of race weekend press conference or drivers meeting and heaven forbid you interrupt.  But it was either that or you slink home disappointed and empty handed.

"Fine," you grumble, pulling out your phone with deliberate slowness. Hunter crosses his arms and tips his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips.

"Well?"

"It's dialing, you good for nothing busybody-"

"I was wondering how long it would take you to call," Daniel answers, voice radiating sunshine.

You cut right to the chase, not giving yourself a single second to evaluate how your heart skips. "Look, I don't wanna distract you on a race weekend but I'm at will call and they're telling me they can't find any passes left for me."

"Let me guess," he starts, raising his voice to be heard over the pneumatic tools in the background, "You're dealing with Jenny?"

Your eyes fall to the name on the woman's lanyard. She shifts under your gaze like she knew exactly who you were on the phone with. "Yep. Spot on."

"Kinda figured she would be a problem. She's got a huge crush on me and does this every time."

You fight back the strange sensation his offhand comment brings to the surface. "Oh, really?"

"I'll be right there. Give me ten minutes or so."

"Oh you don't have to-"

"Hey, no big deal. I gotta go that way anyway."

"Uh, okay. See you soon?"

"Yup. On my way."

You hang up and stare down at the phone, stunned.

"Well?" Hunter asks.

"I guess he's coming here to sort it out himself."

He blinks rapidly and shakes his head. "Hold on. Are you telling me that I get to meet Daniel? Like right now?"

"Can you relax?" You laugh lightly. "Honestly you're gonna freak him out."

"Uh, yeah sure. No big deal, just meeting one of my favorite drivers in the minus five minutes and I'm completely unprepared. It's fine."

If you roll your eyes any harder they'd pop out of your head. "Relax. He's laid back, but I don't want you to freak out and embarrass us both."

"Excuse me," Jenny breaks in, her distaste clear. "Please move aside if you're not picking up passes."

"Er, yeah. Sorry." You shuffle awkwardly off to the side to wait. Cheesy elevator music plays and Jenny shoots you glares until the door squeaks open and the human incarnation of the sun steps inside. Your breathing stutters when the Australian shoots you a wink and a grin before sauntering up to the counter.

"Why hello there Jen," he says, and she giggles coyly. 

"Hi Daniel." She lays a hand on his forearm, the touch light and flirty. "What can I help you with?"

Daniel leans into her, whispering conspiratorially. Whatever he says has her bold smile faltering, replaced by a mask of professional cheer. Daniel shoots you another wink as the woman retreats to a back room, returning moments later with your supposedly missing passes.

"Thank you," Daniel says sweetly, taking them from her and turning to you. "I think these are yours."

"Thanks." You take the passes and hand one off to your awestruck brother. You nudge him and he comes to his senses in time to shake the hand Daniel sticks out.

"You must be the brother," he says. "I see you're a fan."

Dressed head to toe in McLaren colors, there was no other conclusion for Daniel to draw. For once your brother is the one stunned into silence so you answer for him, "Yeah, only a little. He was crushed when you left Red Bull cause Max is his other favorite driver and now he has to split his loyalties between teams."

Dan's laugh snaps Hunter out of his trance. "I know you're busy but do you think you can sign something for me?"

"Of course. How about this?" Daniel snatches the hat from Hunter's head and produces a sharpie from his pocket, signing the brim with practiced efficiency. 

"He'll be texting the group chat about that as soon as you're gone," you tell Daniel who laughs along with you.

Heat rises to your cheeks as Daniel's assessing gaze sweeps you from head to toe. "McLaren orange looks good on you."

Channeling his easy confidence you flash him a grin. "Not as good as it looks on you."

He smooths the hem of his soft shell jacket, smile turning bashful. "Anyway. I gotta run. See you Sunday after I win!"

Your eyes follow him as he jogs back through the paddock until he's swallowed by the crowd. You sigh, shifting your weight from foot to foot. God, he was gorgeous. And he had such a big heart. It was a shame someone hadn't snatched him up yet, but then again, that meant you still had a shot, even if it was a slim one.

"So where exactly do these get us?" Hunter toys with the lanyard now placed around his neck. "It doesn't say."

"I'm guessing the McLaren lounge," you say and point to the logo on the passes. "Above the garage."

"That's the perfect vantage point for practice."

And it was the perfect view- before getting in the car Daniel walked out into the pit, suited up in his cobalt racesuit and minty helmet and glanced up. You weren't sure if he saw you or not when you waved but he gave a little salute nonetheless.

