#still don’t have a lot of hammered out ideas but that’s just fine. dips my toes in a lil

[jays-supersonic-dynamo]

exploring my transfem!cooper idea but only a little. timeskip design!

[harrison-abbott]

At Fair Velocity Down the Street

They told me I was getting laid off. Or rather – I hadn’t passed the trial period and they weren’t keeping me on. Either way, there was no salary anymore.

 The woman who told me was this blonde fortysomething who spoke in this chirpy shrill way and she might’ve been announcing to me that she was just getting married or that she’d just gotten a new puppy for the family; or that she’d had cornflakes for breakfast that morning; or that she was watching the reality TV show last night and she was impressed by what happened with Mr Him and Miss She: it was delivered with such languid everyday glee.

 I thought about some machine gun exit but I couldn’t be doing that. Was too old. For that kind of childish revenge mentality. So I made sure to get my mug out of the cafeteria and then I left the office building and suddenly I was outside on the street with the trams and wind and voices blowing about the area all at once.

 My bus home was right there at the shelter. I ran for it. But just as I did its doors closed and then its entire hulk veered off down the road without me.

 I pondered whether to go and load up on beer at the supermarket next to the shelter but didn’t think this a perfect idea and so I decided to walk home through the city instead. What I did have in my pocket was the sandwich I’d taken in for work. Humous cucumber tomato & onion.

 The colleagues at work were always asking why I ate raw onions? How could I stand that? They took the mick out of me for being vegan (as did that blonde 40ish woman described above) a lot; alongside that other famous question of why I was vegan. Something which I’ve never understood or have taken to be politicised or offensive.

 Whilst I was walking I dipped down into the city cemetery and the volume of the world decreased and I called up my father to see whether he had a bit of wisdom about my predicament.

 “Hi Dad,” I said. I’d caught him in a bad mood already for when he spoke next.

 “Hello?”

 “How are you doing?”

 “Sound. You?”

 “I’m all fine. Well, all right …”

 “What are you calling for Dominic?”

 “I just wanted to speak. Is this not a good time?”

 “I can’t give you any money at the moment, Dominic. I don’t see why I should have to keep giving you money. Why do I have to do that? It’s not fair. Not fair at all: and whenever you call me it’s because you need something or because you’re in trouble. I didn’t expect to have such a calamitous son. Jesus. When I was your age I was already way ahead of you. And what do I get out of it? Sick of these phone calls from you telling me about your awful life. You just need to learn to deal with it.”

 I blinked and gulped and swallowed and listened to his heavy voice, and wondered whether I was still surprised by the things that came out of his tongue.

 “Dad … I wasn’t calling you for money,” I ventured.

 “You always call me for money.”

 “We spoke just last week about films. I called you after I left the cinema, didn’t I? And we spoke about movies. Don’t you remember?”

 “A one off.”

 “Why are you being so mean?”

 “What is it, son?”

 “Oh. Forget it.”

 “Well, you wake me up and you sound like you’re on some island of disaster and expect me to help you and then you won’t tell me what the issue is. What’s up?”

 “It’s no worries, Pop. See you another time.”

 I hung up whilst his voice still hammered the other side.

 Well, that was a complete fail of a telephone conversation. When you have a fight with a mum or a dad there is often this massive inclination to take what they say imperiously as if they command the finest wisdom on the plant and that their slights and dogma makes you small and defeated and this was just how I felt after the end of the phonecall and there was a tram coming to me at fair velocity down the street and I thought about running in front of it and letting it mash me up and turn me to goo right there in front of these hundreds of people.

 What would they say about me in the papers? There would ne no obituary-like content in the 50-word article in the local newspaper, or any obituary at all.

 So I thought I would procrastinate from suicide before they had fifty words decent enough to say about me.

 The tram passed by with its crimson blood colours and I crossed the street under the zappy electric wires and got to the other side and on that side there were a group of folks taking pictures of the famous castle which, indeed, perched so handsomely on the horizon; built eight hundred years back when threats of foreign invasion were so intense that they had to lock themselves into such a place and when the modern planet couldn’t be imagined by any great mind.

 Back in those days when they tortured people whom they suspected of witchcraft … and one hoped that the stories of said torture methods you heard about in museums or in film references or gothic books weren’t accurate or were fictionalised. You don’t get how you could even do that to another person. And even somebody eight centuries back must’ve known that there was no such entity as Satan or the Devil: at least not in any sense of imminent threat.

 I needed to pee.

 Under the castle there were the city street gardens and within the paths through the meadows public toilets. I went in search.

 A group of teens approached me on the path leading down to the park – eight of them and one of me – and a boy looked up and said some insult which I didn’t hear and then they all laughed and one of the other boys threw some sweets at my legs. Those mini gems (is that what you call them?) with the gelatine multicolour and some of them hit my shins and I wondered whether the pigeons nearby would be interested in them and eat them or if the birds didn’t go near that kind of ultra processed food or if indeed they ate them whether the mini gems would get stuck in their throats or cause cancer in their innards … wondered how long pigeons lived. What their life span was.

 I got to the public toilet. One of the male cubicles had an OUT OF ORDER sign outside of it and so it blocked up the admissions and there was a queue of men standing around in the sun.

 Three men. I stood at the back of the queue.

 The man in front of me turned wen I approached. And he ogled me as we both waited. Then he finally said,

 “Nice, day, huh?”

 “It is indeed.”

 “You look upset.”

 I shrugged.

 “Why are you upset?”

 “I’m not.”

 “Why you sweaty?”

 “It’s hot.”

 Somebody came out of the toilet. Looking furtive.

 This man in front of me gave me a bad vibe. And I still really needed to urinate but the desire wasn’t great enough to stay there in his vicinity and so I moved off from him. He hissed the word “arsehole” under his breath as I fled. I walked over the fields were the kids were playing soccer or eating picnics and/or yacking and bitching, drinking, smoking, destroying their internal organs in that finest sanguine blind period of youth.

 I dipped into the bushes that ran off from the main area next to the fences which looked on to the railway station. Into the nettles I pissed. Within the nettles there were discarded soda cans and an empty bottle of vodka and at one point a condom and for some reason a random playing card which was a Club of 8s.

 Out of bushes I went after zipping up and I ascended the hill to the main street again and walked past the art gallery and up through the little cafes with their yellows and pinks and as I went I wondered how un-pretty they were inside; because I’d worked in places like those before and what looks like bliss and prettiness on the outside of a homely little restaurant is not what it’s like inside; the minimum wage and sweat and heat and the miserable ratty colleagues and the animosity concocted within that environment.

 And the thought of working in a joint such as that again terrified me: it really did.

 Then there was the government building. With its various flags. And security personal armed with guns and daftly lurking outside the big doorways.

 I thought about running up to one of the men and stealing his gun off of him to see what would happen. How quickly it would take for them to shoot me down. That would certainly make the news. If it was about terror. Then no danger.

 Past the govt structure and along the street there was a corporate fast food joint. And outside it this beggar, begging for money. He had white hair. And was asleep.

 I tossed him the few coins that were in my pocket. He didn’t even wake up.

 I moved on.

 Away from the central street and up through the alleyways at the side. A band of seagulls were tearing at something inside an industrial bin (the bin bags being stacked too heavily inside and overshowing on the top of it). They raged and squawked and I was afraid to go near them. Gulls are wicked creatures. Almost as bad as people.

 I passed the museum with its great cream coloured walls.

 One time I went on a school trip to the museum and it was my first school trip when I was in P2 and so I would’ve been 6 years old and on the bus in to town I had a nosebleed. It was unprovoked and without physical impact: the nose just started bleeding. And when the classmates saw it they started screaming. The blood. It gave them this eruptive sense of glee. And the teacher came over to me. To hold my nose with her tissue. It wasn’t her tissue actually; she had a packet of them that smelled like perfume – and she was a very pretty lady with this long red curly hair.

 “Did somebody hit you?” she said.

 “No,” I responded.

 “Why did your nose bleed then? Did you bash it?”

 “No. I don’t know. Sorry.”

 “It will be fine.”

 And all of the other kids came over to me whilst we were in the atrium of the museum and asked me about the nosebleed. Then they lost interest when there was no fable. And went around looking in the murky aquarium and dinosaur quarters.

 My coat pockets were filled up with bloody tissues and I asked the assistant teacher if I could go to the toilet and I did need to pee (again) back then but when I sat on the toilet I was too anxious to let it out of my bladder and so I popped the tissues into the toilet and they splotched up in the water with their red marks and they all seemed dangerous and things which needed masked and so I flushed the toilet and when I went outside it felt like I’d done something guilty.

 Those were the only remaining moments of my childhood visit to the museum and it’s odd how memory works in belittled pencilled-in ways; as if there was no other content to the occasion or incident.

 But, so what?

 So what about any of my personal feelings, right?

 I walked on home and passed around a thousand folk on my sights throughout the journey and it was hard to know where I stood as an entity throughout the spectrum or whether I had any status at all and it was embarrassing to be unemployed and it was hard to feel normal in any way and I had no friends to call to try and speak to my problem like I’d tried to with Dad and I only had my brain going tick tock tick tock tick tock tock tock all the way with every step and yet I was still too stubborn to just get the bus home and on I walked instead of making things easier.

[notanotherreidgirl]

dom or sub spence going on a rant about how good you feel while hes fucking you

Sorry this took so long! I wanted to challenge myself with dom!spencer. I hope there was enough ranting

wc: 982

Warnings: language, blowjob, kissing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dom!spencer

Spencer had his head in his hands, conjuring up tedious mathematical and scientific concepts to try and drown you out. Planck’s constant = 6.626 x 10-34 Js. The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. The law of conservation of energy. But he couldn’t stem the melody of your voice from reaching his ears. He could hear you no matter what he did, a never ending loop playing in his mind. Your habit for whispering aloud when you read, you humming along to the radio, you addressing reporters, you asking questions during movies. And right now, you regaling a group of detectives from the local precinct with stories of your previous exploits.

He let out a shaky breath, catching Luke’s attention. He was packing away their papers with military efficiency, sorting important files and preparing things for their early morning departure tomorrow. He was supposed to be helping and he felt a twinge of guilt as Luke shut the last folder brimming with paperwork. “Hey, you ok?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It's just -” Spencer stopped himself just as one of the detectives placed his hand on your thigh. It was like a dam burst. He was out of his seat in seconds, seeing red as he strode across the precinct and grabbed your arm. You were still talking. You were always talking. “Hey, Spence! Wait, what are you -”

All he could think was that he had enough. He dipped his head down to your ear. “You better shut that pretty mouth before I put it to work”

The effect of his words was instantaneous, your mouth snapped shut and heat pooled between your thighs. You let him guide you into one of the SUVs and slam the door shut before getting in the driver’s seat. The waves of anger radiating off of him were palpable and you felt a rush of annoyance flare up. “What the hell, Reid! You can’t just drag me around like that! Are you crazy? You don't get to manhandle me!”

“Do you ever shut up?” He parked in the motel lot and turned to face you. “You talk nonstop, Y/N! I can’t hear myself think around you. All I hear is you”

Maybe it was your earlier anger, maybe it was the pure need hammering away at your chest but instead of storming out of the car, you leaned in closer. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

He was on you in an instant, kissing you harshly. It was teeth and tongue and desperation and despite its animalistic nature, you felt your heart swell. When was the last time someone wanted you this badly?

He pulled away when the breath ran out of his lungs and you let out a soft whimper. He still had your face firmly cupped between his hands. “Are you afraid?”

You were quick to say no but he brought his hand to your neck, nimble fingers settling over your erratic pulse. Spencer raised his eyebrows, clearly pleased with the power he had over you. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “That’s not fear”

His eyes darkened with lust and he was out of the SUV in an instant, once again gripping your arm tightly. You tumbled into his room, already working on his belt as he haphazardly unbuttoned your shirt. He pushed you onto your knees by the shoulders. “You’ve got a big mouth? Use it.”

You swallowed hard at the sight of his cock, flushed and leaking precum, before licking a languid stripe up the underside and fully sinking your mouth down on it. A groan bubbled up from his throat and he fisted a hand in your hair. “Just like that, princess. You look so pretty with my cock down your throat. If I knew this is what it’d take to shut you up I’d have done it sooner.”

You flicked your eyes up to his as you swallowed around his length, moaning deeply at the tell-tale signs of his impending release. But he wasn’t done with you yet. He pulled you up by the hair and walked you back to the bed, snaking a hand up your skirt to feel your soaked core. “What do you want, princess?”

“I-I want -” you faltered, too overwhelmed to choke out a full sentence.

“I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already a complete mess.” He thumbed at your clit, teasing your entrance with a finger. “Come on, baby. Use your words. Tell me what you want”

“You! I want you, please.” That was all the permission he needed to slam into you, setting a relentless pace from the outset. “Fuck, you feel so perfect. So fucking tight. This pussy’s all you’re good for. Just a tight little cocksleeve for me to use. You were made for me, baby. Made for taking my cock.”

His words sent a jolt up your spine and you clenched around him. You hadn’t expected him to be so vocal and certainly not so crass. He continued as if he could sense the effect he had on you. “You like that? You like hearing what you do to me? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this? God, you’re even better than I imagined. You feel like heaven, baby.”

You gasped as he shifted, changing his angle so he hit you even deeper and bringing his lips to your ear. “You belong to me, princess. This pussy belongs to me, you understand? You’re mine.”

It was too much - he was reaching places you didn’t even know existed and his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit coupled with his voice had you shaking as your release washed over you. He followed right after, giving a few more thrusts before flooding you with warmth.

After a moment spent catching your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Who’s the loud one now?”

Blurb Masterlist

[quickspinner]

Oops - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: A little too much alcohol, a drunken hookup, it happens all the time, right? Marinette didn't mean to drink so much, and she didn't mean to wake up in a stranger's bed, but she did, and now this morning isn't going at all the way she expected. When Luka asks to see her again, she can't think of a good reason to say no...and the one night she never meant to have turns out to be the beginning of something she never could have anticipated.

Alya thinks its hysterical--only Marinette could take home a one night stand and end up with a date. But when the one night stand turns into a series of hookups, Alya's starting to get concerned. Clearly it's up to her to rein Marinette in before the girl gets seriously hurt.

Rating: M - this is a little spicier than my usual fare but not really explicit? There’s a lot of off screen sex and reference to sexy things and adult activities, some drinking (obviously), cursing/foul language. 

Credit to my tumblr followers for this one, because one day I went "hey, you guys want to see some bits from the folder of fics I'm never going to finish?" and one of the bits I posted was the beginning of this story, and people liked it more than I was expecting, and then it was "well, you know, I did think about doing blahblah" and "I'd sure love to see that!" and the next thing you know I've added five thousand words with no sign of stopping. In Marinette’s words: Oops. So, with much love to my followers and readers across platforms, here's the fic I never intended to finish, and I hope you enjoy it!

I'm splitting it into two chapters but they'll both be uploaded within a few minutes, so if you finish the first part and the second one isn't posted yet, just wait a little and try back. Also, much love to @livrever for talking me down off the ledge and beta reading this one. 

Marinette woke up with a mouth that felt like cotton and a pounding headache. She groaned, and pressed her face into the pillow. It...smelled funny. Not bad, just...not like home. 

Oh. Because she hadn’t gone home last night. At least, not to her home. 

“Are you shitting me right now?” 

Marinette jumped, and sat up, clutching the sheets to her still-naked body. Her head reeled and she whimpered as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. The door to the bedroom was cracked and she could see a sliver of light beyond it that blinked in and out. It seemed her...friend, was pacing in the other room, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t very happy. 

“—crosses a line, Jean. What? No, that’s not the point, Jean, you got me hammered without my consent! How can you not see the problem here? No, you know what, my head is killing me and I’m sick of yelling at you, obviously this can’t be fixed. As of right now, we are no longer friends. Don’t call me, don’t talk to me, if you see me coming just walk the other way. I’m done with you.”

There was a thump and a sigh and an emphatic “Fuck.”  

Marinette just sat there, holding the sheet over her chest, and blinked, trying to figure out what she should do and think through the fog in her brain. She didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in these situations. Was she supposed to just…

Before she could form any ideas, he came in with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He had a pair of tattered but well-fitting jeans on with patterned boxers peeking out from the waistband, but no shirt, and there was a lot of muscle and bare skin on display and oh God he had sex hair, and it was her hands that had done it. Marinette swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter in the sheets, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Luka, in case you don’t remember. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling? I mean, hung over, obviously, but on a scale of just let me die to I might conceivably want to live to tomorrow …” He gave her a smile that perhaps wasn’t entirely confident, and Marinette couldn’t help a small smile back. 

“I think I’m not quite up to dancing to the metal band playing in my head, but pretty far from oh God where’s the bathroom, so I’ll take it, all things considered.” She took the glass of water he offered and he opened the aspirin bottle and shook a couple out into her palm. That was sweet, she thought. At least he wasn’t just tossing her clothes at her and kicking her out. How could she have let herself end up in a position like this?

Luka sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take the pills. “Man, you’re really gorgeous. I thought at least some of it would be the booze, but—“ He looked away, clearing his throat. “Lucky me.”

Marinette’s face burned. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure what else to say. At least he was nice, she thought. At least she hadn’t slept with a jerk. And he’d certainly been...considerate. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself, just...

“How much do you remember about last night?” he asked. His voice was rough, but he kept it soft. “I’m sorry for asking but I was way more drunk last night than I ever let myself get and I don’t think I blacked out but some things are...spotty.”

“Most of it, I think,” Marinette flashed him an embarrassed smile. “The good parts for sure. The details and...transitions, I guess, are a little hazy. I don’t remember how we got here from the club, for example.”

“But you remember being here, with me.” His eyes fell to her neck and shoulders and he winced. “Man I really marked you up, I’m sorry. I hope that’s not going to get you in trouble.” His eyes widened slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t married.”

“No,” she yelped. “No, I’m not married. Totally single.” She put her face in her hand. “Absolutely, devastatingly, recently single.” 

Luka let out a sigh of relief and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Bad breakup?”

She sighed. “Very. Bad breakup, bad best friend applying bad breakup logic that lands me my very first one night stand. Yay me.”

“Um, I’m honored?” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Although, I mean...it doesn’t have to be. Just the one night, I mean. Not that—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Even as drunk as I was, I know I had a lot of fun last night.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “And even before I got too drunk to function I wanted to get your number.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently one of my so-called friends decided I needed a little extra liquid courage.” 

“I wish I had an excuse,” Marinette muttered, shoulders curling inward. “I just...didn’t want to be sad anymore.” She frowned as what he’d said and the conversation she’d overheard connected in her brain. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m pissed off,” Luka huffed, and then smiled again. “But I’m fine. I didn’t do— much I wouldn’t have done anyway. Just, not necessarily in that order, or that soon. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure,” Marinette sighed, adjusting her grip on the sheet she held to her chest. “I don’t know how I feel. I definitely did some things I wouldn’t have done sober. You, specifically,” she joked weakly. “Not that you aren’t—not that I didn’t—“

“I get it,” he chuckled. 

“But...I’m on birth control, and…” she turned and craned her neck to look at the spilled box and empty wrappers on the nightstand. “We used protection, and…” she looked at Luka, worrying her lip. 

“I’m clean,” he supplied.

“Me too,” she whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re hot and you seem nice and it’s not like it didn’t feel good, and I definitely wasn’t sad for a while, so…” She shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed but...I think I’m okay too.”

“Well, no need to be embarrassed with me,” Luka grinned. “I’m definitely not judging.” 

They sat smiling at each other for a moment, and then Luka seemed to remember something, because he winced. “Umm...about your dress,” he coughed. “I am so, so sorry but it seems drunk me was kinda impatient and your dress is in pieces on my living room floor.” 

Marinette just blinked at him for a moment...and then she started to laugh. Luka grinned, and then started to chuckle along with her. She laughed harder and grabbed her head. “Ow, ow, oh my God.” Without thinking she leaned forward to drop her head on Luka’s shoulder. 

He stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed, and one of his hands slipped into her hair. His fingers began to rub in small circles. 

“Mmm, that’s good,” she sighed, and felt Luka’s chuckle.

“Well that sounds familiar,” he said, his voice going a little deeper. Marinette shivered. She felt him swallow, and his face dipped slightly towards her. “I like your perfume,” he said, and had to clear his throat again. Marinette’s face warmed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. His fingers continued to rub her aching head, and the pain actually seemed to be receding a bit, though whether from the massage or the painkillers he’d given her, she wasn’t sure.

She should sit up. He was a stranger, after all, and just because they’d—she wasn’t exactly experienced at this kind of thing but this wasn’t really fitting in with what she imagined a morning after to be like. She probably looked weird, leaning on him like...like they were a couple or something, and—

Luka’s hands shifted and began to comb gently, slowly through her hair, and Marinette let out a small moan. She felt his breath hitch and bit her lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but there was a rough edge to his voice that—she was being silly though, he’d performed last night, and then they’d done all that drinking, and...and those other things, and it was no wonder if his voice was—

That voice was doing things to her, though, and reminding her of—things, and this time it was her breath that caught as the fingers that had been moving through her hair kept going down this time, sliding along her spine, raising goosebumps and reminding her that she was still very much naked. 

“Do you, um,” Luka began, in the exact same deep tones that had made her leave the club with him last night. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?” 

His fingers stilled, resting at the small of her back, and Marinette couldn’t see his face since hers was still buried in his shoulder. It was hard to think when he was so warm, and her nose was brushing his collarbone, and she’d hardly have to move to press her lips against his smooth skin. 

She barely knew him. But...well...that hadn’t stopped her last night, so...

Marinette took a deep breath, and lifted her head, sitting back slightly to look at him. His breathing was steady as he looked back at her, almost too steady, but his eyes were dark. 

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper. 

Luka’s hands moved up her back to trail up and down her arms. “Then, do you want to stay for a while longer?” They were swaying towards each other. “Maybe…” They were kissing before he could finish the thought. Marinette put her arms around his neck automatically, but as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, she dropped her hands back down again to rub over his broad, firm shoulders. 

“Again?” he managed to get out between the fevered kisses, and Marinette made an affirmative noise, but he didn’t move until she broke away long enough to gasp, “Yes.” 

He was pulling away the sheet between them even as he wrapped one arm around her and dragged her more fully onto the bed, settling her below him with surprising gentleness. Okay, that was hot, Marinette decided, burying her fingers in his already-messy hair as he began retracing the path he’d marked along her neck last night. Last night had been a really, really stupid decision, but this? As he pulled back to look at her, eyes clear and sharp instead of the hazy, unfocused gaze he’d had the night before, and brushed her hair tenderly back from her face before kissing her again, softly, and then deeply, Marinette began to feel that this morning was by far the best decision she’d made in a long time. 

***

He should get up, Luka thought hazily, listening to his shower running. He should at least put his boxers back on or something. Change the sheets. Make some coffee. Something.

Instead he lay there, limp and relaxed, listening to the shower, and trying to hold on to this feeling of languid contentment.

God, he felt so good. Marinette was an amazing partner, sweet and so responsive, practically melting under his touch, firm and toned but soft in all the right places, and her little gasps and hums drove him crazy. She was bolder than he expected, an amazing kisser even drunk off her ass last night, and her mouth was so pretty and soft, and this morning...his body hummed with echoes of pleasure as he thought about it. 

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, and grinned. He could still smell her perfume. That scent was engraved in his mind; it was one of the things that was clearest to him from the jumbled mix of memories of the night before. Luka remembered dancing with Marinette, dropping his head to hear something she was saying, and inhaling that scent, vivid despite the riot of smells that permeated the dance floor. He remembered being surrounded by it in the blur that was the cab ride home. He remembered gasping it in on the living room floor...did they fall? He thought he remembered one of them tripping over the doorstep. Even just now, with all his senses full of her, he had found traces of it on her skin, at her jaw and right behind her ear. 

Luka shivered, buried his face in the pillow, and breathed deep. 

He’d played a killer set last night, he’d gone home with a beautiful woman who was great in bed, had somehow managed not to humiliate himself despite his spiked drinks, and he had nowhere to be today. This morning would be perfect if he wasn’t dead certain that Marinette was going to leave and he would never see her again. 

He really wanted to see her again. 

Which was why he hadn’t wanted things to happen this way, damn it. He sighed, this time burying his face in the pillow to muffle his groan. He was supposed to flirt with her, get her number, ask her out, think with his brain and not his—hormones. 

He was still going to kill his so-called friend. There was no justifying what Jean had done. If Victor had been working it never would have happened, but he’d called out for the night and apparently whoever had replaced him had been more than happy to make sure Luka’s drinks were stronger than advertised.

Bastards, both of them. 

Even if it hadn’t turned out too badly. 

Rock Giant blared out from his nightstand, and Luka flopped on his back and grabbed for his phone, forcing his eyes open as he answered it. “Hello?” he grumbled. 

Silence. Luka frowned, and opened his mouth, but the person on the other end finally said, “I’m looking for Marinette.” 

What? Luka frowned, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. It was pink. 

Right. Because he’d found Marinette’s dead phone on the floor this morning when he got up, and he’d picked it up and set it in his charger, while he took his own to the living room to call and yell at Jean. Then he’d hurled his phone into the couch and left it there.

Shit. 

“Ah,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. “She’s, um, in the shower. I can tell her to call you when she gets out.” 

“Tell her to call Alya. If I don’t hear from her in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the police,” the girl on the other end of the line said coldly, and then hung up.

“Oops,” Luka muttered, setting Marinette’s phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. He hoped she wouldn’t be too mad at him. He probably should have come up with a more ambiguous excuse, something she could use for a cover if she didn’t want to admit to this Alya person that she’d gone home with a guy, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on his feet this morning. 

He should get up. He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

He registered that the shower was no longer running at about the same time that the door opened. Luka looked up and his jaw dropped as Marinette shuffled shyly into the room.

Shit, he’d seen her naked less than an hour ago, why was he still blushing?  She was wearing two of his shirts, a t-shirt with one of his button-ups over it, open at the front and with the sleeves rolled up, cinched at her waist with her scarf from the night before. He couldn’t look away from that scarf for a moment, a pink, gauzy thing the sight of which brought Luka another vivid memory of pressing his face against her neck to inhale her perfume as he untied it. His eyes flicked up to the lovely pattern of bruises along her neck. 

“Thanks for letting me raid your closet,” Marinette said, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. She had what looked like a pair of his black bike shorts on underneath. They were too big for her but damn did her legs look good anyway.

“No problem,” he coughed, and cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water that was still sitting on his nightstand. Ugh, when did he become such a horn dog, drooling like this over a woman who had already more than satisfied him. Why did Jean have to decide to be a jerk last night, of all nights. Luka didn’t want things to end like this. 

“Well, I should...If you maybe have a bag I can put my dress in? Then I can just go and get out of your hair.” Marinette couldn’t seem to be still, feet shuffling, hands fluttering, not looking at him.

I have to fix this, was the only thing he could think as he stared at her. I’ll regret it forever if she just walks out.

“Actually,” Luka said quickly, trying desperately not to sound too desperate, “I was going to ask if I could buy you breakfast.” 

That stilled her. She froze, staring at him, and he forced himself to go on. “No pressure,” he shrugged, “But the café on the corner has a great all-day brunch menu. And I’d like to make it up to you, about the dress.” He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Marinette’s eyes followed the motion and he thought he saw pink tint her cheeks. Well, at least it wasn’t just him. “Breakfast probably doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s a start. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower.” 

Marinette was shuffling again. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll, um...I’ll wait for you in the other room?”

Luka chuckled. “Sure.” He waited a moment, but when she just stood there, he tossed aside the sheet covering his lap and stood. “I’ll be quick,” he told her with a grin that he was extremely sure she didn’t see. She squeaked as he passed her and he had to smother his laughter, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. She was too cute, and her ogling made him feel less like a creep for his own.

Then he cursed and opened the door again, leaning just his upper half out. “Oh, I need to tell you, you need to call, um, Alya? I’m really sorry, but we have the same ringtone and I answered without thinking. Can you call her back before she sends the cops after me? I can’t deal with Officer Roger this early in the morning.”

Marinette paused, and then let out a strangled laugh, dropping her head into her hand. “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was smiling when she looked up at him. “Sure, I can do that.” 

Luka smiled back. “I'll only be a few minutes.” 

He did want to be quick, but he also wanted to be clean and attractive, so he throttled back his impatience as best he could to make sure that he both smelled and looked good. The bedroom was still empty when he came in, but the door wasn’t shut all the way and he could hear Marinette on the phone. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn’t as if he could help it. 

“—about that but it’s not like I ditched you on purpose. Well obviously I was wasted, Alya, so I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.  No, I’m really fine. I’m kind of embarrassed and I feel really stupid, but...it turned out okay. Hmm? No, he’s really sweet and considerate. He’s, um, buying me breakfast, so…what? No, Alya, I’m not stupid, I know that. He’s just being nice and—okay that is none of your business! ” There was a giggle that followed that, and then her voice dropped too quiet for him to hear, and another giggle, one that made him smile from the sheer joy evident in it. “I guess I got lucky in more ways than one.” She sighed. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I really am fine. Not even sick, much. I mean I had a headache for a while, but...” She giggled again. “Luka took care of it. Mm-hmm, so good, Alya, oh my God.” Luka grinned to himself as he dug in his closet to find the stack of leftover merch he had crammed into the back corner. “Nuh uh, also none of your business. Anyway, I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”

Stop being a smug bastard , Luka told himself, but it wasn’t working very well. Given the state she had reduced him to, it was gratifying to know she’d enjoyed herself too. Well, he had known that, he’d made sure of it, but it still felt good to hear it from her. Maybe his odds were better than he thought. He found what he was looking for and tried to turn his smirk into something less incriminating before he opened his door and emerged into the living room. From the way Marinette’s face turned red, he failed. “I really gotta go,” she mumbled into the phone, eyes on him. “Bye, Alya.” 

“I hope this will do,” Luka said, offering her the cheap mesh tote with his band logo on it. “You can keep it, we use them to bag up merch when people by t-shirts and stuff for the band...I hope it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled, taking the bag. The pieces of her dress were already neatly folded on the couch, and she turned away from him to put them in the bag. 

“I’m really sorry about that,” Luka told her, frowning a little. “I’m...not usually like that.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette sighed. “It was kind of flimsy, with just those straps to hold the pieces together. I’m not usually like this…” she gestured with one of the folded pieces, “either. I’m not, you know, sexy like that. I made it because I thought...well, I thought he would like it, and maybe I could wear it for a special occasion at home, but I never meant to wear it out , and then when everything happened, I thought I’d never wear it at all, but then Alya insisted that I had to wear it at least once and…” She shrugged, and slipped the handles of the tote over her arm, smiling up at him. “I’m just as happy to have an excuse not to wear it again.” 

“Well, you looked amazing in it,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I have to disagree with you about not usually being sexy. My clothes have never looked so hot.”

She tried to hide how much she enjoyed the compliment, but couldn’t quite manage it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d had a breakup, he remembered, and probably wasn’t feeling too good about herself when she walked into that bar last night, dressed to the nines, and started knocking back drinks. 

Then her blue eyes flicked up to give him a look through her lashes. “I find that hard to believe,” she murmured, and then blushed. 

Oh he was gone. Luka found himself reaching for her, but stopped his hand before it touched her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Marinette?” 

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now, you’re asking?” 

“Yes, I’m asking,” Luka replied, amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marinette’s eyes darted to his mouth, and then back towards the bedroom. “I don’t, um...think I can…” 

Luka chuckled. “Thanks for your opinion of my stamina, but frankly, me either. I’d be more than willing if I could, but, right here right now? I just really want to kiss you.” 

“Why?” Marinette blurted, and then covered her mouth. Luka blinked, but before he could come up with any kind of answer, Marinette straightened and squared her shoulders. “Look,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry, I just...I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what...I don’t know what the rules are? The...etiquette, or whatever...I mean I kind of thought once we were done with…” Her eyes shifted towards his bedroom again. “I thought it was just, over? And I would go home? So I’m...I guess I’m confused. About why you’re still...um...breakfast and kissing and all that, it just…why would you still want that, after you—I mean we—aren’t we, you know…” She floundered. 

“Okay, hold on,” Luka raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Marinette. That was kind of a lot to take in.” Luka chuckled, and looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I’ve never done this before, but...listen, I don’t have a playbook. This isn’t...a business transaction, or whatever. I just do what feels good. Dancing with you felt good. Kissing you felt good. Everything we did after felt good. This morning felt really good.” Marinette blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I just feel good with you. I don’t see any reason to put a time limit on that, just because we’re, um. Worn out.” They both giggled self-consciously, and Luka reached for Marinette’s hand, cradling it in his. “If you want to go, or you need to be somewhere, or if you’re just tired of kissing me—”

“I don’t,” Marinette said quickly, taking a half step forward. “I’m...not.” Luka smiled.

“Then just do what feels g—” 

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, dropping the bag on the floor. Luka’s hands found her hips automatically, steadying them both from her hasty move, and the kiss softened as they both relaxed into it. 

“You’re right,” Marinette breathed, sending a shiver up his spine. “It does feel good.” 

Luka kissed her again softly, savoring the soft plumpness of her lower lip between his, and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you all day,” he rumbled, and cleared his throat. “But fainting from hunger probably wouldn’t feel so good, so. We should probably go.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, and then bit the lip he’d just been enjoying. “But maybe we could...keep doing what feels good? For a while? Until I have to go?” 

“Hell yeah,” Luka grinned, and grinned wider when she rose up and kissed him again. He picked up her bag and offered it to her, and walked her to the front door and opened it for her, his other hand still entwined with hers.

They made it to the landing when Marinette hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking over her head, Luka saw one of his nosier neighbors staring up at them, judgment in every line of her body. Marinette was frozen under the stare, red slowly creeping up her face. He could sense the sudden panic in her, and put a hand on her hip. 

Luka leaned down by her ear. “You were the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen last night,” he murmured, smiling when Marinette shivered and turned her head slightly to listen to him, jolted out of whatever spiral she’d been in. “You completely blew my mind this morning. You’re a goddess. Own it and walk out of here like one.”

Marinette felt as if Luka’s words sank into her skin, warming her in such a way that she almost forgot what they were talking about. She was busy reliving the way he had arched against her, the praises he had whispered into her skin, the way he had clung to her, moaning as he came apart. She did that to him. 

Luka watched as Marinette bit her lip, fighting the smile that was suddenly trying to break out. He brushed his lips against her temple and she looked up at him, still blushing but with a sparkle in her eye that did things to his heart. She reached back and caught his hand, tangling her fingers with his, and marched down the stairs, offering a cheerful smile to the old lady at the bottom. “Good morning,” she said, and Luka grinned shamelessly as they walked out of the door.

When they made it out of the building Luka suddenly pulled back on her hand, and Marinette gasped as he whirled her up against the wall and leaned down. Marinette rose up on her toes to meet him, cupping his face in her hands and they kissed fiercely. Luka braced his hands on the wall and leaned into her. 

“Perfect,” he breathed, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant her performance just now, or her in general. 

Marinette’s hands slid from his face to his shoulders as she blushed and looked down, but then she looked back up at him, beaming, and Luka couldn’t help smiling back at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly one more time. “Breakfast,” he sighed, and pushed off the wall. He held out his hand, and Marinette put hers in it, and they were both grinning as they meandered down the sidewalk. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Marinette sighed blissfully. 

“I feel...really good,” she answered. “Thank you.” She paused, and scrunched her nose. “Is that weird to say?” 

“No,” Luka laughed, and brought their hands to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Thank you too. I had a really good time. I’m glad you did too. I’m glad that...well, with the way things started. It could have all gone really badly, or not at all, and...I’m really glad I could show you a good time.” 

Marinette blushed. “It was good. Really, um. Really good.” She sighed. “I promise I know more words than this.” 

Luka chuckled. “It’s okay. Here, it’s this one.” He opened the café door, but he didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand, following right behind her into the café. They were directed to a booth, and he tugged at her, urging her to sit next to him instead of across. 

Marinette only hesitated a moment. Do what feels good . Luka’s arm felt good against her shoulders as he laid it along the back of the booth, and he leaned down and kissed her without any trace of self-consciousness. Marinette’s fingers curled in his shirt. Kissing him felt really good. She should be embarrassed; she should be pushing him away. Hadn’t she heard over and over how important image is, and here she is making out with her one night stand, wearing his clothes, in a public diner booth. 

Do what feels good . 

It definitely felt good. 

“God that feels good,” Luka sighed as they parted, and Marinette giggled. He kissed the top of her head, and then picked up the menu as a slightly wary waitress approached. Marinette glanced up at him in surprise at the rather domestic gesture, but then quickly away again. Stupid. They’d already had that conversation. It was just an impulse, not something to read into. Marinette looked up at the waitress instead, feeling her cheeks heat. 

The waitress didn’t look phased at all. If anything, she looked bored. “Coffee?” she offered in a disinterested tone.

“Um, no, thank you,” Marinette managed to smile. “I’d like some lemon tea with honey, please.” 

The waitress nodded, and glanced at Luka. “Usual, Lu?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Luka said, flashing a quick grin before looking at the menu again. 

“Come here often?” Marinette teased, and Luka chuckled, then coughed lightly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s close and I’m lazy, so…” He shrugged. 

The waitress returned and set down a little pot of hot water, a cup with a tea bag in it, and a container of honey. 

Marinette pulled away from Luka slightly to prepare the tea, but his arm remained behind her on the back of the booth. 

“Here,” Marinette said, sliding the tea over to him when it was ready. “This’ll help your throat.”. 

Luka blinked, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette found herself blushing under his suddenly soft gaze.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he laughed as she reached over and stole his coffee cup. She sipped it carefully. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she liked it, but it was good enough. She glanced up at Luka over the rim, and he was still giving her that soft look. 

“I should figure out a ride,” Marinette murmured, looking away, and she picked up her phone.

“I can get you a cab if you want,” Luka offered, but Marinette shook her head. 

“My roommate’s boyfriend works nights around here, and he should be getting off soon. I’ll see if he can pick me up first.” She smiled at Luka. “If not, we can revisit the offer. Thank you.” 

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she kept him close for another, and her next text to Nino wasn’t entirely coherent. 

They had to disentangle from each other when their food came, but Marinette remained very aware of Luka’s arm brushing her own, and the soft smiles he gave anytime she glanced at him. She glanced away, tucking back a lock of hair to cover up the fact that she was grinning like a fool. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered. Was this just like, afterglow or something? Would it fade away once she left?

Luka touched her shoulder and Marinette jumped. He blinked. “Sorry. I was just asking if you got your ride worked out, but I guess you were a bit zoned out.” 

“Sorry,” Marinette said quickly, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. “Yeah, Nino’s going to pick me up here in a little bit.” Luka nodded. 

He put his arm back around her when they were finished eating, and he ordered another lemon tea instead of the coffee she expected. “You were right,” he smiled. “It did help.” 

Marinette mixed it up for him again when it came, and then settled in and leaned against Luka’s side as he sipped it. He smelled nice, and he was warm, and she loved how easy he made everything feel. 

Luka watched Marinette’s eyelids begin to droop. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her temple, but she just smiled, her eyes still closed. She was adorable, and Luka sighed before jostling her slightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, and Marinette blinked her eyes back open. “I don’t particularly mind, but we can’t stay in this booth all day.”

“Can’t we?” Marinette sighed. “I’m so comfortable. You’ve been...really great Luka. I’m kind of sorry it has to end.” 

Luka took a breath, and took the plunge. “Well, about that. I was hoping maybe we could see each other again.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blushed as she sat up and looked at him. “Y-you mean, like a...a b-b—” 

“I mean like a date,” Luka corrected, mouth twitching. She was really too cute. “The kind with talking and dinner and movies or whatever. I’d really like to spend more time with you, Marinette. Talking, and not just...well. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stop doing everything else, but...I want to get to know you.” 

Marinette’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Luka tilted his head slightly. “Why are you surprised?” 

“I just don’t—I mean I didn’t think I’d be…” Marinette ducked her head, drawing circles in the ring of condensation forming around the base of her water glass. “You don’t even know me.” 

“True.” Luka raised his eyebrows, and shifted his gaze away so he wasn’t looking quite so fully at her. “That’s why I’m asking you out. I don’t know you, but I want to. If you want to call it quits now and go home and never see me again, I’ll accept that, but...it’s definitely not the way I want this to go.”

“I…” Marinette looked down, twining a finger nervously in her hair. “I don’t know, Luka. You’re really sweet and—I really did have a great time with you. It’s just…I don’t want you to get hurt because I’m on the rebound, I…I don’t know if I’m ready for another, um...relationship, right now. I mean...”

Not what he wanted to hear, but...“Okay. That’s fair,” Luka nodded, the fingers of his free hand beginning to tap the table lightly.. “What if we just keep things casual for now? We can go out sometimes, and have some fun together...do what feels good…” he squeezed her hip, and watched her try to keep back the smile that wanted to break out, “get to know each other, and if you want to see other people or whatever, I’m cool with that for now. I’d just really like the chance to spend more time with you. If it doesn’t go anywhere then…” He shrugged, “at least I tried. You’ve put me on notice now, so it’s my choice to take the risk. I think you’re worth it.” His heart was beating so fast, and the tap of his fingers picked up tempo as he watched Marinette consider. 

“Why?” Marinette whispered at last, with a sigh that hurt his heart. Her last relationship must really have done a number on her. 

Luka cupped her cheek in his hand, coaxing her to look up at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just...have a feeling about you. I’ve learned to trust my instincts about people. I can’t explain it logically, I just...know. You’re someone I want to know. I felt it from the moment I saw you, before I’d even had a single drink.” 

Marinette pursed her lips, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live up to that,” she said after a long moment.

Luka let his thumb stroke lightly against her lower lip. “You don’t have to live up to anything. Just be you, and let what happens happen.” He bent and kissed her, slipping a hand behind her neck to get a better angle as he plundered her mouth in a way that was definitely not appropriate for a public place. Luka was pretty far beyond caring at the moment though. That this gorgeous, sweet, vibrant woman, could question that someone might be drawn to her, attracted to her for more than a passing moment...it just wasn’t right. 

Marinette relaxed into him with a quiet moan. Her hand slipped under his jacket and pressed into his chest, feeling him up shamelessly, and his own fingers tightened on her hip. 

“So,” he breathed, when he finally let her slip reluctantly away. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked up at him, and bit her reddened lip, and then quietly asked, “Are you free this weekend?”

Luka grinned. “Actually, not so much, I’m usually playing gigs on weekends...how about Thursday? That way I don’t have to hurry away.”

Marinette hummed, and pulled out her phone. He watched the fingertip she pressed against her lips as she considered her schedule, and admired her bright eyes when she smiled up at him. “Okay, Thursday works.” 

“It’s a date,” Luka smiled so softly that Marinette’s heart fluttered. How did he do that, kiss her like that and then do something so—so sweet . 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as he got out his own phone to swap numbers with her. What if she fell for him? 

But...he sounded like he wanted her to fall for him. Maybe? But what if he fell for her, and she was just using him for sex? Because he’d made her feel so, so good...important and beautiful and wanted and…

It might not even be like that again, she told herself. Maybe I just imagined it because I was lonely and depressed and feeling unwanted...maybe I would be thinking about anyone who gave me some attention that way. Maybe we’ll just...fizzle out and it won’t even be an issue.. 

Luka curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “You okay?” he asked softly. 

“I…” her voice was shaking, and she took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just. I’m tired.” 

He didn’t believe her. “You’re okay,” he told her, kissing her cheek gently, and then the corner of her mouth. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay.”

Marinette’s phone beeped, and she picked it up with relief. “He’s almost here.”

She slid out of the booth, and Luka followed. He left some bills on the table and took her hand as they walked out. 

“That’s my ride,” Marinette gestured as Nino pulled up at the curb. She turned to face Luka, stepping close. He set his hands on her hips and squeezed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, but she paused, and then turned and caught his mouth instead. Luka moved easily to meet her in one of those slow, deep kisses that made it seem like he had no other place in the world to be. She stroked his cheeks with her fingertips and kissed him again, and then again as she slid her fingers back up into his hair. “Goodbye, Luka,” she whispered, and he shook his head. 

“See you later,” he corrected softly.   

As he let go of her she felt something slide along her hip and looked down to see the pink scarf that had been tied around her waist slipping away. She looked up at Luka’s grinning face as he winked at her and draped the gauzy scarf around his neck. He raised the fabric to his face and inhaled. “See you Thursday,” he told her, eyes twinkling, and turned to walk away. 

Marinette’s knees felt shaky as she stepped down the curb and opened the car door. 