Hunter was practically glued to the bank of floor to ceiling windows for the entirety of free practice, immersing himself in the experience. You found yourself glancing at the timing tables every lap, silently hoping to see the RIC tag move up. By the end of the second session he had been fourth fastest, a few tenths behind both Mercedes and the Red Bull of Verstappen. 

By the time you make it back to Hunter's house, you're both exhausted from a full day of running up and down the paddock. The pair of you had been determined to soak up every second of it, sneaking into whatever offices you could and stealing bites off the buffets and cups of coffee. 

Saturday’s free practice and qualifying session pass in a blur of color. Daniel drags his McLaren up the ranks to qualify fourth, his best starting position so far this season. He had a decent shot at the podium- Bottas should be easy pickings and if Verstappen and Hamilton made any mistakes, Daniel might even have a shot at the win.

The excitement in the air is palpable as you both flash your badges and head back up the now familiar path to the McLaren lounge. An hour before lights out, the v6 engines rumble to life below. You venture out onto the balcony, watching and waiting for a glimpse of Daniel.

The Aussie does you one better by walking out, race suit on and helmet in hand. He chats animatedly with Michael before stopping and craning his neck upwards. Michael nudges him with his elbow but Dan ignores him, answering your tiny wave with a wink. He mimes taking a drink and you roll your eyes.

Dan throws his head back and laughs, audible over the cacophony below. He gives you one final salute before Michael drags him back into the garage.

Ten minutes later cars begin streaming out on track, Daniel taking the fourth grid place as his mechanics once again swarm him. Tire blankets are secured, keeping them warm and pliable ahead of the formation lap. Thirty seconds before the boys are released, they're peeled back off as everyone scrambles off the pavement. Verstappen leads them away down the 3.4 mile track for the formation lap. Dan does a few small power slides before taking his place on the second row.

One by one, the red lights illuminate and disappear quicker than your blink. Daniel gets away clean while Bottas stumbles out of the gate, leaving himself wide open for Daniel's overtake on his right side. Cheers erupt around you, your brother going so far as to lift you off your feet.

Maybe Dan had a shot at winning after all.

A nail-biting 38 laps pass without a change in the order of the top three. Finally, a mistake in Max's pit stop sees him return to track third, just behind Daniel. The McLaren driver puts up the fight of his life, late braking at every corner and defending his position for all he was worth. Lewis was twenty seconds ahead- he wouldn't be winning but he could defend his second place spot.

Lewis Hamilton, race winner for the seventh time at the Circuit of the Americas!

Daniel Ricciardo crosses the line second, Max Verstappen takes home that last podium step for Red Bull. An astonishing fifty six laps here today in Austin!

The box erupts around you, a roar of cheers making it impossible to hear what else Crofty and Brundle were saying. But it didn't matter as Daniel raises his fist when he swings back into parc ferme, jumping out to be congratulated by his team. It was his first podium for the papaya team and you can tell it means the world to them.

"Looks like you're taking Lewis out for a drink," your brother teases. "Told you he wouldn't win."

"He almost won," you counter. "But hey, I'm not above asking Lewis on a date. Could you imagine? I mean, he would never agree, but still. It would be a hell of a date."

If you crane your neck from the balcony, you can just barely see the podium. Everyone goes quiet for the anthems and erupts again when the champagne is sprayed. The McLaren team chant for a shoey, which Daniel obliges. He sits to unlace his mint green boot and pours champagne into it, drinking from the boot before passing it to Max who joins in on the fun. 

Just as quickly as it began, the celebrations ebb. Daniel is the first to leave the podium which seems odd, given that the PR department surely wants his first big win for the team to be well documented.

Your phone buzzes a second layer. You fish it out of your pocket, a Cheshire grin splitting your face.

"Shouldn't you be busy celebrating?"

"I am," Dan starts, sounding breathless. You can barely hear him over the sound of the crowds chants behind him. "But I want to celebrate with you. I know I didn't win, but how about you let me buy you a drink instead?"

You barely hear anything beyond his first sentence. I want to celebrate with you. Were you dreaming? There was no way this was real.

"Um, I'm sorry, you want to celebrate by going out with me instead of your team?"

"If you'll let me. Hey- just text me okay? I can barely hear you over everyone screaming my name. It may be going to my head."

You laugh, drawing the attention of the vip's nearest you. You give an apologetic smile and move further from the crowd. "I'll text you an address. See you later, second place."

[withoneheadlight]

| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

~

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

.

.

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