Nino was hunched down in the front seat, both hands pulling his cap over his face. “Geeze, Nette,” he muttered as she fell into the seat and tucked her feet inside. “I really didn’t need to see that.” 

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, but as she flipped down the visor to check herself in the vanity mirror, she saw pink cheeks and sparkling eyes and a broad smile, and knew that she wasn’t convincing. She pressed her fingers to her lips and, for Nino’s sake, fought down the urge to squeal. 

Her glow dimmed a bit as she followed Nino up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alya. She loved her friend, but...she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. She tugged the collar of Luka’s shirt a little higher on her neck, and tried to remember what Luka had told her. She had nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Well well well,” Alya drawled as Marinette slipped into the apartment after Nino. “Your very first walk of shame.” She smirked. “Marinette, I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“What I had in me was a lot of vodka,” Marinette huffed, and came over to the table, accepting the glass of ice water Alya pushed across to her.

Alya waited until Marinette had the drink at her lips to add, “And a hot guy, apparently.” 

Marinette choked, just as Alya had intended. “Alya!” 

“Don’t tell me he wasn’t, girl,” Alya snickered. “You, my friend, look very well fucked.” 

Marinette blushed hard. She was, at that, but Alya didn’t have to put it so...crassly.

Nino groaned. “You know what, just...knock and let me know when you’re done. I don’t want to think about it.” He went down the hall into Alya’s bedroom and shut the door. 

“So you said goodbye to Mr. Right For Tonight?” Alya asked, tapping her fingers against her own glass. “You have all your stuff, right?” She frowned. “Are those his clothes? What happened to your dress?”

“I have it with me,” Marinette defended, picking up the bag she’d dropped. “He just...thought I’d be more comfortable in something else.” Not for a million euros would she have told Alya the whole truth about the dress. “And yes, I said goodbye. For now, anyway,” Marinette muttered, and caught Alya’s gaze when she looked up. Something in that look made her squirm. “Actually we have a date later this week,” she admitted. 

“A date?” Alya raised her eyebrows. “Marinette, maybe I need to clue you in on a few things about this whole one night stand business. As in, one single night. After which you…” She made a fluttering motion with her hand. “You’re not supposed to get a date.” 

Marinette shrugged, and reached over to pluck a croissant from Alya’s plate, just to have something to do with her hands. “Oops.” 

Alya’s frown deepened. 

“What? It’s no big deal,” Marinette defended, though she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need. “We just...thought we’d like to see each other again.” 

Alya looked troubled for a moment, and then grinned. “It was that good, huh?”

“Well—” Marinette squirmed in her seat again. “It was fine, okay? He just...seemed nice.” 

“Uh huh.”  

“It was your idea anyway!” Marinette pointed out defensively.

“My idea was for you to go out and get buzzed and enjoy being drooled over,” Alya grinned. “You decided to get hammered and then get laid all on your own. I hope you’re satisfied .” 

Marinette couldn’t cover the silly smile that wanted to come up at that, but when Alya snickered, Marinette shook herself back to reality and sighed. “It was probably my imagination making things better than they were. I was feeling pretty down last night and I did have a lot to drink. And it has, you know. Been a while.”

“Maybe started seeing through beer goggles?” Alya teased. “Not that I blame you, I thought he was pretty cute when you were dancing, but I’d had a few myself by then too. Not your usual type, but it’s good to branch out.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t want to tell Alya that while her memories of the evening were hazy, she remembered Luka in the morning very clearly, not only the lines of his body but the broadness of his back beneath her arms as she clung to him, the ripple of the muscles tensing and releasing against her as he moved, the dark intensity of his eyes and the way they fluttered closed when she did something he liked. 

She picked up her water glass and took a long gulp. No, she hadn’t needed the liquor to be attracted to him. Not at all. 

Still. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, even now. “Watch,” Marinette sighed, setting the glass down. “The date’ll be a bust and that’ll be the end of it. We probably won’t have anything to say to each other and we’ll exchange awkward texts for a few days and then we’ll never speak again.” 

“Hmm,” Alya raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. It’s fine if you want to have fun, Marinette, you sure as hell could use some. Just be careful, always use protection, and don’t let him take any nudes.”

Marinette blushed deeply, and bit into her croissant. “Thanks so much for your concern,” she muttered around the mouthful. 

***

Marinette knew she was in trouble as soon as she locked eyes with Luka and her stomach started doing somersaults. The slow smile he gave her was so distracting that she barely heard his greeting, or the compliment that followed. She didn’t remember putting her hand in his, it was just there, his fingers rubbing lightly over her knuckles. They hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when Luka tugged her into a shadowed corner and kissed her in that slow, purposeful way he had. His voice surprised her a little, smoother than it had been, without the roughness of hard usage, but, she found, just as seductive. Any resistance Marinette might have had crumbled the second he turned them out of the light and breathed may I ? against her lips. 

When they did finally make it to their table, Luka was just as easygoing as he’d been on their first...night, and he meant it when he said he wanted to get to know her. He asked her questions, and seemed interested in what she said, even when she babbled, watching her with a quietly amused smile. He was interesting, too, telling her about his travels for the past year with his band. They had a surprising number of tastes in common. His eyes were fixed on her whenever she spoke, and he was touching her whenever he got the chance, taking her hand or playing with her fingers, brushing her hair back or letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Despite the kisses they shared whenever one of them couldn’t help themselves, his touch didn’t feel like seduction, just tenderness. Marinette felt like the center of his world, and after so long living on the sidelines of someone else’s life, she reveled in it. 

They were laughing as he walked her home.

“You did not,” Marinette gasped, one hand over her mouth and the other curled around Luka’s arm. 

“We totally did. What can I say, it was a full moon and my best friend is crazy.” Luka shrugged, and grinned while Marinette laughed.

“Wait, so are you a werewolf?” Marinette asked teasingly, as they approached the awning of her building.

“No,” Luka chuckled. “Unless you’re into that. If so, I can see what arrangements I can make for the next full moon.”

“You’d get bitten by a werewolf for me?” Marinette giggled. “How sweet.”

“I’d rather be bitten by you,” Luka teased back, and his hand found her hip, and her arms came up around his neck, and then they were kissing. Heat welled up in her, making her push up against him. Luka made a sound low in his throat and his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her closer. Oh, she wanted him, and by the feel of him he wanted her too, and…

Well. There really wasn’t any point in denying their mutual desire, was there. Marinette pulled away to press her lips along his jaw, and he made that sound again as he tilted his head for her. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Marinette asked, toying with his collar. “My roommate’s out of town tonight, so we won’t be, um...bothering anybody.” 

“I’d love to,” Luka told her, voice deepening. “I’d hate for you to be lonely, all by yourself.”

“Oh, I can entertain myself,” Marinette said daringly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I have an excellent imagination. There’s definitely advantages to having the real you here, though.” 

“Play your cards right and I’m sure we can manage the best of both worlds.” Luka bent and kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to make her shudder. “You can start with telling me how you imagine we get upstairs. Are we making out in the elevator or am I chasing you up the stairs?” 

“Elevator,” Marinette sighed, head tilting as he retraced his favorite route up her neck. “I don’t want to wear your legs out just yet.” She paused to consider. “Maybe you could chase me that far, though.” 

Luka pressed another long, slow kiss to her mouth. “Then you’d better run,” he told her, grinning playfully. “I won’t be responsible for what happens when I catch you.” They both giggled, and then Marinette broke away, running for the building doors. Luka darted after her, staying just at her heels, sweeping her up in his arms just in time to carry her through the elevator doors. Marinette spared a brief moment to wonder what she was doing, being so bold, and in sight of the entire lobby, too, but Luka grinned at her, and she forgot to care. Marinette leaned over him to press the button for her floor, and then forgot everything but his mouth under hers. 

Later, when they said a lingering goodbye at her door, and he asked her if she’d like to go out again, she didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. She’d figure out a way to explain it to Alya later.

Fiction Master Post

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Princess {Fred Weasley x Plus Size Reader}

Plot: Requested by anon: Fred Weasley asks you to the ball and treats you like the most beautiful one there.

Characters: Fred Weasley x Plus Size Female Identifying Reader

Part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series.

The Winter Ball was coming up and all over Hogwarts, girls were freaking out about who was going to ask them to the dance. No one had asked you to go to the ball yet and honestly, you weren’t expecting anyone to. You weren’t the typical prim and proper, dainty and petite girl that a lot of boys wanted. You were louder, heavier with rolls of fat and wobbly bits. You’d long since grown used to your body but you knew that a lot of boys at Hogwarts, particularly the shallow ones, really only cared about looks.

Hermione had asked that you go together as friends with Ginny and Luna and a couple of your single friends to make a stand that being single was okay and normal. You agreed, thinking that was a lovely idea. You were in the year above Hermione, Ron and Harry and the year below Fred and George and you were friends with all of them which made for interesting stories.

At Hogsmeade, one of your friends, Esther, helped you look for dresses. Esther had no both finding a dress, she seemed to suit any colour and any style but you... you were a little harder to buy a dress for. You hadn’t wanted anything too tight, although you were okay with your size and shape, you didn’t want it to be on show for the world to see. Esther had plucked various dresses of various styles and colours for you to try. As you looked in the mirror, you tried not to focus on the parts of yourself that you hated but more so the ones you did like. 

“What do you think?” You asked, stepping out of the changing room and twirling.

“Bloody hell,” a voice said. You looked up seeing Fred.

“Fred? What are you doing here?”

Fred’s eyes were wide, “Helping Ginny out. You look... Wow.”

“Is it too much?” You asked, looking down at the red silk that adorned your body.

“No!” He exclaimed a little too fast, “It’s... It’s bloody perfect.”

You smiled, thanking him, enjoying the way he gaped at you. It boosted your confidence a little. You had felt a little self conscious about your arms but the way Fred looked at you, you felt a lot better.

“Who’s taking you to the dance?” Fred asked as you looked in the mirror and twirled.

“No one. Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Esther and I are going together as single girls-”

“Let me,” Fred interrupted. You looked at him confused, “Let me take you to the dance.”

You frowned, confused. As far as you knew, you and Fred were just friends. I mean, sure, you’d had a crush on him for years but you knew that wasn’t going to happen so you were over it now... right? “Together?” You asked, “As friends or-”

“Let me take you to the dance,” Fred repeated, stepping closer, “as your date.” He wore that charming smile, a glow in his eyes that you could never say no to.

From behind Fred, you could see Esther bobbing her head up and down excitedly, “I... Yes.” You decided, “Okay, I’ll be your... date.” It felt a little strange to say that about your friend but butterflies erupted in your stomach. A date! You and Fred! A date!

Fred grinned, “Perfect,” he stood up straighter feeling rather boastful now, “Wear that dress, it’s perfect.”

You looked down at it, running the fabric through your fingertips, “I will.” Fred grinned at you once more before turning and going to find his sister.

Esther rushed to you, “Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed, “I told you he fancies you!”

Tonight was the night of the ball. Nervous was an understatement; you were petrified, “There should be a potion to make me stop being nervous,” you muttered as you pinned parts of your hair up.

“There is,” said Esther, “it’s called vodka.” You rolled your eyes, continuing to fix your hair nervously checking the time every thirty seconds, “When have you to meet Fred?”

“Ten minutes.” You were excited but you were absolutely terrified. You’d barely seen him in the last week, apparently trying to get everything in order for the dance, George told you. You were confused about what all of this meant. Fred had said it was a date but was it? Were you going to go as friends or more than that? Did he like you? Oh Merlin, you hoped he did but you tried not to think about that so that you didn’t get your heart crushed.

“How do I look?” You asked Esther as you stood up, smoothing down your dress.

“You look lovely,” she grinned, “Oh, he is going to just melt for you!”

“He’s already seen me! He won’t care anymore!”

Esther rolled her eyes, “You’re seriously underestimating how good you look and how much Fred fancies you! Now go or you’ll be late!”

You were meeting Fred outside of the Great Hall so you walked out of the common room and down the halls. You passed by various friends of yours, including Hermione and Ginny, who squealed with excitement and gushed over how good you looked, “Fred’s bricking it,” Ginny laughed, “It’s so funny.” After chatting to them briefly, they sent you to go find him.

And find him you did.

There he stood at the bottom of the steps with a single rose and a wide smile. You walked down the steps slowly, careful not to fall, when he rushed up them to get to you, “Hi,” he said with a smile, “you look... you look like something out of a fairytale, like a princess.”

You couldn’t help but smile widely at him, “You look awful handsome yourself,” you said, reaching out to brush his shoulder off. He must’ve bought himself a new suit and tie. The tie was red, the same red as your dress, and he even bought new shoes, “Did you buy these new?”

Fred nodded, “Yeah, been saving up. I wanted to look good for you.”

“Fred,” you said softly, “you always look good.” You didn’t realise how much that meant to him as he cleared his throat and held out his arm. You gladly took it and he walked you down to the bottom of the steps.

“Oh, this is for you,” he said, holding out the rose, “I bought you a bouquet, I had Esther hide them but when you return to your dorm room, they’ll be there.” 

You thanked him, telling him that was too much but he just grinned at you, “Anything for you, princess.”

Together, you walked into the ball. It was beautifully decorated, whites, golds and silvers all around. You pulled Fred to get a drink and bumped into George on the way who winked at Fred and told you that you looked lovely.

The music changed to something slow, of course it would, and Fred stuck his hand out and bowed low, “Can I have this dance?”

Smiling, you put your empty cup on the table and curtseyed to him before accepting his hand and allowing him to lead you to the middle of the dance floor. It wasn’t exceptionally busy yet so the dance floor was half empty but as soon as you and Fred stepped onto it, the floor emptied. 

“I don’t really know how to dance,” you said as you held one of his hands and rested the other on his shoulder. Fred’s other hand fell to your waist, it felt like a very natural thing.

“I’ll teach you,” he grinned as you started to dance together. It was a slow song yet had a bit of a build up. Fred led you and as you began to grow more confident, you both got a little bolder. Fred twirled you around, making you laugh loudly as he spun you, that’s when you realised you were the only two on the dancefloor and everyone was watching you both.

He pulled you in close as you said, “They’re all staring at us.” He could see that you were feeling self conscious.

“They’re all staring at you, princess,” he said as he spun you again before dipping you with such ease, “You look absolutely gorgeous and they can’t take their eyes off of you... nor can I.”

You looked up at him, still in the dipped position, feeling that surge of butterflies in your stomach and all you could think about was how bad you wanted to kiss him. Fred looked down at you, eyes fleeting to your lips, realising that you had been staring at his lips the whole time. He smirked before pulling you back up to dance to the final part of the song. He wouldn’t kiss you yet, he wanted it to be more private. You sucked in a breath as you melded into his embrace laying your head on his chest. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as people began filtering back onto the dancefloor. Fred Weasley made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

The song melded into another and another and you stood, slow dancing with Fred with your head on his chest. The tempo was faster and now the dancefloor was flooded with people but you were too wrapped up in your moment together that you didn’t quite care.

“Would you like to go a walk?” Fred asked after a few more songs, “I’d like to talk to you.”

You nodded and allowed him to navigate you both through the crowds before walking outside. The cold breeze hit you hard, Fred was quick to shrug off his jacket and drape it around your shoulders, “You’ll get cold,” you tried to say but Fred shook his head and told you he’d be fine.

You linked your arm through his as you walked before sitting on a bench in Hogwarts gardens, “Why me?” You asked him quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you ask me to be your date? I know Angelina and a lot of other girls were lining up to be your date... They’re much prettier than I am... skinnier too.” 

Fred scoffed, “You truly don’t get it, do you?” You frowned, “(y/n), I fancy you. I fancy the absolute pants off you. I’ve fancied you for years! You are the most beautiful, funniest, most down to earth girl I’ve ever met. You’re so kind and helpful, so pretty without even trying. You are beautiful inside and out. I love the way you look. Hell, you could be twelve feet tall and have bogies for hair and I’d still fancy you!”

“You fancy me?” You asked incredulously.

Fred laughed as he nodded, “Obviously! I’d be daft not to fancy you! Add ‘oblivious’ to your list as well,” he teased as he grabbed your hand and pulled you up to dance with him again. You could still faintly hear the music from the Great Hall as you swayed with him. This time it was a different sort of dance. It was more of a sway really but it was more intimate. Your head lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as his hands wrapped around your waist pulling you close.

“You really genuinely like me?”

“Course I do, princess,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “You’re so bloody brilliant and have no idea!”

You pulled your head back to look at him, “I’ve fancied you for years, too.” You told him quietly, “I never thought you liked me back...”

The two of you laughed, “What are we like?” He asked, “Couple of numpties.”

You smiled up at him as he smiled back at you. Your eyes drifted to his lips again and he began to lean in close. He kissed you gently and unusually nervous. You kissed him back eagerly and that’s when he pulled you close and dipped you once more.

You yelped, getting a fright, and breaking the kiss to see him grinning at you, “I know you wanted me to kiss you when I did this in there,” Fred teased as your cheeks burned, “I thought I’d make you wait.”

“Bloody git,” you whispered before pulling him to you to kiss you again. Yep, Fred Weasley made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

[onesunofagun]

Undeath in the Era of the Hero of Time : 1

aka Seeing the Hero’s Shade in this TP replay shook up all my feelings of agony again and now I’m working backwards from there because I like to hurt myself.

Part One: An Overview of How Fucked Things Are ™

aka The Blood Soaked Hyrule of OoT’s time 

Take it as you will, in the Zeldaverse, the colour green has an overwhelming association with undeath. 

Sure, sure, life too, I hear you. Farore came down and produced all the living beings that would uphold the law, apparently (specifically not claiming monsters and demons, but that’s another thing). On the surface, that make sense. Forests, lush green fields, prosperity, all of those good things. Green the colour of the most common rupee, green the colour of the Hero’s tunic. Green the colour of magic, and potions that revitalise the body and spirit.

The thing is, revitalising the body and spirit is a flexible idea. To imbue something with new life and vitality can have a lot of implications, especially when you stop talking about the strictly living. 

I feel vitality is certainly the best word, not only because of it’s association with life and potency ala the Goddess origin stories, but in the ways that the game uses green itself, such as a measure of both magic and stamina. Green is the colour chosen to represent the unlocked potential within young Heroes. 

Vitality specifically refers to a state of being strong and active, and it also refers to the continuance of something to exist. That’s a great thing for plants, or economies, or a potion taken by a young Link who’s swung their sword around or fired off a spell one too many times and feels a little low.

But the dead, though?

As it happens, Hyrule is absolutely littered with human remains, in no small part due to the very recently ended civil wars. 

The Civil War, if you need the reminder, is described as a time when the many races of Hyrule were divided and each focused on establishing dominion over the Sacred Realm (because Triforce). I touched on this in my last meta post, but basically, its no holds barred to stop that from happening because if the wrong person gets into the Sacred Realm and makes a wish, it immediately malfunctions. 

The criteria for getting into the Sacred Realm and touching the Triforce without royally fucking everything, is basically impossible for anybody not chosen by Hylia. 

If you are neither of Hylia’s Bloodline (The Hyrulean Royal Family) or one of her Chosen Avatars (The current incarnation of the Hero), you are not supposed to touch the Triforce. Ever. You WILL be found wanting, it WILL shatter, the Sacred Realm WILL be corrupted by your selfish desires, it WILL unleash and onslaught of mystical influence (reflecting your heart) onto the country.

Now, if it’s Zelda or Link who touches it, that’s fine. Good vibes will pour out. An age of prosperity will ensue. The Sacred Realm is in its default state, a blank and neutral wellspring of magical force.

The game has been rigged from the get go because Hylia still had a job to do. She had to get creative because Demise almost captured the flag, so to speak, leading to the snafu of the Cycle and all that because she cheated at the game, but ultimately Hylia’s task was to guard the Triforce. And that still remains true, for the most part. The Hyrulian Royal Family (and the Shiekah by extension) had to stop at absolutely nothing to win the wars and unify the country, and retain the stasis of the Realm and Triforce, because that’s what their divine orders are.

That’s what they’re supposed to do, ‘the very reason that they’re born’, to lend a quote from King Daphnes. With Hylia on their side by default, they’re willing to do a lot of fucked up things to make sure that happens, ‘for the greater good’.

These dark times are a result of our deeds... -- TP Zelda

In OoT The Sheikah are known as the Shadow Folk. They are heavily associated with death, whether that is caring for the dead’s rest in the graveyard, or working as spies and assassins on behalf of the Royals, or dabbling in various forms of necromancy. Red eyes are an established trait of their people. I will note that, at least from a Japanese point of view, red is often used with the intention of intimidating evil spirits. But it is also a color identified with power and vitality.

So, one could suppose, the Sheikah red eye also symbolises power/control over evil and darkness (spiritually).

That’s a little something that plays nicely with things like the OoT Manga’s explanation of the tear on the eye (and the previous betrayal of the Royal family) and the high probability of a Shiekah faction defaulting during the wars and being banished with other traitors to become the Twili. I know the manga isn’t canon and also SS Impa has a tear, but if you squint, that might be because of her own feelings of personal failure to the Goddess after Hylia’s shedding of her Divinity. You could headcanon that. The existence of the Yiga later in BoTW as a similar happening of division and betrayal lend some more weight to things.

Also, Sheikah who defaulted during the civil war might have even been the ones who actually utilised the Shadow Temple. 

Headline: Necromancer ninjas in the process of torturing enough info out of the enemies of the Royal family, who were reportedly seeking the Sacred Realm, decide ‘hey fuck it, let’s take it ourselves’. 

That certainly fits into the description of, ‘interloper skilled with dark magic started to appear, seeking dominion of the Sacred Realm’, for me.

Anyway, to the point.

In ostensibly one of the most haunted areas of the game, Kakariko village, we’re treated to the Graveyard and the Royal Family’s Tomb, the Shadow Temple, and the Bottom of the Well. All of these showcase the obvious death and torture that went on, as well as the creepy byproducts of places so saturated with blood, pain, regret, and hatred.

There are skulls in little alcoves on the walls of the catacombs, literally built of bones, who deliver messages to Link. The ones that whisper these messages are all marked by the glowing green eye sockets. Here, the green is used to make the presence of a ghostly sentience inhabiting the skull. 

Unsettling. Musty. 4/10 heebie-jeebies.

The Deadhand, giver of childhood trauma that it is, really does its job to hammer home the fact that there has been so many deaths, so much anguish and horror, that those remains can seemingly form into entirely new monstrosities. An amalgamate of undead flesh and nightmare fuel, made up of the body parts of torture victims and the grudges of lingering spirits, seeking to consume the living vitality of whatever comes near-- Link wearing green around the thing might as well be red to a bull.

When defeated in game, it typically drops a small green pot that refuels Link’s magic.

This is a common theme with undead enemies, specifically the ones that are of the zombie flavour. Redeads, Gibdos, Deadhands. All of them generally give up, effectively, distilled magic as a drop item.

Terrifying. Probably smells even worse. 11/10 heebie-jeebies.

Literal torture device. So many people died here, the room has a green tinge to it. It is soaked in the spiritual imprint of the pain and anguish that took place here. Blood sits here looking freshly spilled, despite the civil war ending many years prior and the Shiekah having ‘died out’, save Impa.

Elsewhere in the temple and under the well, blood splatters are darker red and at least have the decency to pretend to be old. This means one of two things:

Impa still has to make sacrifices to the Seal that contains Bongo Bongo, or feeds people to the undead creatures who lurk down in the dark so they don’t wander up. (Cue the gasp of ‘so that’s why she let the Hylians into Kakariko! Every so often one of them goes missing!’)

Which is a fun dark headcanon to play with, but probably not the case.

Or more likely, the residual spiritual energy that the green haze suggests manifests fresh blood in a manner typical of extreme hauntings. For the victims, their hatred and pain persists so strongly, that their blood seeps up from the cracks no matter how long it has been.

Poltergeist shit. Slip hazard. 8/10 heebie-jeebies.

Then there is this. Some people say its just another torture thing, it could have been intended to convey some sort of acid dip. If not torture, maybe bodily disposal. And sure, that’s a reasonable guess. 

But it is at the very bottom most cavern of the Well of Three Features, and if it were acid-- for how long the bodies have just been marinating in it-- you can assume nothing would be left of them to stick out. And the fact that all the bodies are neatly spaced, with the arms oddly preserved. They’re presumably like that from lowering bodies in from the wooden beams, the victims may have been tied up with their arms straight upwards. 

But, given the Redeads wandering around nearby, I’m pretty sure that’s what this thing does. Make Redeads.

The liquid itself hurts Link, but Link is also alive, and this pool seems to be lacking much of a glow. It’s green, sure, but it’s not exactly teeming with energy. And I think that might be part of its designated purpose-- extracting that green vital energy from living prisoners, draining them until they’re dead. I’m talking juicing people and scooping out the good stuff like the pulp from a really disturbing OJ. 

But still steeped in the juice as a corpse, you’re basically pickled in magic brine, so then those gross husks crawl out as Redeads. (Hey, you know what’s handy in wartime? Scaring the shit out of enemy forces by sending some zombies at them. And if they kill them, you’ve lost nothing. If the Sheikah could actually control them? Undead soldiers. Excellent stuff.)

But all the pulpy good stuff is gone, and has been for a while, so most of the bodies in there haven’t pickled in enough magic to reanimate, I suppose.

Human juicer that churns out zombies. Out of juice currently. 6/10 heebie-jeebies.

Now, THIS is active zombie juice, if I’ve ever seen it.

This is the Royal Family’s Tomb, by the way. Note the skeletons, picked clean, missing a lot of bones. And that’s a choice they made, because there are also full skeletons around to find. 

There are plenty of Redeads down there, for good measure, so I’m going to assume the skeletons are potential graverobbers who were eaten. If Sheikah can presumably command the dead, then the Redeads down there might actually be a counter measure against thieves. If a thief freaks out in the dark when he realises there’s undead down there trying to eat their face, there is also a good likelihood they’ll trip and splash into this green death. A few seconds of exposure is probably enough to kill the average person, and then if their corpse stews for a bit, you have another Redead. 

Their living energy revitalises the goop. Their body becomes bolstered security measures. It’s a self sustaining system.

Horrific but effective. 5/10 heebie-jeebies.

Also, there’s a chance that a couple of the skeletons or one or two Redeads down there are the remains of the Composer Brothers. But they will get their own special part in this series, covering Poes in particular.

But for the moment, let it be noted: their eyes are also that ghostly green.

Poes are spirits that are unable to move on and who have the unfortunate fate, if left unattended, of turning into phantom monsters who forget their human selves and prey on the living. They tend to pop up the most in two places. One, the Kakariko Graveyard, is obvious and somewhat expected. Dead people, lots of lingering spirits, most of them probably Sheikah and Knights of renown who died in the line of duty. Understandable.

So when you apply the same thought to the fact that Hyrule field is the second most common place to find them, you may as well be concluding that it’s an enormous mass grave of war casualties.

We have established that mass quantities of concentrated death, especially earth that is saturated by the spilled blood of strong soldiers and highly skilled warriors (full of life and magic, as it were), can result in creepy shit made from human remains reanimating over time. 

Poes share their haunting of the field with these bumpkins:

These hauntings are not the result of Ganondorf, or the corruption of the Sacred realm. They are not a particular curse placed by anybody.

The Poes and Stalfolk are present in the game from the very beginning, and quite normal fare for Hyrulean life. Lon Lon ranch and castle town are walled off for good reason, and the drawbridge raises at night specifically in response to the literal skeleton monsters who roam around at night. 

Stalchildren, specifically, seem akin to the Deadhand in that they are not a direct reanimation of any one particular set of remains. Rather, they seem to be mutated amalgamations of various parts. In the case of the Stalchildren, they rise up under the dark of night, a not-quite-human formation of bone and magic. They seem to possess an aimless drive to attack, perhaps possessed still by the orders of the soldiers who died there. 

Interestingly, in a somewhat similar fashion to BotW’s blood moon reanimating the fallen monsters (due to the potency of Malice in the land peaking at those times), Stalchildren only seem to be active under the moonlight. They disintegrate when the sunlight touches them, which promotes the idea that they are the bones of the fallen possessed by the ghostly memory of the war.

They also appear to wear raggy leather kilts, which is a feature they share with the related monster, the Stalfos, who are often acting out the part of a soldier as well. Even better, those bastards are actually WEARING GREEN, to boot, which given the history of Hyrulean Knights prior and their uniforms (SS and Minish cap) is pretty self evident. 

Stalfos, however, are also confirmed as humans who have died under certain unique circumstance (such as the magical influences of the Lost Woods) and reanimated as a consequence of what I assume is basically magic poisoning.

It could be a bit like an overdose, succumbing under the intense mystical forces at play within proximity to the Deku Tree (which the strong of spirit can resist). It could be a draining effect, maybe even just a gaseous version of what’s happening when people come into contact with the green goo, except extracted by the forest spirits and plants (also possible that the strong of spirit might resist). That could go either way.

The forest absolutely does eat people’s spiritual energy, though. RIP to Grog and Link’s mother. They’re Stalfos now.

"Anybody who comes into the forest will be lost. Everybody will become a Stalfos. Everybody, Stalfos."

Upon killing both kind of Stal, however, the bones rapidly deteriorate into flames.

You guessed it: green.

I’ve already pointed out a BoTW reference already, but to add more context back into this thing about the tie between green and things in Hyrule that refuse to die properly:

That last one is cheap of me I’m sorry but we’ll get to him too

So we have established that green has an overwhelming association with not only life, but states of undeath.

The overview is, things were already pretty fucked in OoT Era before Ganondorf got the Triforce.

On to part 2!

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

dearest comfy <3 what if Triss was a blacksmith AND Eskel was a blacksmith??? What then?? Enemies to lovers maybe? <3

Ellie. I love you. I love this prompt. And I love Trisskel. This is a triple threat of wonderfulness. Hopefully the fic delivers 💖💖

Warnings: no violence, some hostile Triss (mostly internal), lmao is this considered idiot and exasperated to lovers? idk you tell me, its pretty chill tbh, unless you don’t like daggers. there's lots of daggers. 

_____________________

Triss was furious. 

She had spent her whole life stoking a furnace, shadowing her father, sweating, suffering burn after burn and later cut after searing cut as she learned to forge all sorts of weaponry. Now, this teddy bear-shaped child was setting up shop in her courtyard?! Unacceptable. Unbelievable! She’d staked a claim on her territory for market day early. So early she hadn’t even made her first blade. Her father still had her hammering out decorative discs and fastenings for armor. 

One of her customers had the audacity to call him ‘cute’ to her face.

He was no more than twenty-five, tall and stocky like most people expected of a blacksmith, but they claimed there was a softness about him. Triss remembered that softness well, before loss and responsibility really set in. What others saw as sweet, boyish charm she saw as a weakness. 

She sent her assistant to assess his booth, maybe flirt and ask some questions, and was even more annoyed when they came back. 

“He’s young but he’s not inexperienced. His blades are good. So is his uh… customer service.” 

Triss rolled her eyes, “What kind of weapons was he selling? I don’t care about his looks. I have breasts.”

Her assistant shrugged and described his table. 

That following week she put in double the hours at her workshop, put the extra flourish on every piece, perfected every detail until her arms ached and her head pounded. She often forgot to drink water, let alone eat, when she got worked up, so her assistant brought her meals. 

When the next market day came, she proudly displayed her new wares.

And if she took her hair out of the usual braids and unbuttoned her blouse a bit lower than last week, who would be brave enough to point it out?

This time the newcomer had the gaul to visit her booth. 

“Good morning, Miss Merigold,” he dipped in a bow of respect before she even turned around to greet him, straightening up and disarming her with a lopsided grin, “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself after last week’s market. But you were far more efficient at break-down than I.” 

She wouldn’t have called him cute by a long shot. He was downright handsome.

Then she remembered they were rivals. There would be no fraternizing with the enemy.  

It took her a moment to gather her wits before she responded, “Good morning. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She knew. 

Of course she knew. But he was far better looking than she had assumed, his scars only adding to his alluring presence, and she needed to feel like she had the upper hand. 

His smile grew a bit sheepish, “Eskel of the Blue Mountains. I’m your new neighbor… sort of,” he offered his hand over her table and she took it, hoping her hesitation wasn’t too obvious. 

“Welcome. I hope the city is treating you well?” 

“Well enough,” he acquiesced, letting go of her hand after a moment, “To be truthful, I haven’t left my forge much at all. I’m still getting used to her. But you know how that goes.” 

Triss raised her eyebrows and plastered an over-polite smile on her face, “I must say I wouldn’t. I inherited my forge from my father. I learned with her. We get along quite well.” 

Eskel was called by someone from his booth as he made to speak. He waved at them to wait a moment and turned back to Triss with a wink, “Well if you have any relationship advice, let me know.”

Before she could think of a polite but not too friendly response, he was gone. 

She turned back to her assistant in a huff, “He’s infuriating.” 

“He’s dreamy.”

“Hush,” she snapped, pointing to her sketch pad, “Hand me that. Call for me if there’s a large sale or a problem.”

She sketched and planned half the day away. But when she realized how much the materials for her plans would cost she adjusted her cleavage and left her tent. Someone had to drive the hard bargain around here, and she knew her assistant was too kind. 

The next week she arrived with a beautiful set of delicate-looking throwing knives, a few different ornate daggers, and a sword fit for a king alongside her typical, practical items. However, she was seeing more than just her flowing hilt designs inlaid with etchings. 

Eskel seemed to have had a similar idea.

She wandered past his booth, pretending to buy fabric from the stall next to him, and fumed. It seemed Eskel had a sharper eye than she’d anticipated. He very clearly mimicked her setup and emphasized the smaller wares like she did. He even had the same sign in three different languages about customizations and bulk orders.

This had become all out war. 

When her sword sold that day she decided to finish off the dozen or so she had laying in wait for specific orders over the week. She even detailed a breastplate to match for three of them, guessing at the size in reference to the sword as best she could. As she worked she mulled over her new competition. His soft golden eyes that crinkled ever so slightly when he smiled were absolutely aggravating. At least that’s what she told herself. It was simply her competitive nature that had her fixating on this mountain of a man. 

She returned the next week with a spread so large she could barely fit it on her table.

Eskel had come back with daggers inlaid with precious stones of dazzling pale blue and sparkling greys and whites. Blue Mountains indeed.

Polite customers started mumbling comparisons to themselves while the brash ones outwardly used the other stall to barter a better price. Every time Eskel was mentioned Triss would bristle, hold back a snarl, and turn on every bit of innocent charm she had. 

She began leaving with a lighter cart and a challenging wink from her competition. Over the week she worked her fingers to the bone over fine details and getting the balance absolutely perfect. 

After months of competition, months of uncomfortable eye contact, she finally broke when he sold a matching helmet, breastplate, and dagger to one of her most loyal customers. 

“Eskel. We need to have a word,” she marched right up to his tent, hands tucked into her half apron at her waist. 

He smirked, “That all?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We can’t keep making the same things.”

“Pretty daggers and ceremonial armor? Why not?” he mimicked her, folding his massive arms over his own chest, leaning back against his table, making him just a little bit taller than Triss rather than the usual towering over her. 

She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer, “We’ve both done well, or I’m assuming you have, but eventually all the nobility this side of the canal will have been sold to. We’ll have saturated the market and be left with an armory full of ornate weaponry with no one to buy it.”

“Preserving the market means one gets to keep said market.”

Triss nodded but Eskel seemed unimpressed. 

“And how would you suggest we settle who keeps it?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she just wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Or kiss it. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

She scrambled for a moment, not having entirely thought this through, “A competition.”

He stood to full height and sighed, “What are the terms?”

“One dagger. Same price. Whoever sells first gets the market. The other has to branch out or move.”

Eskel nodded and held his hand out, “Agreed.”

Triss went to take his hand but he gripped her forearm, his whole hand covering much of her elbow. She did her best not to think about how strong his arm felt in her grasp, how when she squeezed she felt a gentle give before she hit muscle. 

He winked at her as he released his grasp and turned back to work, “See you next week Merigold.” 

Triss worked on a single dagger all week. 

She couldn’t get Eskel’s stupid cocky smile or his tanned arms out of her head. The way he looked down at her with that condescending smile enraged her. Her assistant claimed he looked more fond than condescending, but Triss only narrowed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been raised in the marketplace. She knew exactly how men viewed her. 

In the end, her dagger looked very fitting for a man like him. Broad, sturdy, a bit curved at the tip, and simply yet elegantly decorated. She cooled it in a liquid mixture her father had made and kept secret, giving the blade a finish similar to copper, but with all the strength of steel. 

If she noticed the coincidence she stubbornly ignored it. 

Eskel was already set up and waiting when she arrived at the market. She spared him only a curt nod while she set up her booth as if preparing for battle. 

He sauntered over to her before dawn had officially broken, blade in hand with what Triss might guess to be a nervous expression. 

“Good morning, Merigold,” he cleared his throat and set the dagger currently wrapped in cloth on the table between them, “What have you for our little competition?” 

Triss proudly pulled the dagger she had made from her case, handing it over by the hilt as she spoke, “Good morning, Eskel.”

He took the blade and hummed as he inspected it, whispering, “It’s beautiful...”

She wasn’t prepared for such a genuine compliment. Nor was she prepared for how much she loved hearing that word fall from his lips.

“Th-thank you.”

Eskel handed it back before unwrapping his.

Triss almost had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, gracefully curved, a turquoise stone grip bordered by an ornate handguard. The part that really got her though was the engraving on the blade. She stepped out and around the table to catch more of the sunlight to see what it was and gasped. Little jasmine flowers were etched into the flat of the blade. 

She looked up at him in awe, “Why jasmine?”

He gave her a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “You, ahm- your perfume. It is jasmine right?” 

She tilted her head and really looked at him since the first time she met him, “You noticed my perfume?”

“It’s nice,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his leather apron pockets. 

Triss thought about all the winks and the ‘good mornings’ and compliments. She’d thought they were just to get her buttered up, but maybe she’d been a little harsher than she needed to.

“It’s stunning,” she breathed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, not wanting to pull away from his warmth when she had to. 

They were interrupted by her assistant and set a price quickly before scurrying back to their tents. 

All day they would glance toward the other’s booth, but Triss was no longer checking his table. She was looking for him. His kind smile and boisterous laugh. His easy charm and especially his humility under pressure. 

All day she struggled with the realization that she was just a little bit in love with her competition. 

Nearing sundown she told her assistant to begin cleaning up and grabbed her coin purse before marching over to his stand once again. 

“Did you sell it?” Eskel looked disappointed and she was surprised to be glad to tell him no. 

“I have two things to say and I will only say them once, so listen carefully. I realize I’ve been unduly cold to you and I want to apologize. You’ve proven that you’re not only a skilled craftsman but seem to be a good man as well and you don’t deserve it. “

“Apology accepted,” Eskel grinned, leaning back on his table as he waited for her next item.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to buy the dagger. The one with the jasmines.”

Eskel frowned, “You- you’re forfeiting?”

Triss bit her lip and forced herself to look him in his honey gold eyes, “Yes. Though I hope we can both agree to stay where we are? I think I might miss you if you leave.”

He grinned and pushed off the table, standing just inches from Triss now that he was upright. His hand hesitantly brushed a stray curl out of her eyes as he leaned closer, hesitating to give her time to leave if she wanted, before he brushed his lips against hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed. His hands covered her back, pressing her to him and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

When they parted they were gasping for breath they both wished they didn't need.

“What about a trade and a truce?” 

Triss nodded, standing up on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips, “And dinner.”

Eskel chuckled, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.” 

[the-silentium]

Murphy day Pt. 4

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -  Epilogue

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 3480 words.

Warnings: Medical stuff without much detail. 

A/N: YAY last chapter of this series! This was a lot of fun! Hope you guys stay tuned for more Bad Batch fics! Don’t forget to leave comments, always much appreciated!

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

At first, you felt numb. It felt like your mind was wandering around, completely separated from your body. Where you should be feeling your hands and feet, there was only nothingness, a way too cold nothingness. 

Then the soreness poked at the corner of your brain, slowly assaulting your nerves, crawling up your body until all you could feel was a mass of terribly aching limbs. A constant discomfort deep within your throat prompted you to cough it out to relieve yourself of the nagging feeling, the weak attempts miserably failing to alleviate the sensation of something invading your throat. 

As you tried to raise a hand to rub at your neck, you realized that something was keeping it down. Something warm. And tight. 

Like Tech's hand when he was pulling you away from the predator on your tail. Or when he was dangling in the air on the verge of death, the only thing keeping him from disappearing into the abyss being your fingers clutching his hand. 

Fear flooded your system, fighting the exhaustion paralyzing your limbs. Your hand closed around the warm soft object in your grip, your hold tightening despite the pain radiating from your fingers. You couldn't let go. He would die. Your friend would die. 

You didn't hear the yelp over the frenetic heartbeat booming in your ears, your closed eyes projecting you directly to that day when the dark sky offered the perfect camouflage to the draconic reptile. He was concealed in the dark, waiting for you to drop your guard. No. He was waiting for you to drop Tech so he could feast on his flesh. 

Your eyes flew open in terror as the hand in yours slipped slightly, your fist crushing it with all your might to keep it secure. 

The unexpected brightness brings tears to your eyes, the first droplets falling down your cheeks before a familiar figure invaded your personal space, his other hand flying to your shoulder in a comforting grip. 

His lips were moving, trying to tell you something that you couldn't hear over the hammering of your heart or your quick breathing or the hectic beeping sound on your left. 

Lifting your head a little, pain exploded behind your eyes, forcing your head back down immediately. Your eyes moved to your hand, still imprisoning another's in its vice grip. The sight made you relax slightly. You'd not dropped him. 

Before your attention could return to the person hovering above you, his hand on your shoulder retreated as someone else took his place from your other side, a total stranger that looked oddly familiar in some way. He moved quickly around you, talking to you while putting something terribly cold onto your chest multiple times before removing something taped to your face and removing the thing down your throat. 

You coughed as you felt the thing move out, more tears leaking down your face at the effort. 

"You're okay Y/N." You finally heard, your mind concentrating on what was around instead of yourself. "You're okay." He repeated in case you still didn't hear him, his other hand returning to your shoulder. 

His dark locks seemed even wilder than they were in the jungle, although they weren't slick with sweat and rain anymore. His armor was off, leaving him in a black skin fitted suit that allowed you to appreciate just perfectly fit he was beneath all that composite. His tattoo was still intriguing, but his eyes reminded you too much of someone else to let yourself wander about how soft the ink would feel beneath your fingertips. 

"T-" You coughed at the roughness of your throat, increasing the pulsing feeling into your skull. 

"Don't talk yet." Hunter chided, getting closer as the other man moved around, checking machines and bags disposed all around you. Where was water when you needed it?

"Tech's fine. All he got was a bruised hand." His gaze moved to your joined hands on the bed. "No wonder. You've got a hell of a grip." 

Your eyes widen in realization that you were still clutching him in a terribly tight grasp, pain erupting from your white fingers as soon as you relaxed the tension. 

He shook his hand once before massaging his digits to resume the blood flow. He turned to you, all traces of pain washed off his face, relief, and exhaustion taking its place. 

"You scared us all to death, you know that?" 

You frowned, unsure as to why. 

"Tech said that the fall should have been fatal." It clicked in your head, your fall replaying back in your head, the air hitting you full force, your stomach on the verge of your lips, the screams resonating in your ears. 

"Somehow, you survived the fall and we took you to the closest GAR medical outpost." 

You frowned, looking around to the room but were interrupted by a light flashing directly into your eyes. You blinked, surprised but tried to maintain them open for the apparent exam. 

"Follow the light." The doctor softly instructed, obliging as he moved the light from right to left. He nodded in approval. "Does it hurt somewhere?"

You nodded slowly, a finger pointing at your head the best you could with your stiff joints. 

"Your head?" You nodded in confirmation. 

"Your pilot will be monitored closely for a while. As of now, her vitals are good and I'll give her something for the pain." He addressed Hunter, the latter nodding in understanding. Your head tilted to the side, your eyebrows dipped in a frown. Pilot? "Keep her rested, no moving around like the other one." He finished on a disapproving tone and pointed look, pressed some buttons on a machine right beside you, and left the room when Hunter promised to keep you in bed. 

"We had to pass you as our pilot so you could be treated here, so play the game." He whispered when the doctor exited the room and turned to meet your confused face.

Your eyes widened, quickly shaking your head because you don't know shit about ships! What if someone asked you about stuff GAR related? Hissing, you abruptly stopped, your head spinning and hurting. 

"Stop that. You may have survived but you had a severe concussion, some internal injuries, broke an arm, a few ribs, and have lots and lots of bruises." His eyes roamed your face, analyzing the different colors painting your skin, although you couldn't care less because your eyes caught the cast enveloping your right arm. 

You were fucked. You'd never be able to go home and act like you didn't go out on Murphy day. You'll get punished, your life will become more miserable, people will avoid you even more than they already did. Maybe they'll quick you out of the village! 

Your face must have shown your panic or maybe it was the fact that the beeping sound accelerated along with your heartbeat, but Hunter got closer, his hand reaching for your shoulder once more. 

"What's wrong?" 

"T-" You coughed before clearing your throat. Your mouth felt like it was full of sand, but you had to get it out. "They'll know-" You winced. "-I was out." 

"Well. I'm sure they know by now." He looked sheepish, scratching the back of his head like that, almost uncomfortable to tell you some precious information. "You've been out for a bit less than a month." 

"A month?!" You choked, eyes widening in shock. This couldn't be possible. He must have hit his head too.

"You're awake!" The door to your room opened swiftly, letting inside the rest of the batch, all without armor. Tech hurried to your side first, taking your bruised hand in his and staring at you like he couldn't believe it. 

"I am." You answered in a daze, still distracted by the fact that you missed a month. 

"You should be dead." He whispered in awe. 

"Jeez, thanks for the vote of confidence." You coughed as Hunter called his brother, horrified. 

"No, I mean… I'm happy that you're alive! All I'm saying is that you had a 50% chance to die from a 48 feet high fall. But headfirst?! Your chances were close to none!"

You gulped. "Cool?" 

"He should be thanking you instead of telling you all that." Hunter pointed out, a hard look on his face directly focussed on his little brother. 

"Thanks," Said brother whispered, his free hand scratching his neck in shame. "for saving my life. Twice." 

"No thanks needed. You'd have done the same." You moved your hand so you could give him a comforting squeeze. 

"Sarge told you you'd survive the day Y/N!" Wrecker approached from Hunter's side, happiness lacing his voice. 

"And I told you guys would give me your bad lu-" Your smile disappeared as soon as you took in the bandages covering his naked chest. Some patches of exposed skin were tainted from a sick yellow to some dark green, worrying you to no end. 

"What happened to you?" You croaked, coughing when your voice raised in pitch. 

"There." You heard Crosshair’s low voice before a cup appeared in front of you. 

"I don't think she shoul-" 

"I want it!" You hurried out of breath, cutting Tech before anyone could think about following his instructions. 

Taking the cup from Crosshair's hand, Hunter approached it to your hand not attached to a cast. 

"Good to do it yourself?" 

"I'll try." You shrugged, fighting past the exhaustion in your bone to lift your hand to the white carton cup, only for it to burn up all your energy. "Shit."

The good point was that whatever the doctor gave you was working perfectly, the throbbing in your head was gone and the pulsing in your hand as well. 

"Here." The cup reached your lips and very slowly, Hunter tilted it to appease your thirst without drowning you in the process. You would have been mortified at the idea of being helped like this, but in this very precise situation, all you could think of was drink. 

Lie. This is not sweet! Bacterias! You almost spit it out by reflex but remembered at the last second that they surely wouldn't give you undrinkable water. It was difficult, but you forced yourself to swallow. 

Once satisfied, you lifted your head to signal to Hunter to back off. You hummed your thanks, smiling gratefully and totally ignoring the smirk Crosshair send his tattooed brother, focussing your attention on Wrecker instead. 

"What happened?" You repeated yourself. 

"The giant snake hit me with its tail." He shrugged like it was nothing. "I'm fine, don't worry. I've survived worse!" 

You stared him up and down, wondering how in the universe he could have survived that. Its tail was rock hard to allow it to move underground. There was no way- 

"What could be worse than a Basilisk wanting you for dinner?!" 

"That'll be a story for another time." A woman said from the door. "Now that you are awake we need to run some more exams." She smiled warmly at you, and you immediately knew that you liked her. "You can all come back later."

"Aw already?" You chuckled slightly at Wrecker's disappointment. 

"Unfortunately. But I promise to take good care of her for you all." She replied, entering the room to get to the machines at your side. 

"We'll be back." Hunter promised before bending to your ear, whispering cheekily, "You're a hell of a catch. Never think otherwise." Leaving you agape to follow the others out without a glance back. He didn't need to, the heart monitor told him all he needed to know. You were mortified. He had heard you by the river.

Crosshair saluted you in the doorway, Tech patted your hand, Wrecker waved and Hunter smirked before closing the door. 

"I've never seen them so worried about someone else other than the four of them. It's nice to see them opening to someone else." She smiled, noting information on her datapad. 

If only you knew… I know them for only 2 hours top.

________________________

You gulped down the last bit of your small breakfast, the tasteless bread leaving a soggy feeling in your mouth. 

You'd slept like a baby after Mylana finished to examine your cast, reflexes, and more. Your strength returned during the night, allowing you to lift your cast-free left arm to feed yourself. 

Patch, the clone doctor assigned to your case passed to assess your improvement and informed you that he'd remove the nasogastric tube so you could eat by yourself. Removing the thing was nasty, definitely something you didn't want to live again but it was worth it. Or so you thought. Because the food here was depressing compared to Fors’ vast variety of fresh fruits, meat, and vegetables. 

It was only when Patch presented himself that you realized how different the Bad Batch was from the rest of the clones. He was the very first 'normal' clone you encountered. It pushed you to think about how the batchers must have had it hard, to live in a world where everything must be identical and you're not. They had no chance to conceal it, to be themselves like all the others because they were physically different. They had no chance to try and save themselves. It was infuriating and unfair. 

"How's breakfast?" Tech asked from the door, moving uncomfortably from a foot to the other. 

"Not what I'm used to but it’s edible." You shrugged, waving him in. "Don't be a stranger, I'm your pilot after all."

Tech chuckled at that, closed the door to sit at the foot of the bed. For a while he sat there, watching his fingers, sometimes pressing them together but never facing you. 

"You don't have to apologize for anything Tech. I don't know what's bugging you, but it's fine. I'm alive." You told him honestly, surprising him. 

"I-What I said yesterday was inappropriate and I'm very sorry. It's just- I watched the recording times and times again and- Why did you let go of my hand?" He finally met your eyes offering you disbelief, confusion, sadness, and betrayal on a golden plate.

"I told you there was nothing to apologize for. I let go of your hand because I didn't want to drag you down with me." You lifted your hand when he opened his mouth to interrupt you, effectively shutting him up. "I'd do it again. Don't beat yourself over it, because it's not your fault Tech." You ended firmly, no trace of your previous amusement on your face. 

He analyzed your face for a second before averting his eyes. 

"How's your hand?" You asked, eager to fill the silence. 

"Still bruised." The corner of his lips lifted slightly as he showed you his colorful hand. "I couldn't close it at first, but it passed." He chuckled. "Oh, and I had to wash my armor at least 3 times to get rid of the phosphorescence." 

You laughed full-on before pain shot through your chest at the movement. 

"Don't make me laugh!" 

"Slept well then." Hunter entered followed by Crosshair and Wrecker with a black shirt on this time. 

"Best night of sleep I had in a while Sarge." You beamed. It was true, the life in the village was hard enough. Not because of your work, but because the incessant persecution was heavy to bear. 

"Good to hear. We came back after the exam but you were asleep." He positioned himself at the foot of the bed, letting Wrecker all the place to sit in the chair at your side. 

"Thanks for letting me sleep then!" 

"Even if we wanted to wake you, Patch would've had our asses before we even opened the door!" Wrecker laughed, stopping his poking of the fluid bag hanging near his shoulder to smile at you. 

"He just wants me to be discharged sooner than later." You batted his hand away as he resumed his movement. 

"Speaking of discharge, we'll take you back to Fors as soon as you're cleared." The playful smile fell of your face in a heartbeat. 

"Oh. Ok. Thanks." 

"What's the matter?" Crosshair approached at Hunter's question, clearly wanting to know the answer. 

"Nothing. Can't wait to go back." You faked a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, not fooling a single clone in the room.

"What is it?" The sniper inquired, surprising you that he'd care about your feelings and well, you. 

"It's just… I'm done. People know that I went out on Murphy day and they certainly think me dead right now." You explained.

"Well, they'll be happy to see that you're not." Tech tilted his head, not understanding where the problem was. 

"No one misses the village's freak. Ever. They won't throw a celebration because I'm alive, they'll kick me out for breaking the law, and because I'll attract them bad luck." 

Silence fell over the room and suddenly you felt an urge to pull on the needles in your arms and hand and run out the door to avoid the conversation and all the shame accompanying it. 

"You're not a freak." You scoffed at Wrecker, all the insults thrown at you during your life echoing in your head like a curse. 

"Wanting more than just living the life that was imposed on me at birth doesn't fit under the norms on Fors. A female having weapons is not acceptable, even less a female hunting. Working a physical job instead of stayin' at home is not exemplary. Plus, I'm still single! I told off the guy who asked for my hand after my dad died and went as far as menacing him with a knife. After that, I was pretty much a goner." You recalled painfully, hands clenching around the sheets, eyes closing in shame.

"I'm always being stared at like a freak show, pushed around by my supposed peers, thrown in the mud when possible, or let behind in a storm. Oh let's not forget that I went out on Murphy day. Now, that's the dumbest shit I've ever done but damn did it felt good to break their stupid law! I'm sure I'll be exiled at best or executed at worse." 

You finally took a deep breath in, canalizing your frustration to not take it out on the medical equipment helping you get better. The silence was heavier than before and you thought that maybe the drip Patch showed you for the episodes of pain could help you relieve some of the pressure crushing you. 

"Your planet is hell." Was all Crosshair had to say for you to smile again. 

"It is." You confirmed, eyes still closed. 

"We need a pilot." That got you to open your eyes, confused at Hunter. 

"So? I'm not a pilot. My planet doesn't even have datapads." 

"We'll train you." Tech and Wrecker were as surprised as you were, although your big friend was the most enthusiast out of the group. 

"Really Sarge?" He asked, hopeful. 

"Wo there, calm down. We've known each other for 2 hours!" You reasoned in disbelief. He couldn't possibly offer you a job, an escape route out of your misery, after walking alongside you for 2 hours more or less. "You don't know me!" 

"On the contrary, I've learned plenty in 2 hours." He countered, his serious eyes telling you that he passed his time analyzing your actions, your motives, who you were. 

It was really tempting, but you couldn't help to feel that this was rushed. It was, right?

"Freaks help each other." Crosshair added putting a stop to your doubt. They were the same as you. 

"I told you already Cross." You smirked at him. "You're not defects. Simply the improved versions of your species." You nudged his arm pressed at the foot of the bed that he was leaning on next to Hunter with your sheet covered toes. 

"You seen Patch?" He lifted an eyebrow at you, not believing that after seeing the real deal you still talked highly of them. 

"I did. Really handsome." You paused, to bit your bottom lip. "But that just means that you guys are even more handsome." He scoffed and you laughed, happy to get a smirk out of him. 

"So, wanna become a pilot?" Hunter reiterated, waiting. He seemed so patient, unbothered, but you could see it beneath the surface. He was anxious to know the answer. 

"On one condition." Held your chin high, ignoring how Wrecker's face split into a wide grin and how Tech straightened at your side. 

"Name it."

"I wanna touch that tattoo of yours." You smirked. 

Wrecker exploded in laughter, Tech blinked in incredulity until it dawned on him and his cheeks became pink from the blood rush and Crosshair simply rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the bed. 

"Deal." He smirked in turn, not once moving his eyes from your lips. 

Finally.

[burnedbyshoto]

seven minutes

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: smut 18+, cursing, temp play, oral sex, bratty behavior, slight degradation

word count: 6,533

a/n: I got carried away, and this was supposed to be up two hours ago, but I suck, anyways this Is for the bnharem server collaboration, and well idk if I did the prompt correctly cuz I was mad confused. seven minutes in masterlist found here!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Shouto stared at the box in his hands, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

What the absolute hell was he supposed to put in this? It was supposed to be unique, something that he and only he could recognize and claim as his own, but he wasn’t one with many possessions.

He had possessions, sure. He was a successful Pro Hero after all with a trust fund from his father, but his belongings were ordinary, mundane, and universal. Nothing he owned was solely his, except, of course, his hero costume. But to give a part of that away was not going to happen.

“Do I have to put something in? If I’m the only one who doesn’t give anything, then they’ll know it was me.”

Midoriya, who had placed his favorite pen into his own box, looked up at his friend with a look of horror.

“Todoroki-kun, you can’t do that!”

“Well, I don’t have anything that I can give,” Shouto raised, his hands running through his hair. This was supposed to be shipped out by tonight to get it to the girl he was matched with. Some girl by the name of y/n. 

“You can…” Midoriya trailed off, his fingers scratching the back of his neck in thought. 

He had no idea, it seemed. 

“Well, if these are going out by tonight, I guess I can do this,” Shouto contemplated, his right hand forming a block of ice, and his left hand coming to melt a structure in the ice.

It was a simple heart. 

“Should be fine, right?” Shouto asked while placing the heart into the box and sealing it. 

Midoriya, whose jaw has opened in complete disbelief of his friend let out a strained laugh, his head dropping. 

“I-I guess…”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You had opened your box that same night, your heart hammering in your throat, finger shaking when you peeled the top off. Would you be able to recognize just who you would have? In all honesty, you probably couldn’t, but still, you hoped. 

Throwing the top of the box off, you stared down at the containment, and confusion and incredulity flooded your veins. 

There was nothing there, not a single drop of anything, just a lot of water stains that proved at one point held something that had long ago melted. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, dropping onto your seat, hands rubbing your face. 

Unbelievable. What idiot would send something that was made of water to you?!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Knock. Knock. 

With your toothbrush in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched together. It was late, so incredibly so that you had no idea who that could be. Finishing up, you pulled away from the sink and looked at your outfit in the mirror. 

Leggings and a tank top, perfectly acceptable to open a door in. 

Jogging towards the door, you swung it open without checking to see who it was. A smile rose to your face, a prayer that this wouldn’t take too long, and you looked at the person.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Your eyes only found a cotton-covered chest, and you faltered, your eyes rising higher to meet their face instead. Now, you would never in a million years admit that people could take your breath away. First, just how tacky was that?! No one could be that distinctive or attractive enough that you would forget everything, including how to breathe. Second, well, how could you?! This was a stranger — well technically, you recognized this man before you — his heterochromatic eyes were staring down at you intently, curiously. 

“Y/l/n y/n?” He asked immediately, his head tilting to the side and you nodded your head dumbly. “I’m—”

“Todoroki Shouto,” you interrupted. Heat began to build on your face, what in the actual fuck was a top Pro-Hero doing at your door. “Oh fuck, am I in trouble?!”

Shouto’s eyes widened when you began to panic, your arms flying around animatedly while you explained the various reasons as to why someone would want to hurt you. None of them were particularly good reasons, especially not good enough to warrant a lowkey dead in the night meeting with a Pro Hero who had saved you only when you were in high school. 

“No, you’re not in trouble,” Shouto interrupted your telling of how you could have potentially annoyed some super villain by not shutting up while singing when you were drunk. His hand rakes through his hair and again you’re stunned into silence on just how attractive he is. “You got the ice heart, right?”

Your eyebrows scrunched, your head tilting while you looked at Shouto. He looked the slightest bit stiff, his hands fisted in his jacket pockets, the slightest blush on his cheeks and ears, and of course, the constant lip licking. 

“... you’re sure I’m not in trouble; that sounds like a threat to me,” you whisper, cupping your hands around your mouth to make sure those words stayed between the two of you. 

Shouto rolled his eyes, but a small snort of laughter eliminated any theory that he was annoyed by you. His lips curled into a smile, and you blinked quickly, stop beating so fast, stupid heart. 

“No,” he shook his head, his feet shifting beneath him, “I sent it.”

Then it hit you. 

“Ohhh,” you nodded, walking into the house finally, letting in the Pro Hero who followed in after you. You walked towards your recycling bin and pulled out the water-stained box. “That’s what it was supposed to be!”

You presented the foiled box to Shouto, your lips quirking into a smirk at the way he froze behind you. 

“I thought it was going to make it,” he apologized, and you laughed loudly, “hold on.” 

It took a matter of seconds, but you watched in fascination when he brought his hands together to shape a block of ice into a flawless heart. Your chest filled with warmth despite the fact, your hands taking the ice structure from his outstretched hands. How he thought something like this was going to survive the heat of the day was beyond you, so when you were ready to make fun of him, it hit you. 

“OH FUCK,” you screeched, throwing the box down like it was made of lava, shoving the ice heart into his arms, and jumping meters away from Shouto. 

His eyes were wide while he stared at you, confusion inking his face, unsure how to handle the fact that you were seconds from being consumed by some extreme panic. 

He was from the company?! Why didn’t you put that shit together before walking into your apartment?

Your eyes continued to awkwardly dip down from his eyes to his body, the body that you knew was most likely perfection. Your breathing was hard and fast, your head spinning at the thought that in seconds, his dick could very much be in you. 

Would he have a small dick? You shuddered at that thought, you couldn’t imagine this unit of a man with a small dick, but again there was absolutely no way of knowing. Not without actually fucking him. 

“Are you okay?” Shouto asks, his face full of concerns, taking a step towards you, and like the well put together girl you were, you stumbled backward. Your blood felt so hot in your veins, your breathing erratic, and the most whining voice escaped your lips. 

“You’re from the— oh my god, I didn’t think that?! I thought this was for prostitution or something?! If anything, a look-alike, not the real deal!” you point out, your fingers fisting in your hair, your chest heaving. “This was an ad I found online?! How the fuck?! What are you— you don’t have to do this!”

Shouto’s eyes widened, he knew what was going on now. 

“Do you not want to do this?” he asked, taking a step towards you. 

You took a step backward with his advancement, “It’s not about what I want! I just assumed that this was a hoax and that I wasn’t going to really get anything but some horrid cosplay attempt of someone famous!”

He takes more steps forward, and you receive an equal amount backward, but his legs are much longer than yours, and he’s gaining on you. 

“Tell me that you don’t want to have sex, and I’ll leave,” he whispered, “no one is holding this accountable. You also have the right to refuse, and I won’t make you say yes.”

You shivered when your back connected with your counter, the fresh counter doing little to calm your nerves when he stood before you. His scent immediately drafted into your nose, warm and clean, it made your eyes close while you took him in. 

“Do you want this?” you croak, your fingers digging into the counter, trying your all to keep from pouncing on your celebrity crush. “I’m not going to say yes to someone who doesn’t want this either.”

“I do,” he affirms, and your eyes peel back open to see Shouto so close to you. His hands are by yours on the counter now. The heat emitting from both sides was sending goosebumps down your body and a chill down your spine. “I want this.”

Swallowing roughly, your spine straightened, and your hands reached out to latch onto the collar of his shirt. Your eyes met his, his pupils growing larger by the second while he drew in. Your fingers trembled when his hands met your waist, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your hips. 

“I want this, too,” you confess and seal it with a kiss. 

Kisses were everything. It was such a human and mundane sign of affection, a gentle and passionate display of emotions on so many different levels. Ever since you were young, you’ve always read about how, when characters kissed the character they were meant for, electricity shot through their body. How a single and straightforward first kiss was enough to draw out if they were meant to be or not. Sparks, that’s what they were, were deadly essential and not to be taken as a joke. 

But as a person, you knew this was a lie. The only electric shock you’d ever get was a static shock. No kiss in your life made you experience that game-changing electricity shooting down your body from your first kiss. But why was it that chills were running through your body the second his lips danced with yours? 

Your lips moved with his in almost a delirious fashion. His mouth intoxicating to you. The warmth and smoothness of his lips that were gliding effortlessly against yours were proving to be a lot. His fingers pressed against the small of your back before sliding underneath your shirt moving so that his hands were pressed against your bare back, eliciting low groans. 

But it’s when his hands move to grab onto your waist, pulling you in dangerously, mind-numbingly close, does the essence of your makeout change. 

Your lips slammed against his. Your lips coming to meet in hot and heavy movements as you pressed further into him. You were now uncaring and unconcerned about your initial doubts, you only wanted to make the best of these seven minutes.

Shouto groaned lowly, his lips moving to keep up with yours. His fingers digging into your hips as the two of you felt dizzy, leaning against the counter while your lips continued this passion-filled battle.

His lips are fervent against yours; your mind spins from having his mouth against yours. Were you really making out with one of the world’s best Pro Hero? Ready to take him stumbling to your bedroom in this passionate affair to sleep with him as if you were lovers? Shouto’s hands move from your hips to pressing against the counter; your eyes barely manage to open during his search. His eyes are dark with lust, and growing desire as your lips part. Thankfully, your counter is already clean for the most part, just some unopened letters that get shoved to the side. Shouto’s warm hands return to your waist, but only that they feel like fire against your heated skin, and you pull him in closer for another impassioned kiss. 

His lips are massive against yours, pushing and pulling you in with every movement of his lips. The magnetizing effect he has on you was genuinely unbelievable, how someone you didn’t know could have this effect on you was beyond you. He continues pulling you closer, and soon enough, you’re clambering on top of the counter. Pants leaving your mouth from the high position of the founder as you open your legs for the man who was making your heart beat faster than any strenuous activity. As he moves closer between your legs, his hand runs from your waist to rest against your ass. His hands are strong against your ass, and he pulls you nearer so that you’re resting on the edge of the counter, his body between your open legs.

The friction of your now connected bodies leaves you gasping, sharp breathing while you try to calm your nerves. This man set your body on fire, and you were without a sign of struggle drowning in his lips. His mouth was quick to dissipate all the uncertainty and nerves you held in mere seconds. Your mouth opens, and your tongue swipes at his bottom lip, pleading for entry. Shouto moves his hands from your ass, trailing down your legs to pull you closer to him, making your legs wrap around his waist, and his mouth opens, granting you entry. 

Tongues crash together in the middle. Dominance riding high on both of your parts, neither one of you want to let the other into each others mouth, him because he thought it was right, and you because you wanted to prove that you were no pushover in bed. But lord, is his tongue working magic against yours. Your body shuddering when your legs wrap tighter against his waist, your crotch pushing forward to grind into his pelvis. His bulge is prominent against your clothed core, and both of your keen moans tumble out of your mouths.

His hands trail under your shirt, and you arch against his chest. In this moment of serenity, his tongue can push into your mouth. You shudder in his hold, his tongue tracing around your mouth in a way that makes your eyes roll back. His tongue runs against yours, swirling around it before outlining the roof of your mouth. A moan expels from your mouth as his other hand slips under your shirt. Shouto chuckles, vibrations falling on his tongue, and you tremble softly.

What the fuck were you actually doing? Making out with the Todoroki Shouto in your home? One step from then fucking Shouto in your bedroom should the two of you even manage to get there?! There must be something in the air, or this had to be the biggest prank in the world.

Shouto’s mouth then left yours ultimately. His hot mouth trailing down your neck; teeth nipping at your skin; lips sucking against your skin. Your head tosses back in increasing pleasure, your hips pressing against his bulge again. His mouth stays on the same spot, sucking harshly against your skin, biting down sinfully against your skin until you were whimpering his name.

Your arms wrap around his body, pulling him desperately closer to you. The friction is not enough, these actions are not strong enough for you. “Don’t be a pussy about fucking me,” you can’t keep yourself from challenging when Shouto pulls away from your neck. Your skin throbs and burns in the best way from the hickey that has for sure formed.

“Don’t worry,” Shouto smirks when he lifts your shirt over your head, “I’ll make sure this is the best seven minutes you’ll ever have.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air as the cold air hits your exposed body. You feel delirious at the thought that Shouto wanted to fuck you, ardent, and shy at the idea that you want him to claim you right on your kitchen counter before trying to stumble to your bedroom. You don’t have time to think anymore as his lips come back to claim your lips. This time, you’re not going to give in as your teeth sink into his bruised lower lip.

The harsh motion of your teeth sinking into his plump and bruised lips makes him growl, the sound melodious to your ears. Your tongue slides back out to smooth over his throbbing mouth, your grin spreading across your face when Shouto picks you up from the table. Your legs wrap around his waist, your arms around his neck. Your body shudders when your aroused sex brushes up against his hard cock. His hips thrusting up against your own, and you cry out in his mouth. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and Shouto’s mouth trails down your chin, an unmistakable grin printed on his face. His teeth scrape against your jaw, sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine, causing your hips to roll out against him.

Your hands fist into his hair, you pull onto his hair until he’s no longer attached to you and then you bring your mouth against his neck. Your mouth trails peppering kisses against his strained neck, his warm and smooth skin slightly salty with his sweat, but it’s a taste you find intoxicating. Your hips grind down against his bulge, relishing in the snaps of his hips to increase the friction. 

“Take off your shirt, Todoroki,” you moan, your fingers dragging against his muscular back. The muscles are delicious against the pads of your fingers, every bulge of his flesh, every dip of a scar makes you almost vibrate with excitement, yet you feel denied, you feel teased at the fact you can feel him better.

Shouto moans as your heavy and hot breathing, makes his mind reel against the cold saliva on his neck. “Call me Shouto, I think we’re past this last name business.” He growls. 

“But I—.”

“Then pretend it’s my hero name, y/n.”

The simple use of your name sends a massive and electrifying shiver down your spine. You never thought you’d hear him call you by your name, much less be in your house seconds from fucking you and Shouto — outside of using it as his hero name — felt like a stranger on your tongue, but you feel heat exploding in your core as you nod. 

You push away, your hair whipping over your shoulder as you stare at his blue and gray eyes. You watch his pupils that are blown wide stare into you as you lean in close, the sweat building slowly on his temple as your mouth pressed against his ear softly.

“Of course, Shouto,” you accentuate his name, and he groans. 

His hands grip tighter against you as his lips come back against yours.

Your hands reach down for the hem of his shirt, and you waste no time in tearing it up over his head. The action making him place you back onto the counter. His toned body is now open for your desiring eyes as you breathe shakily, you wanted to drag your hands against his body is interrupted by your desire to strip too. 

Your shirt soon joins his on the floor, and you grin when he freezes. 

You look at him, and a proud blush spreads across your face as he stares at your breasts. You were not at all wearing a cute set at all, you were getting ready for bed after all! The bra was simple, black, and not revealing. But the way Shouto was looking at you, the way his finger trailed up to your covered bra made you believe that you were wearing the best lingerie set in existence.

“Do you like them?” you tease, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip as you look into his eyes under your eyelashes. Your hands press onto his, making the contact between your breasts and his hands firmer, more in tack. 

“I think I’d be a fucking idiot if I didn’t,” Shouto groans as his face pushes forward to kiss the valley between your breasts. You feel like you’re melting in his arms as his lips and fingers ravish your tender breasts. 

“Why wouldn’t — fuck do that — why wouldn’t you want me?” you pant as his mouth continues trailing sweet and hot kisses against your skin. “I’m a pretty amazing woman, you know.”

“That was pretty obvious,” Shouto grunts his lips curving into a smile while his large hands envelop your breasts, groping them. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to be mine as well. Besides, who looks for a fuck on an ad?”

You don’t have the chance to respond back as Shouto’s right-hand moves behind your back and removes your bra with one hand. The smooth action somehow turns you further on. The bra is thrown off your body, and your breasts bounce as they’re entirely exposed. You don’t know how to feel bashful or to feel confident in the way that Shouto stares at your exposed chest. His eyes locked on your breasts, his tongue dragging against his lips as he looks back up at you. 

“You’re fucking hot,” Shouto groans as his mouth slips your nipple into his mouth. You cry out at the way his tongue rolls against your nipple, his tongue alternating from heat to cold, it fogs up your mind at the sensation and the pure delirium of his actions. Your hips roll against his crotch again, and you feel him pressing forward.

Your fingers shift all over his body. Digging into his shoulder, pressing into his hair, trying to reach the tent in his pants. But your pants heighten when he slips off your leggings, the cold air hitting your heated legs, causing you to shudder at the temperature difference.

His finger rolls your free nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The sensations on your nipples are overwhelming as your hips thrash against his hand. Moans, gasps, and his name pour out of your mouth as he continues ravishing your breasts. His teeth nipping and pulling on the sensitive skin. Your head throws back as he pulls away, a resonating pop filling your ears as he lets go of your nipple. Harsh heaves leave your mouth as you look down, your breasts shine with his saliva, and you moan again.

“I’m going to fucking eat you out, and you’re going to watch me the entire fucking time.” Shouto commands you, his fingers hooking around your panties. “Do you understand?”

Breathlessly you nod your head, your eyes locking onto his bi-colored ones as your panties join the rest of your clothes on the floor. Shouto chuckles as his finger drag against your soaked slit, “You’re so fucking wet,” he remarks, and your body shudders against his actions. Your eyes flutter close before you force them back open to peer down at Shouto, “Good girl,” he praises, and you feel your pussy throbs at those two words.

Shouto presses a hand against your waist, and you watch as he sinks two fingers into your blazing heat. You cry out in pleasure as his heated fingers plunge in and out of you. Your eyes struggle to keep themselves onto his proud form. Your hand slaps across your mouth as his fingers curl within you, their curve adding even more stimulating pleasure within your body. Melodious moans are now muffled underneath your hands, and Shouto smirks at that. 

“Don’t hide what I’m making you feel, y/n.” Shouto warns, his fingers increasing in their roughness as they pound against your soaked pussy. His steady hand pushes you down against your counter, and you scream at the cold surface, pressing against your heated skin. Your hips snapping against the sensation making Shouto chuckle. “Don’t you want the world to know that I’m the one making you feel this way?”

Your hand trembles as you move it away from your mouth, but your teeth subconsciously clamp down onto your bottom lip. You’re embarrassed at being caught fucking on your kitchen counter, and even though you were attracted to Shouto, you didn’t want to be found in this state.

By a window, legs wide open, and Shouto’s fingers and tongue deep into your pussy.

Shouto, unsatisfied with your quiet affirmations of his actions, slips another finger into your aching pussy. A silent shriek leaves your mouth as you push up off the table, the additional width of his thrusting fingers overwhelming. But it doesn’t end there. No. His fingers warm-up against your inner walls, eliciting the wildest bucking your hips can muster. The most prolonged pleas escaping your mouth for more heat.

“Oh,” Shouto laughs smugly, his smile stretching wide across his face. “Did you like that?”

“Yes, Shouto, fuck!” you thrash against his fingers, your head falling back in your distracting pleasure. The sensations are numbing your mind, your rationale slipping away as his fingernails drag against your inner walls, slowly stimulating your g-spot. Your cunt feels like it’s pulsating faster than your heart as he continues going. 

“Aren’t you just a fucking sweetheart,” Shouto purrs, and his hand reaches out to lock in your hair. Your head is roughly brought back up, and a low groan of pain rumbles in your throat as you stare at his slightly furious eyes. “Didn’t I say to fucking look at me?”

Your chest heaves in embarrassment and excitement. You wanted to be dominated by this man, wholly and entirely, you wanted to be black and blue at the end of this night, and like a brat,  you readied to do more. 

Before you could try wrestling him for dominance, his mouth lowers towards your dripping cunt, and his tongue takes a languid lick. His tongue slipping in between your slit, and you fall back onto the table, your eyes fluttering in their battle to stay open. Your eyes are still locking onto his victorious face.

Your legs tremble as he thrusts his tongue within your drenched walls, his tongue swirling in circles and pushing further in. His hooked fingers still thrusting into you as you fall apart on the table, he’s long since stimulated your g-spot and your body trembled for him. Your screams loud and pitched for him to do more. On one particular lick, one measly irresistibly mind-numbing lick, your legs come snapping against his head. Shouto’s free hand moves to grip onto your trembling thighs, his tongue coaxing your orgasm closer to the edge. 

“S-Shouto!” you curse, your hips snapping desperately against his mouth. Your hips twisting against his merciless tongue. 

Your eyes struggle to remain locked on his eyes, your body twitching with the building pleasure. The electricity igniting in your flesh and bloodstream. You can hear the sounds of your squelching pussy against his moving fingers, and your jaw drops. You’re under his absolute control, and you’re no longer able to hold back anymore as your orgasm is right on edge, but then he pulls away. His fingers and tongue disappearing from within you, causing you to whimper in pain, in lust, and in denied orgasm. 

“Suck yourself off my fingers.” Shouto pants as his arousal covered fingers press against your mouth. You take his fingers without a second thought. Your teeth scraping softly against his fingers as you suck your juices off of him. Your eyes remain on his as your tongue slips between each finger. You suck onto his fingers as he pulls away, and Shouto growls as he pulls his hand away from you.

“Get up,” Shouto snaps, his hands moving to remove the belt around his waist, and you are quick to slide off the counter. Your knees buckling under your weight as Shouto removes his pants. You watch in an almost lusting glee as his cock springs out from under his underwear. He was by far the biggest guy you’ve ever seen, and your throat feels dry as he gasps when your fingers brush the beading head of his cock. His dick must be hypersensitive already. 

Steeling yourself over, you drop to your knees, uncaring that he wasn’t quite ready as Shouto struggles to step out of his pants. 

As soon as his feet are free, your hands immediately grab onto his length. His girth wide enough, you struggled to hold it with one hand. You smirked at the fact that he had two protruding veins on both sides of his cock. 

“Y-Y/n…” Shouto stutters as your hand fists up and down his length in pretense, you spread the pre-cum as for as it can go, your nails teasing his sensitive and heated flesh. Your eyes snapping up to meet his lust covered ones. 

“Now,” you grin as your thumb rolls over the pre-cum that slips from the tip of his head. “I better not catch you, not looking at me, understood?”

Shouto licks his lips, his eyebrow quirking, “Is this payback?” You smile softly, but there’s a robust sadistic tone to it as your hands twist his skin. Shouto curses as he nods, “I understand!”

“Good boy,” you tease as your mouth opens and you press his cock all the way into your mouth. His girth is wide enough that you had to open more extensive than you were used to, the stretch already making you groan. You gasp as you push him further down your throat, your eyes flashing up to see Shouto struggling to keep his head down and eyes alert. 

Good god, you hope you were wet enough to take him in without lube.

Your mouth sinks down as far as you can go while not straining your neck or jaw. Your fingers trailing up and down his toned thighs as you move your head up and down his length. You’re now in a consistent rhythm, sucking his cock with enough vigor to make Shouto curse your name. The sounds of his cock ramming down your throat rang within the kitchen, making Shouto’s skin flare with goosebumps while you face fucked him. 

Your movements signal to Shouto that he can move as well. Shouto groans, and his hips move forward. You relax against his slowly rocking hips, you’re focused on your breathing as his cock moves up and down your throat. Deeper and deeper, you feel his cock move within you. His hand pressing against the back of your throat, and you gag softly against his length. 

Your eyes look back up to see Shouto’s eyes closed, slapping the side of his thigh, his eyes snap back open, the embarrassment of being caught evident along with the apparent likeness of the slap. Moans and pants spilling out with every thrust, and your cheeks hollow out, creating a vacuum sensation against his length.

“Fucking shit!” Shouto snaps, his hands tangling within your locks as he overtakes your dominance and begins fucking your throat. “Taking my cock like the dirty slut you are, of course, you would be good at this,” he hisses as his cock only goes further down your throat.

“Only sluts look for sex online.”

You struggle to breathe with his thrusting, his snapping hips overwhelming you with their speed and depth. He’s barbarous against your throat, uncaring about the burning sensation erupting through your airway as he continues at his strength and pace. Your tongue swirls around his thrusting cock, trailing against his veins as his hips stutter.

You moan against his length, the action allowing you to gain more air and sending a snarl from Shouto’s mouth as his pace increases.

His hips abuse your throat, and you’re delighted in the fact that you’re keeping up. The soft gags that occasionally slip from your mouth, stirring him on. The hum on your throat allows him to further his strength and speed as your actions overwhelm him. He’s sinful yet heavenly in your mouth, and you want him in your dripping cunt. Your thighs shaking with the mere thought of him having his way with you.

He pulls his length away from your mouth, your saliva stringing between your mouth and his still erect cock. You cough as you try taking in the air again, the lack of oxygen had been ignored as your pleasure was so high. 

However, you don’t have the time to adjust to your new air as Shouto pulls you up from the floor. His mouth once again attacking yours as you find your back pressed against the counter. His lips are intoxicating, and you can still taste yourself in his mouth, and you moan as he lifts you up on the counter again. 

“Fuck you’re amazing.” Shouto grunts as his mouth trails down your neck, and you shudder. How you craved a man you were ready to beat the shit out of earlier was beyond you. Maybe attraction and hatred ran on a fine line.

“I know I am,” you gasp as he spreads your legs, the tip of his cock stroking your wet folds. 

“I’ll get you to say it when my cock is in you,” Shouto chuckles, and you moan at the feeling of the tip of his head sinking into your trembling cunt. “Are you ready?”

Your head nods nevertheless, and you still as he chuckles.

“Say it.”

“Shouto--” 

“I want to hear you say it,” he interrupts, and you stare into his bi-colored eyes and feel as if you’re drowning in his them. They’re desperate, needy, and full of want. It’s enough to steal your breath away as you nod again.

“Please fuck me.” you whisper, and Shouto smiles.

A shriek crashes through your mouth as he pushes his cock all the way into your awaiting cunt without hesitation. His girth stretches you out in an unimaginable way, your walls fluttering as they attempt to relax and grow used to his size. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so huge!” you cry, your body trembling when Shouto leans forward. His own breathing a quiet hiss as your walls clench around him.

“I bet I’m the biggest you’ve e-ever had.” Shouto cockily rasps, but his words feel powerless as he is affected by your pulsating walls. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

You whimper as the painful throb in your pussy lulls, and you wiggle your hips against him, “N-Now fuck me right. Don’t fucking make me regret signing up,” you gasp as his eyes lock on yours.

Shouto smiles, small and sweet, yet terribly contrasting as he adheres to your demand. His hips position to a better angle, and you can only watch with fluttering eyes as he begins ramming into you. Your hips move in time with him. Both of you desperate under your denied orgasm and this heightened state of pleasure. Shouto’s hands grip your waist, for sure leaving bruised marks as he slams your body faster against his huge cock, stretching you out deliciously. His hands drag out under your ass, clenching your supple flesh as this barely different position stretches you out in a mind-numbing way.

His hips crashing into yours is transcending, and your cries only fuel Shouto on. Your body feels as if it is on fire as he drags a single leg up onto his shoulder. His cock bottoming out into you, making your back arch off the counter as you wail out his name. Shouto’s heated fingers press against your throbbing clit, they alternate from scorching heat to blistering cold. It spins your mind, and your eyes cross. You sputter as he rubs harsh and delicate figure-eights into your puffy nerves, his movements insistent, deliberate, with the intention of getting you to come. It’s too much, the pure temperature play making you feel like you were dissociating from your body, and drool pooled from your mouth from his deliberate actions. Your pussy is clamping down on his moving cock, slowing him down slightly before he grunts and increases his speed and strength.

Your noises of pleasure become silent screams as his cock hits the back of your walls, your legs thrashing around as he drilled into you the same way. 

Again and again.

More and more.

His cock smashing against your walls until he tilts his angle and comes down hard against your g-spot.

“SHOUTO!!!” You scream as he continues pounding into your g-spot. His name a prayer on your lips as he keeps fucking your brains out.

You shoot up off the table, your screams sounding in his ear as you wrap your arms around him. Even though your leg was on his shoulder, you held on. The angle allowing Shouto to drive his cock against your g-spot over and over again. Your screams drowning out as his mouth covered yours. His body is giving you exploding sensations, your tightness making Shouto moan and curse. 

“I needa — fuck, Sho do that again — I needa come!” you squeak as your body rocks against his own. 

“Come for me, baby,” Shouto sighs into your mouth. “Come on my cock.”

The pleasure in your belly is overwhelming, it's building up so fast, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure. You can’t handle it anymore, the desire being too much.

Your orgasm crashes through you, your vision turning white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent. Shouto’s mouth continues to move against yours, kissing sloppily against your teeth as he chases his own orgasm.

His hips continue slamming into you, they’re brutal as they slam over and over again. He’s chanting your name as your stimulated cunt keeps clenching around his length. His pace is making you grow limp in his arms, although your hips still continue to roll against his. His breathing is short and tense. Panting as he struggles to keep himself composed.

“Come inside me…” you whine into his ear, desperate to feel his hot seed expelling within you. 

His cock stretches you out in a new way as he presses you back onto the counter, his arm lifting your second leg over his shoulder. The twin bulging veins on his cock, rubbing a fire against your walls. Shouto fucks you mercilessly, his fingers clenching your ass as you come apart for him. Shouto, unable to keep a controlled mind on his shoulder, loses himself within you. His hips drilling forward one last time. A heavy load shooting into your throbbing cunt.

Shaky breathing fills the air as he pulls out of you.

You whine at the lack of him within you, and your body relaxes as he steps back. Your hands pressed against the counter as you heave, desperate to find your air again. A whimper on your tongue as you feel your combine cum seeping from your clenching pussy.

“You were amazing.” Shouto chuckles as he helps you down.

“If you want,” you pant, your legs shaking when you stand. “You’re welcome to stay.”

His eyes lock on yours, dark and knowing and already accepting. 

“Why should I?”

You grin in response, “I have a few toys I’ve meant to try out.”

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

OOOOH GOD I JUST HAD A NEW IDEA.

If you can do both, I will be very happy.

So...

Nanami has a fever, he overworked himself during the last fight, and he is bound in his bed, trying to recover. He keeps dreaming of Gojo while he shifts from sleep to reality and feels like he is there with him but doesn't know if it's true. He has lots of delusions and hallucinations regarding Gojo breaking his heart and feels like he is slowly burning alive.

Also, I have to add this, if you are able to describe him as tiddies out, you would save my life. I thirst for Dilfs in pain.

“I THIRST FOR DILFs IN PAIN” HAD ME WHEEZING, HELP- oh man, I hope I put Nanamin through enough pain with this one, I did my best to depict his disorientation :D Have fun, I hope this is enough f*cked up!! All I want to say is... Sorry.

(TW in the tags)

///

The blurred digits danced across the tiny screen, forcing Nanami to squeeze his chestnut-brown eyes painfully. It read 40,1°C, or so he supposed. His fever-addled brain, while aware that he was, in fact, feverish, wasn’t quite in control of the body, eyes failing him.

The blond sighed, resigned, and moved to sit up on the bed with a pitiful groan. As soon as his torso was perpendicular to the mattress, a wave of dizziness made him flop back onto the firm yet comfortable surface, head spinning in a violent, overwhelming manner.

Nanami wanted nothing more than to reach for his phone, located on the neatly-arranged night stand, next to a book and a half empty glass of water. Just an arm-length away, maybe less, and yet, the man hadn’t enough strength in him to move that much. His limbs felt heavy, bones lined with lead, head filled with grey fog, eyesight faltering.  

“I jus’ need… to call in…” he murmured, not quite sure if he’d said that out-loud, either. The effort of turning his head to look at the phone left him breathless, disoriented; shaky fingers reached for it, barely a couple of centimeters above the mattress. Beads of sweat dripped down Nanami’s pasty face and he grit his teeth, summoning every last ounce of power left in him. 

If I could just warn someone, I would be fine. I just need to sweat this off. But I have to let Satoru know, or he’ll come bursting in here soon, and get himself sick. I don’t want that to happen, taking care of him is annoying. He is annoying when he’s sick. He is always annoying. I just need to let him know I’m fine. I just need to tell him not to come. I just一

He blinked his eyes open, startled. When had he closed them? 

Nanami allowed his vision to focus, albeit slowly and not entirely efficiently either, and noticed how his arm was stretched out toward the night stand, not quite touching it due to his slightly bent elbow. It just laid there, motionless, fingers barely twitching, not obeying his command.

The sorcerer inhaled a shallow, rasped breath, trying to coax his body into cooperating to reach that damned phone. 

He didn’t need Gojou to come, he needed him not to. He wouldn’t have come anyway, Nanami thought. He never did.

The sky-eyed man wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, Nanami knew it, he’d repeated that to himself so many times, too many times, trying to carve it into his brain, to learn it by heart. Gojou wasn’t a bad boyfriend.

He was simply… a not conventional one. 

More than once, Nanami had to remind him about their dates. More than once, he had to hint that his birthday was coming up, or that he’d asked him for a favour of any sorts一 not that he’d do that, Nanami was capable of doing everything on his own.

Maybe that’s why Gojou had never bothered to offer his help. Maybe it was out of admiration and reverence in regard of Nanami’s skills一 as a sorcerer and as a civilian, too一 that he’d never offered his help, nor helped unless strictly necessary. 

Nanami forced himself to shake his head, aware that he was dozing off again, thoughts swirling in his pounding, boiling brain. No, he needed to get the phone first, he needed to inform that he wouldn’t come, and that he… maybe, he could use some help. 

Gojou’s.

But he won’t come! he thought, bitter. He won’t come on his own. It’s not like him, he won’t come here, he won’t notice. I’m glad. He doesn’t need to worry, I’m fine. I’m happy that he’s not going to come, he doesn’t need to. I can handle a little cold. I don’t need to worry him. Not that he would. But it’s a good thing, because he一

A faint knock echoed through the neat apartment. Nanami opened his eyes一he’d closed them again, hadn’t he?一 and tried to pinpoint the source of the noise, curious. Certainly, something must have fallen from the table, maybe a spoon he’d left out of place.

“Spoons don’t sound like knocking when they fall, Nanamin~” someone purred from outside the door. Someone that Nanami knew, certainly. Someone that wasn’t supposed to be there, or rather, someone that he didn’t think was ever going to come.

“S-Satoru?” he croaked, weak. He wished that his technique allowed him to move objects with his mind, willing to unlock the door without, however, having the necessary strength to get up and walk the way to it. That would have meant crossing the bedroom, reaching the tiny corridor, walking through it and up to the genkan. He would have had to sit on the step at the entrance, slip his shoes on to walk the tiny distance between the wooden floor and the door, not wanting to soil his slippers.

Speaking of slippers, he didn’t know where he’d left them. He’d come home around midnight, after an extenuating fight. Nanami had wrapped everything up rather slowly, and once it was over, he barely waited for the EMTs to check him over before he gave up and walked the way home, in the freezing weather. 

The walk home, and the time from when he reached the doorstep to when he flopped on the bed, were a blur of flashes and thumping noises, voices and phones ringing, people yelling一 he’d left the TV on, he didn’t know how he allowed himself to make that mistake.

He, who would always reprimand Gojou for forgetting to turn the lights off, for not cleaning the bathroom mirror after he’d brushed his teeth, for leaving the spoon in the plate when he reheated food in the microwave. Nanami would always tell him off, tired of how careless Gojou acted, tired of how the other man seemed to have mistaken him for his personal butler, tired of一

“Nanamin, my poor Nanamin.” Gojou said, running a hand through the blond’s sweaty hair, letting his fingers cradle the mane and massage the scalp delicately, “All sick and lonely, my little Nanamin~” 

“You shouldn’t一” Nanami was caught off guard, wheezing as a painful dry coughed escaped his mouth and scraped his throat. Teary eyes glanced at the bottle on the dresser just a few meters away.

The mattress lifted and then dipped again. 

Nanami grabbed the glass of water that Gojou had filled for him, and drank greedily, letting the cold liquid soothe the agony, feeling the fog thin out in the slightest. 

“You shouldn't have come.” he finished, “You’re going to get sick too. You aren’t even wearing a mask, everyone knows that it’s necessary to protect yourself when you visit someone sick, Satoru.” he scolded, thin eyebrows furrowed on his damp forehead.

“You’re always so cold with me, Nanamin! Your lovely boyfriend came all the way here to watch you suffer, and you treat him like that? Cruel.” the white-haired man hummed, laying next to Nanami, not quite touching him. Truth is, he didn’t even seem to be willing to reach for the man.

Ah, Nanami reasoned, Infinity. Nothing gets through.

“I could deactivate it, Nanamin. The Infinity, you know, I could deactivate it and touch you. You want that, don’t you?” he teased, blinking at the ill man.

“Y-you don’t have to.”

Gojou laughed in that way that made his enemies’ skin crawl, so hollow yet light. Carefree, intimidating for just how genuinely amused he sounded.

“Oh, I wouldn't think about it, Nanamin.” he said, “It’s bad enough that you’re out of commission, we can’t have both of us out of the games.”

Nanami swallowed the dryness in his throat to no avail, averting his gaze just in the slightest, just enough to have that annoying, mocking grin out of his sight. “Good.”

“But you want me to touch you, right? You want me to care for you, you want to feel my breath on your skin, to bite into it with my teeth and let them sink in your neck, don’t you, Nanamin?” he whispered. Had he not activated the Infinity, Nanami would have been able to feel the ticklish warmth of Gojou’s breath on his ear, surely.

“It wouldn't be wise, since I’m sick.” he hummed, still not looking at Gojou. He couldn’t bear it.

Nanami couldn’t stand that cocky, teasing bastard, he couldn’t stand his malicious threats and offerings that he was then going to deny, he couldn’t stand the way Gojou referred to him and to himself, as if they were on widely different levels, as if Nanami was supposed, no, bound to do something to earn his boyfriend’s kindness.

“Go home, I’ll be fine.” he rasped out.

Leave. Please, leave. 

Was he going to cry? The fever was playing atrocious tricks on his mind and body, so Nanamin paid no mind to the sudden stinging sensation in his eyes, he didn’t care about his twitching chin and shaking hands.

“I know you will. I don’t need you to tell me you’ll be fine.” Gojou hummed, matter-of-factly, sounding almost offended at Nanami’s implication. Nanami himself really didn’t know what it was, though.

Was Gojou annoyed because Nanami had implied that someone like him could get worried? Or, was he mad because Nanami had implied that he was enough to make Gojou, of all people, worry? 

Both, probably.

“Then leave.” he hissed, heart hammering in his chest, head throbbing in the heat.

“I will.” 

“Good.” 

Gojou sat up, before a sweaty hand grabbed at his wrist, causing the man to cock a white eyebrow in what Nanami hoped wasn’t annoyance nor anger. Yet, he could tell it was.

“Do you even care?” he breathed out, eyes watery only because of the fever. “About me. Do- do you care? Did you ever...?”

The taller sorcerer grinned, features softening. “Of course I do, Nanamin. You’re one of the strongest sorcerers out there, how could I not care?” he purred, grabbing Nanami’s trembling jaw with his strong fingers, gaze penetrating.

Not reassuring in the slightest, either.

Nanami felt his face heat up, façade crumbling as hot tears welled at the corner of his blurry eyes. “Not- not as a sorcerer, Satoru!! Do you... care about me?”

The grip tightened, Gojou’s short nails leaving faint indents in his boyfriend’s cheeks, “Care how, Nanamin? What do you mean by care, what does care mean to you?” he grinned, shortening the distance between their faces, noses almost brushing against each other’s. 

“Y-you’re hurting me,” Nanami breathed out, faint, “Let go of m一”

“Say, Nanamin,” Gojou’s fingers dug deeper, grin growing wider, colder, “is it love you’re looking for? Is it what you’re asking me?”

The blond brought a shaky hand up, trying to pry Gojou’s hand away to no avail, too weakened by the debilitating fever, too shocked to act efficiently.

“Is it, Nanamin?”

“Y-yes.” he hiccupped, dry, voice barely above a whisper, his words whimpered and fragmented, “Do you love me? H-have you ever loved me?”

Gojou chuckled, licking his lips, “Of course I did, Nanamin. Of course. You’re so pretty, so strong… I would have been a fool not to love you, don’t you think?”

He did not let go.

“Do I not show you enough love, Nanamin? Do you not think I love you? Do you believe that I’m a bad boyfriend, Nanamin?” he asked.

Something in his tone wasn’t quite right. It sounded unfamiliar, having lost its arrogant edges, replaced with something that the blond couldn’t identify yet. And it creeped him out.

“N-no.” the ill one gulped, “It’s… S-sometimes, you don’t- I don’t think th-that you care. I, I feel like you don’t.” Nanami confessed, trembling.

“So you think I’m lying?” Gojou inquired.

“No!! I’m not- it’s not that.” 

“I think it is.”

Nanami shook his head vehemently, squeezing his eyes shut. He forced himself into a sitting position, willing the dizzy spell away, swallowing the bile that scratched the back of his tongue, ignoring how his shirt and bedsheets were soaked, ignoring the stale air in his room.

“P-please, Satoru, don’t一!!”

“It’s getting late, Nanamin.” Gojou sighed, clapping his hands once as he got up and stretched his legs, ignoring his boyfriend’s pleading look, ignoring his watery gaze and wet cheeks, ignoring the hand that feebly attempted to reach for his, uselessly.

“A-are you leaving me?” he sobbed, not caring about the snot that dripped down his fine nose, not caring about how pathetic and helpless he sounded. It was the fever.

“Is it not what you wanted me to do, Nanamin?” Gojou asked, hands deep in his pockets.

His eyes, clearer than the sky, bore a sour shade of regret, a glint of annoyance that Nanami prayed wasn’t addressed to him. Those eyes that looked down at him, on him, pissed.

“Y-yes, no, I don’t- I didn’t mean it l-like that, I meant一 please, wait, I’m not一”

“Goodbye, Nanamin.” Gojou muttered, headed for the door. He knocked Nanami’s glasses off the low dresser they were on, unconcerned, not bothering to pick them up.

The ill man faintly heard the door click in the distance again. Unfocused, bleary eyes scanned the room, because he couldn’t be gone, he couldn’t have left him like that, Nanami couldn’t believe that he did.

His gaze dropped to the floor, neat, untouched, glasses still placed on the dresser, the bottle still full of crystal-clear water.

Nanami could only breathe out a desperate whimper, a prayer for Gojou to come, for him to stop being so distant in every sense of the term. He wished and prayed, and fell into a restless slumber, plagued with other nightmares and suspected premonitions.

3/20/2021

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic. chapter twelve: the desire to devour

word count: ~10.3k rating: m warnings: naughty language, .000002 seconds of spiciness (but not really), john goes "we were vibing, right? we had the vibes? right?" for like the entire last half. also mentions of self-harm and elliot's previous trauma. notes: hi friends! i hope you enjoy this chapter! this is going to be the last sort of in-between chapter before we really get into it, and from here it's going to go faaaaast. i had a lot of fun writing it and feeling out these different dynamics. not to mention john being a gigantic fuckhead (but like what is new, lmao). special thank you as always to my wifey and beta reader @starcrier for your impeccable eyeballs, and also to @vasiktomis and @shallow-gravy for lending their eyes as well because i did fuss a bit with this chap. i would be lost without y'all. thank you everyone for your love and support, esp with comments! it really fills my heart so so much to hear back from you, and i am always in the market for friends so do not be afraid to reach out to me <3

She is twenty-five.

She’s twenty-five, and it's her first full day of work. Or, it was; now, she's sitting in the Spread Eagle listening to Pratt talk about everything that's happened while she's been gone, because he'd said, c'mon, let me take you out tonight. He grins a boyish, toothy grin at her—the same kind that's mimicked in the multiple school dance photos her mother covets—and tries to sound nonchalant when he asks how she liked being in the city.

It's hard not to think about how this is the first place she had ever met John Seed, then-Duncan, and how it feels like it's spoiled the whole place for her.

Elliot redirects her attention as best as she can to what it is Pratt is saying. He's fishing for information. They've always been each other's safety net, the person they can fall back on when all else fails. School dances. Picking partners in class. Graduation walking buddies. He'd driven her to the airport when she left for the Academy, even. But even though she knows he's trying to figure out if she's still a safety net, Elliot can't disguise the way thinking about Mason makes her feel—disgusting—so she brings the beer bottle to her mouth and takes a swallow.

The result is her face scrunching up. Pratt laughs.

“Geez, Elli, slow down,” he says, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Bet money you're still a lightweight. When'd you start drinking beer, anyway?”

“I didn't,” she manages out around the taste, swallowing thickly. “I just won't let your money go to waste.”

He shrugs, as if to say, could, if you wanted, and swivels on the stool a little. He wants to press again—she can tell—but seems to have the good sense not to, instead busying his mouth with his own beer.

“Mama said Whitehorse let you right on,” Elliot says casually, trying to ignore the twinge of envy in her voice.

Pratt shrugs again. “He's known my dad a long time.”

“Known my mom too,” Elliot replies, dry.

“Yeah, well.” Pratt pauses, and sounds a little smug when he says, “Just because your mama likes me doesn’t mean I don’t know how she is to everyone else.”

“Likes you, does she?”

“Obviously,” the brunette replies confidently. “She still keeps all those photos of us. Remember senior year, she had all of her gal pals over when we were getting ready for prom—”

“Ugh.”

“—took us about 45 minutes before we were exactly where she wanted to take pictures—"

She rolls her eyes. Pratt grins, and then bumps his shoulder against hers. He says, “Aw, c’mon. Not so bad, is it? Having your mom like me?"

Elliot can feel the flush spreading under her cheeks. Not because she's embarrassed, or flustered, but because the beer sitting in her stomach feels rotten, and because Pratt's looking at her with the same kind of eyes he did before—always, always there's the before—and she doesn't know how to say I'm not her anymore, I'm not that girl, I'm different and changed and I don't know how to go back.

It doesn't matter. If Pratt can see it on her face, he doesn't let it show; just pats her shoulder and pretends he doesn't see the way she flinches from his hand swinging into her peripheral, pretends he doesn't notice the way she covers it up by swallowing another mouthful of beer she doesn't want to drink.

“Hudson’s really glad to have you back,” he says after a minute, when she doesn’t confirm nor deny that it’s not so bad knowing her mom thinks he’s a fine enough person. “Been talking about it nonstop.”

A smile creeps its way onto her face. “I’m glad to be back. With her, especially.”

“Yeah, you two always been thick, huh?”

She nods, swallows more beer, and Pratt rolls his eyes and snags the bottle out of her hand.

“Don’t keep drinking if you don’t like it,” he tells her, and then finishes it off himself, setting the empty bottle on the countertop with a grimace. “Can’t have people telling Whitehorse I bullied the probie into drinking.”

“‘Probie’,” she scoffs. “I could kick your ass.”

“Bullshit!”

“Could’ve done it before, Pratt.”

“Now that is lies and slander.”

Elliot only grins at him, the only time since coming back sans Joey getting her from the airport that it’s been a genuine thing; lopsided and a little sloppy but a grin nonetheless. Pratt finishes his own beer now, coughing a little into his fist before he blurts out, “I’m glad, too.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“That you’re back,” Pratt clarifies. “Y’know—nice to have my friend back. Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t know, because her mother won’t talk about it and Joey would never divulge what it was that had brought about her speedy return—but even though he doesn’t know about the way she has to swallow back a flinch every time he waves his hand in her peripheral, or the way the smell of beer on a man’s breath makes her stomach clench with anxiety, or how her hands are so fucking cold all the time because her heart hammers in her chest, the way he says that (Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway) feels a little like vindication.

“S’okay,” she murmurs, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Came back in one piece, didn’t I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The scent of roses wafted over her in waves. The sound of bathwater murmuring against the sides of the porcelain tub rippled each time she moved, each time she used the grip of her hands against the lip of the sides to sink herself under; her knuckles went cold with the ferocious grip, but when she went under she was submerged in quiet once more. Blissful, serene, quiet; just what she wanted.

Elliot pulled herself out of the water. Downstairs, she could hear her mother’s voice, spiking frantic even through the floors and the two closed doors that kept her separated.

“...years, Mr. Seed, I have lost years of my life agonizing over what she did to herself...”

She dipped below the water, closing her eyes. No sound; no shrill noise; just the heavy, bloated static that existed underneath the surface of the bath. Only her and the baby.

It occurred to her, absently, that she needed to start picking out names for the baby. Now that they had a guess at what the gender was, they’d have to decide about a name; not only a first, but a middle, too—the last name—

“...find it quite intriguing, actually, that the second she comes back to me after being involved with your kind that she’s got all this—this—”

Oh, don’t say it, Elliot thought tiredly, closing her eyes.

“—tear, just wretched wear and tear, Mr. Seed, don’t you? Don’t you find that intriguing?”

John was sitting down there, enduring a thorough verbal lashing, and she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d said, I don’t care if she thinks it was me, and he’d guided her upstairs and cupped her face and kissed her, long and open-mouthed, and swept his thumb over her cheek. Now, Elliot could hear the sound of his voice—calmer, empathetic, like just knowing that her mother was hysterical was giving him some kind of control over himself—but that he was speaking in a normal tone meant that his words didn’t come through quite so clearly.

She heard the sound of her mother saying, “I suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re not bothered in the least?” just before she dipped under the water again.

What was she going to name the baby? Did she even have an idea of what kinds of names she liked? Exhaustion pulled at the edges of her attention; she thought, I’m too tired to come up with a baby name, and gripped the edges of the bathtub harder. More fierce, more firm; grip and pull, maybe spill the entire bathtub over, tilt the clawed feet until it hit the tiled floor and the porcelain broke and the rose-scent water flooded the bathroom, her room, the hallway.

Then they’d have to leave. Then they couldn’t stay, surely, in a house flooded with rose water.

Fingers brushed over hers where they’d gone white at the edges of the tub. She pulled herself out of the water to find John sitting there, knelt at the side of the tub—not unlike the way he’d sat back at her mother’s house in Hope County, when she’d drank too much in the bathtub and said that he could mark her.

Because that’s what it had been. As much as she had wanted it, as much as she had enjoyed it, no matter what John said—he had been marking her as his. Like that Oscar Wilde poem.

The same sin binds us.

Elliot brushed the water from her eyes and settled her head back against the tub, regarding him. He looked less bothered than she thought he would, having sat through her mother’s grilling and interrogation—though he did look like he wanted to say something, like maybe it was sitting, burning into ash in his mouth, the way she could see the flex of his jaw and the way his free hand clenched and loosened.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he wanted to ask her what she’d been doing under the water, and the even more bothersome knowledge that she had, at some point, become painfully aware of his body language, Elliot said, “We have to think of a name.”

John blinked at her. Less than an hour ago, he’d been saying Of course I’d come for you, I love you, with or without the baby I love you, and she’d been sobbing into his arms and clinging to him.

He said, “And a middle name.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

A smile finally ticked the corner of his mouth, his fingers uncurling hers from the edge of the tub. Reluctantly, she let him.

“Your mother’s upset.” He paused. “She still wants you to play nice for her Christmas party, but she’s upset.”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. The despair of her shame, which had at once both overwhelmed her and hollowed her out, had dissipated in the wake of her indignation. What would she know, that vicious thing inside of her said, replaying the way her mother’s expression had crumpled. What would she know of our suffering? What would she know of our pain? ‘Wretched wear and tear’, like we haven’t been torn up for ages, like she didn’t throw us to the wolves and scoff in disgust when we came back bloodied and battered.

She wanted to be angry, really angry, but like most things that had to do with her mother, Elliot found herself more exhausted than anything. Scarlet had always found it impossible to comprehend the scars she’d given herself, had always claimed to feel disconnected to the ways Elliot had searched out meaning and comfort.

Absently, Elliot wet her lips and let her gaze flicker up to where John had perched himself beside the tub. He looked mighty pleased with himself, having finally gotten his words out. I love you, he’d said, palm flat against her window, I love you, with or without the baby.

And John, I want a home with you.

And John, Marriage is hard work, but I know you’re just the woman for the job.

And John, No way baby, I’m fucking it for you.

Blood rushed through her head, thunderous. John was saying something to her, but the words felt distant, and far away, and everything felt like it was underwater when she moved—not just the parts of her submerged in the bath, but all of it, the air too-thick and dragging on her skin and pulling her down slow as molasses. She blinked a few times as she disentangled their hands and reached for the towel, but John pulled it off of the hook first.

She watched him. She watched his mouth move, and his brows pull and furrow together at the center of his forehead, and the way his breath rose and fell in his chest, pushing and pulling the Sloth scar scratched across his sternum. Just like me, dream John had said, gripping her blood-covered hands, you’re just like me.

His voice, muffled and bogged down by the blood rushing through her ears, quirked up at the end. Elliot’s eyes darted back to his, and she asked, “Sorry, what?”

“The water’s cold,” he replied, waving the towel a bit. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. She felt hollow. Her fingers itched. She wanted—

John caught her hand as she stepped out of the bathtub, steadying her while her free hand gathered the towel up against her front. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, the lukewarm temperature of the bath still lingering; his fingers interlaced with hers, and she used it to steady herself.

He was close. They were close. A part of her resented it—that she let him be so close to her, that she let him kiss her and fuck her but mostly that she let him hold her when she cried, miserably, that she wanted to go home. Because after everything, after all of it, Hope County still felt—

She closed her eyes. Of course it still felt like home. Joey was there; now she knew Pratt was, too.

And among all of that, if she waded through the weeds spreading in her mind, if she hacked and cut them away, there was John.

“What are you thinking about?” John murmured, his cologne washing over her, their noses brushing. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a little breath, that wanton little creature in her head chanting it over and over. There’s John, there’s always been John, nobody will love us with this much red in our ledger. No one but him.

“You,” she managed. Her head felt swimmy, the words coming out of her mouth sounding like a stranger’s—thick with want. John’s eyes flickered up to hers, having fixed on her mouth.

“If you want something, Ell,” he rumbled, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of her neck guiding her forward just a little but not all the way, “you only—”

Elliot leaned forward and kissed him, her hand lifting so that she could curl her fingers into his hair, the towel slipping to the floor. His body had tensed, like he wasn’t expecting it—like he was waiting for something else—and she thought about the way he’d kissed her with Kian’s blood in her mouth, the way he’d been just rampant with desire, the way the way the way—

Her teeth caught his lower lip, a little sharper than she’d intended, and his hand gripping her wrist tightened and he moaned, and she felt that same little thrill as before surge through her. It’s my magic, too, the itch in her fingers subsiding when she dug her nails in and pulled his hair a little, parting her lips against his; John leaned into her, crowding her up against the counter in front of the mirror, the hand at the nape of her neck threading into damp hair.

“Ell,” he said against her mouth, his voice rougher than before and hands planted on the counter on either side of her, “what are you doing?”

She murmured, “Stop talking,” and kissed him again, fingers clumsily working through the buttons on his shirt—her voice came out even but everything else about her felt wobbly, unsteady, craving craving craving the way it felt to have him begging her. Anything, to feel in control. Anything, to feel whole. Dig, and dig, and when you hit the bottom you keep digging some more, right?

What do we do with grief, right?

Burn and erase the image of her mother’s disgust and horror at seeing a part of her she might actually like, scrape it from her mind, dig her trenches deep deep deep and hunker down where she could feel safe, where she could feel strong; soon she would be home and—

And John’s teeth snagged her lower lip in retribution, sparking violent and red-hot behind her eyes with pleasure lighting her neurons on fire.

“Off,” she ground out against his mouth, pushing helplessly at the shirt she’d only halfway unbuttoned. The brunette grinned; his hands resumed her work, and she instead devoted her attention to the belt at his waist, yanking at it as John’s face dropped to her neck, hot breath fanning across her skin teeth dragging against her pulse point to pull a moan out of her.

There was a split second between John discarding his shirt on the floor and gripping her hips to lift her onto the countertop, his mouth seeking hers out again as she wound her arms around his neck. She had never been completely naked and felt not vulnerable at all, felt more in control—but she did, now, when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled and he moaned her name, a little frantic, Ell, Ell, hellcat, he said into their kiss, let me let me, greedy and wanting as he glided fingers up along the inside of her thigh.

He tensed, like he was going to drop to his knees, and she kept her hand in his hair and said, “Don’t.”

“Hm,” is what he replied, “pulling on my hair, ordering me to take my clothes off—”

“I’m about to tell you to shut up again.”

“—but won’t let me eat you out?” John grinned against her mouth, the scent of his cologne—expensive, stupid shit, but it never failed to feel like it was overwhelming her senses—washing over her. “What is it, baby? Want me to say please?”

Yes, something wicked inside of her said, John’s eyes lifting from her mouth to hers, narrowing playfully. Yes, I’d like that, I’d like to hear you say it like that.

“I know you,” he purred. He dug his nails into her hips, a sound—the wanting kind—trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Know exactly what you want from me. Yeah? So, Ell, won’t you please—”

There was a sharp knock at the door, a pause, and then: “Elliot?”

A near-silent laugh billowed out of John, stifled into her neck when her mother’s voice came through the door. Elliot’s eyes fluttered; her fingers, knotted in John’s hair, loosened and smoothed down the back of his neck, the intoxicating tension relaxing just a little. Heat had coiled in the hollow of her chest, spreading warm fingers at the same leisurely pace that John’s hand drifted up to her hip, his mouth finding the hollow of her jaw.

“I can’t believe her,” she muttered. “Yes?”

“Miss West is here, with her brother.” Scarlet’s voice was tight. “Returning your vehicle.”

Fuck. Elliot sighed, her eyes closing for a second while she tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult to focus with John’s breath on her neck and his hands on her skin and that fucking cologne—and boy, did she not want to dwell on the fact that he’d shown up with barely anything but somehow also remembered to pack his stupid fucking cologne. But there was a different, special kind of warmth that spread through her when she realized that Sylvia was coming to check on her.

“Hair’s wet,” she called after a moment, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine.” There was another pause, and then her mother’s voice, scathing even through the door: “Ensure you are put together, Elliot.”

John murmured against her neck, “So no hickeys, then?” and she swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes and sliding off of the counter. He seemed reluctant to let her disembark, thumb sweeping the slope of her hip before he dropped down—just far enough to plant a kiss on the gentle slope of her tummy. It was—sentimental, unseating her with incredible ease.

And then he ruined it by saying, “Your mommy won’t let me fuck her filthy, but I hear the second trimester throws a woman’s hormones through the roof, so we’ll see how long that lasts,” to her bump as he grabbed the towel from the floor to offer to her.

She snatched it from his hands, wrapping it around herself. “Don’t say that shit to the baby. You think I won’t end your life?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he offered, head cocked to the side. “Leaving the hickeys, anyway, I mean. Well, and the second part too. About sex. Not the murderous part. Actually, you know I find it—”

Choosing to ignore the latter statement, Elliot narrowed her eyes. “You’d risk Via’s opinion of you dropping so severely?”

“You know what they say.” John spread his hands, almost in a gesture of helplessness; though she knew he was far from it. “Old habits die hard.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“She’s killing all of my angels!”

Faith’s voice was sharp, piercing; Isolde’s fingers fluttered over the bridge of her nose to fend off an impending headache, pen held poised above the notepad where she’d been writing down her thoughts but had paused in time for the girl’s interjection. She couldn’t stand a messy page—ink smears, jarred letters. Unacceptable.

Two hours ago, she’d had Jacob drive her out to where the service was strongest. A flood of emails and texts from her family had been waiting to overload her phone. Her dad, things are looking poorly, where are you?, her sister, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.

“Jacob,” the blonde plunged on, interrupting her train of thought, “you have to do something. They’re being—gutted like fish!”

“You should have locked them down,” Jacob told her. “And you’re not the only one losing things.”

“I put—” Faith cut herself off, clearly taking a moment to compose herself before she pitched her voice low and said, “I put just as much work into them as you do into yours.”

The red head’s voice bloomed with annoyance when he said, “Oh, did you?”

“No fighting, please,” Joseph called from where he sat next to her. His voice was even, elbows rested on his legs and fingers interlaced in thought. “I know this is stressful. But you must keep your faith in God.”

“Santi told me that—whoever she is has been leaving their corpses all around!” Faith’s voice pitched high with distress, now, sweeping around Jacob to come to where they had sat, big doe eyes wide. “We have to do something. Please, Father—I don’t want our people to wonder if they’re going to be next.”

Joseph paused, looking pensive for a moment; Isolde thought he might have been trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase something, but before he could speak, Isolde looked at Jacob and said, “You were going to hunt her down anyway, weren’t you?”

The eldest Seed’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me too, Sol.”

“Get some fresh air,” she replied curtly, “go for a drive, clear your head. Eliminate a problem. You’ve been wearing a hole in the floors anyway; put that energy into being productive.”

“P—” Jacob’s voice spiked, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He was agitated. She could tell—Pratt, and the phone call with the deputy in Georgia, and the Hunter on some kind of one-man rampage. But more importantly, Isolde thought, Jacob was agitated because there had not been a single conversation between him and Joseph since their argument.

Well, not even an argument. Just a lashing. A public one.

Isolde scooted her chair back from the table that had been set up at the front of the chapel, setting her pen down and stepping away. Her hand landed on the crook of Jacob’s elbow as she passed, and though he made a noise that implied disdain, he followed—not without shrugging her hand off by the time they got to the front doors of the chapel, leaving the other two to talk in low, murmured voices.

“You have got to stop letting this get to you,” she hissed.

“Nothing is ‘getting’—”

“Listen to me,” Isolde interjected. “I’ve been keeping as close an eye on the news as I have been on you. Things are—” She paused, mouth twisting around the words. “There is no room for you lot to be bloody fighting with each other. Do you understand me? This has moved far past needing to prepare PR and build a legal defense.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked suspicious. “So why are you still here then, Sol?” he asked.

The words burned insult in her chest. Why are you still here, stinging fresh and hot, because it was a fair question. It was the most fair question. Unlike any of these people, she had a family outside that she still loved. Her sister, and her parents. She should have told John and all of the Seeds to go fuck themselves, to enjoy the end of the world, while she went to be with her family.

But she wasn’t. She was here. Doing—this. Finding fresh new ways for Joseph to connect with his people to keep their morale high, keeping the infighting at bay to make sure they looked like a united front to everyone, second doomsday cult included.

“My parents will take care of Avery. You know they’re close with—government,” she replied after a minute, shaking off the unease. “And I told John that I would.”

He snorted. “John says jump, you ask how high?”

“No,” she bit out, “I say jump and you kiss the fucking ground I’m standing on because I cobbled together what the fuck is left of your congregation.” Before Jacob could say anything, Isolde added, “My hands are full, Jake. Do not add to my pile.”

Dark brows furrowed, his mouth thinning in disdain. He clearly wanted to say something. But true to his nature, Jacob straightened back and settled himself before he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he reiterated with his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the Veteran’s Center.”

“That doesn’t sound like where we heard about the killings happening last,” Isolde protested, eyes narrowing.

“But she was there,” he replied. “Or someone was. Someone was there enough to steal my files.”

“Your—” Isolde snapped her mouth shut, sucking her teeth as she glanced back at Joseph and Faith; haloed in the dim lighting of the chapel, she could see them looking back at Jacob and herself expectantly. She wondered how much they could hear, from there.

Turning her attention back to Jacob and pitching her voice down in volume, Isolde hissed, “I don’t think prioritizing files is the best move right now.”

“Thank you,” Jacob idled, “for your input.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have fun,” he added, opening the door and letting in a waft of biting, cold air, before gesturing to the Book of Joseph on the table that she’d had her nose stuck in. All the better to make Joseph’s sermons hit home harder, after all. “You know—with your light reading.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching him trudge down the steps for just a second before she said, “Jacob—”

“Yes, Isolde?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get shot.”

For a moment, he looked almost surprised at her words—but it was only a moment before he said, “Don’t worry, I’m taking Vidal. He makes a suitable meatshield.”

“God, he’s a talker.”

A tiny ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s lips, before he said, “John and the deputy should be making their way here any day now.”

Isolde grimaced. “I was there for the phone call.”

“Are you going to leave?” Jacob pressed, expression stiffening again. “When he does?”

She paused, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet. I should, were the words that wanted to come out of her mouth. I should go. I only came down here because John wasn’t here. I should go, and get back to my life, and maybe get to my family and try to stay out of the crossfire and—

After a heartbeat, she said, “I don’t know.”

Jacob shrugged, as if to say, see? Told you, though to what he could be referring to, she had no idea; she only knew that she didn’t like the way he swung around and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving her alone in the tepid warmth with Joseph and Faith’s eyes on her in favor of the blistering cold outside. Snow had continued to dump throughout the day and night, and had only just let up recently; the members of Eden’s Gate—those who had survived the Family’s relentless assaults, and those that had been pulled from the bunkers—had been tirelessly shoving pathways, only to have their work tidily undone each night.

Fingers brushed the palm of her hand. Isolde startled; she glanced back just as fingers interlaced with hers to be met with sweet, bright eyes and Faith’s adoring attention planted on her.

“It means so much to me,” Faith murmured, “that you would help. Not just me, but all of us.”

Soli watched the blonde for a moment, trying to gauge. The physical closeness was not something she was accustomed to; carefully, she disentangled their fingers, skin prickling with unease. When she glanced up, Joseph’s eyes were on them, on Faith’s fingers falling from her hand but skimming the inside of her palm in a lingering touch of affection.

He was always doing that. Watching. Watching, and waiting, and pinning each movement and gesture and thought and word out perfectly like the wings of a butterfly, just the color he liked and just the shape.

“Don’t thank me,” Isolde replied, mustering a smile and brushing the hair from her face.

“It’s my job.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, Miss Honey, John!”

Wyatt’s cheerful voice broke through the late-afternoon chill; the sun setting early, people’s breath coming out in puffs of smoke. It all felt oddly normal, given the circumstances of the morning and the way she’d forgotten to call Sylvia once she got home, and that her friend had fished up a reason to come by the house and make sure she hadn’t—

Well.

Still, if there was any remnant of the morning in Sylvia’s heart, it didn’t show in her face, and it certainly didn’t show in Wyatt’s. Instead, both blondes beamed at her, radiant, the second she came out with fuzzy, fresh-from-the-blow-dryer hair and swaddled up to her chin in thick fabrics to fend off the cold.

And, truthfully, to hide the bump. John had reminded her of it, and even though the moment had been a...good one, it had also reminded her she hadn’t expressed this truth to Sylvia or Wyatt. As John closed the door behind her and jogged down the steps,

“Howdy,” Ell greeted, albeit a bit awkwardly thanks to her stuck-somewhere-nowhere-sort-of-accent. “You didn’t have to drive it back all the way out here, you know.”

“Sure we did.” Wyatt chirped. “Wouldn’t be very neighborly of us if we let it sit and the battery died out, now would it?”

“No,” John demurred after a moment even as Elliot’s cheeks went warm, “I suppose not.”

“You all recovered from this morning?” Via asked cheerfully, purposefully avoiding the actual question. Elliot shifted on her feet. John’s hand skimmed the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, it felt warm; she wondered if this was what it would have been like for them, had their life been normal. Had John been truthful with her from the get-go. Now, with everything laid out between them—the lies unearthed and only the brutal, unapologetic knowledge that they wanted each other, in one way or another—it felt like they might have been normal. Sometime, somewhere, someplace else.

It was still hard to swallow, all of it. The lies and the now-truths and the knowledge that she did, in fact, want.

��Oh, yeah,” Ell replied faintly. “Took a bath and...” She tried for a smile. “Decompressed.”

“That what smells so good?”

“Y’all get that tired from dress shoppin’?” Wyatt tsked, having pulled his coat out of the jeep and started to pull it on. He grinned at her and skillfully dodged a side-swipe from Sylvia; he had a good foot of height on her—and Elliot—so it wasn’t difficult. The siblings fussed for only a moment before Sylvia managed to fetch the Jeep’s keys from Wyatt’s coat pocket and held them out to Elliot, puffing.

She was in the middle of saying, “Your keys, madame,” when John’s head tilted and he muttered, “Now what is this?”, drawing her attention to the end of the drive. A police cruiser made its way slowly down the drive, carefully pulling up behind the Jeep.

Not beside it. Not further up toward the garage, not on the other side of the four of them chatting. Behind it. Blocked in.

Sheriff Pritchard stepped out, shuffling a little as he adjusted the black, fur-trimmed jacket on his shoulders and closed the driver side door. He’d come alone, which made Elliot certain he wasn’t here to arrest her—and what a ludicrous thought, that he might have considered it a possibility, because the mere mental image of Pritchard grabbing her arm and keeping his eyes in his head made a hysterical kind of laugh want to bubble out of her.

Not me, not me and not my baby, that thing inside of her said, lifting its hackles and baring its teeth when Pritchard began to saunter over. Not my baby.

“Afternoon, you two. And Wests,” Pritchard greeted as he drew closer. He’d earned himself a curious murmur from Sylvia. “Havin’ a little shindig out here, Miss Honeysett?” Elliot opened her mouth to respond, but he lifted his hands quickly in defense. “‘M sorry, forgot myself. Mrs. Seed.”

It caught her off-guard, sucked the air right out of her lungs. It was one thing to hear her mother say John is Elliot’s husband, to hear her say John is my son-in-law, but it was another entirely to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Seed. It had never, ever been that she was John’s wife, except out of his own mouth, but now—

John seemed eager to engage with Pritchard, because he said, “Something that you needed, sheriff?”

“Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of drivin’ out to the rich part of town just for shits and giggles,” Pritchard replied coolly. “Your mama home, Elli?”

“Probably resting,” Sylvia offered, smiling politely. “We just finished dress shoppin’ for her Christmas Party not but an hour ago.”

“Yeah,” Pritchard rumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Heard about your little trip to the boutique today.”

John asked irritably, “Do you need to smoke that right now?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. Her lashes fluttered, eyes desperate to close; the warmth that had flooded her face now felt like it verged on feverish, threatening to make her head swim again. This was bad. This was bad-bad, chop her hair off and run run run again bad, the kind of bad that made a girl change her name and burn her birth certificate and make sure that nobody would ever be able to find her again.

“I don’t,” she began, “think mama’s feeling up to visitors right now.”

Pritchard eyed her, taking a puff of his cigarette while completely glazing over John’s pointed question. “Imagine not. You know, you been a hot topic of conversation lately, Mrs. Seed. Gotten loads of questions about you. Lady from out of town, Federal Marshals. I don’t like folks sniffin’ around my town, you know, especially not the fuckin’ Feds, but it’s gotta make me wonder.” The smoke curled out from his nose, the smoke of a lazy, self-righteous dragon wafting around her.

“Sheriff,” John continued tightly, clearing his throat, “you’re going to need to put that out.”

“We’re outside, Mr. Seed. You ain’t ever seen someone smoke a cigarette outside?”

“Do you make a habit of smoking around pregnant women?” John snapped viciously, and oh, she thought, oh, I didn’t even think of that, because her brain was too busy kicking into overdrive and parse out the absolute confirmation that Federal Marshals were asking after her and strange women, too. Oh, I didn’t even think about the baby.

And then Sylvia said, eyes wide as saucers as she laughed, flustered, “Oh, John, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not—” and her eyes landed on Elliot, and she blinked rapidly.

Wyatt was looking at her, too. Big, big eyes, surely having not only learned that she and John were married but that she was also pregnant in the span of only a few minutes. At least, Elliot didn’t think Sylvia would have divulged that information, and if the shock he was clearly trying to cover up in his expression was any indication, that gut feeling was right.

No, she thought, no, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t his to tell, it wasn’t his to tell, it was mine, my choice, mine alone.

Her gaze snapped to Pritchard. She said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Pritchard lifted his eyebrows. “That so? Well, good for me I ain’t here to talk to you, missy.”

“Get. Off. My. Property,” she bit out through her teeth. “Scarlet isn’t taking visitors, and I’ll cut the decay out of my own teeth before she makes anything close to the time of day for you.”

Now, his eyes narrowed and the cigarette sat between his fingers, still burning amber at the end. “Excuse me?”

“And tell the fucking Feds whatever you want,” she snapped, fingers curled tightly around the keys until the metal edges dug into the nooks and crannies of her hand. “But whatever you do, get the fuck out of my driveway, sheriff.”

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. John started, “Ell,” and his hand went to her shoulder, but she jerked back from him before he could make much more than a brush of contact.

“Don’t,” Elliot snapped at him, her voice wobbling and the tears—shameful tears—welling up and burning, “touch me.”

“Alright, okay,” Sylvia murmured, “Elliot and I are gonna go inside, and John can—”

“Ain’t here to talk to Mr. Seed,” Pritchard drawled venomously.

“If you’re asking questions about Elliot,” Sylvia replied calmly, taking Elliot’s hand with a firm squeeze, “I can imagine there is no better person to ask than her husband, don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

Pritchard’s eyes were squinted into poisonous little slits, and he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mrs. Honeysett won’t be any type of cooperative if you get her up now,” Wyatt chimed in, eyes flickering nervously to Elliot—perhaps both because of the news and because of her outburst. But she didn’t have time to think much about it, because Sylvia was tugging her out of the cluster of folks, ginger and reassuring even as her brother plunged on, “I mean, sheriff, come on—you know how women can be when they’re gotten up too early, let alone they’ve been shoppin’ all day—”

And Pritchard said, “You want I should put my cigarette out now, Mr. Seed?” as Sylvia opened the door,

and John replied with a slick, charismatic kind of venom, “No reason to anymore, smoke to your heart’s content,”

and the door clicked shut behind her and Boomer scampered out from where he’d been snoozing under the dining table.

She had to leave.

She had to go.

She had to get out.

Federal Marshals and strange women asking after her, and now her only two friends in the whole fucking world—

(well, not entirely true, since we still have Pratt, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Elli?)

—had just seen her almost go fucking bananas on an officer of the law, had watched her demand he get the fuck out of her driveway for wanting to ask her mother about her, had seen her.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, “you’re alright.”

I’m not, she thought, dropping the keys into the crystal bowl by the door, smearing red against the glass. Her hand stung. She reached with the good, unmarked hand for Boomer absently. His cold, wet nose brushed against it, and he whined, feet tapping against the wood as he bumped her for her attention. I won’t go. I won’t fucking go. I won’t pay the price for what they did to me, what they made me into.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out abruptly, her voice coming out tight. “Sorry that I didn’t—um, tell you. About the—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvia told her quickly, “it’s alright, Elli, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Elli, she said, without knowing what the nickname meant. Elli, Sylvia said, it’s alright, and Joey, right now we need to leave, Elli, and Pratt, geez, Elli, slow down, an affectionate nickname saved only for folks who considered her their friend. Sans Pritchard. Fuck Pritchard.

“Lots of people wait to tell,” Via continued, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and jarring her out of her thoughts, which were quickly and rapidly devolving back into the urge to march outside and ensure Pritchard was obeying her command. Out out out, something vicious inside of her demanded, we want him out we want him gone.

Elliot said, “Yeah, you’re right,” but she felt far away—not lost, not gone from herself, but thinking. She could pack fast. She could pack fast, and John had brought barely anything, and they could leave right now, her mother none the wiser. They could leave now and be gone and Cameron Burke would have to—

But are we sure it’s Burke? Are we sure it’s Burke and not someone else, come to haul your ass to a fucking psych ward, for what you did in Hope County?

For what you did?

No. She wasn’t sure. She could only hope it was one singular Federal Marshall on her tail, and not an actual piece of the government body. That was all.

But whoever it was that was asking after her—strangers, government officials—it didn’t matter. That old mantra had kicked in again; something has to be done, the same kind of calm before the storm that she’d felt when Joey had been killed, something has to be done.

Something has to be done and I’m going to have to be the one to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pritchard dropped the cigarette into the snow and stamped it out with his bootheel, his eyes fixed on John. Sylvia had rushed Elliot inside, but he didn’t think that had been purely necessary—only in the instance they had wanted to keep Pritchard out of a blood bath. Elliot hadn’t been checking out, trying to keep herself together; she had been angry, and he’d had half a mind to let her say and do exactly as she pleased to the man now standing in front of him in the cold.

“She always been that volatile, Mr. Seed?” the sheriff asked.

“Not undeservingly,” John replied tartly, his eyes narrowed. “Did you have specific questions, sheriff, or did you just come by to terrorize my pregnant wife with your theoretical judgment of her soul?”

“More your speed?” Pritchard replied, lifting a brow.

“Pardon?”

“Heard about you Seed boys,” he continued coolly, “and your...” He gestured with a calloused hand vaguely, looking for the right word.

John smiled, with teeth. “Before I grow old, if you don’t mind, sheriff.”

“Proclivities,” Pritchard elaborated, “for religion.”

Fucking Burke, he thought, with no absence of venom; fucking Burke can’t resist the urge to try and fuck up my life when he’d be better off trying to find a place to hunker down for the end of the world.

“We’re red-blooded Americans,” John idled coolly, “freedom of religion goes hand in hand with that.”

“Mr. Pritchard, you wanna get that car started?” Wyatt cut in abruptly, glancing around like he thought maybe the rest of the patrol might be rolling in any minute. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got any questions for Mr. Seed.”

“That’s sheriff to you, boy,” he snapped. And then, after a heartbeat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “I s’pose I got all the information I needed, after all.”

“Mmhm.”

John had turned back to the house, spotting Elliot and Sylvia through the front window, when Pritchard announced, “You make sure Scarlet gives me a call when she’s recovered from your wife’s antics, Mr. Seed.”

His gaze returned to the sheriff, narrowed. “Certainly, Sheriff Pritchard.”

“But if I don’t hear from you, no worries,” the man continued, opening his car door, “I’ll make another special trip out here.”

“Goody.”

John flashed another grin when Pritchard’s eyes flickered over him. Wyatt said, “Have a safe drive,” and Pritchard slammed his door shut, his cruiser’s engine roaring to life before he began to slowly back out and make a u-turn to head down the long driveway again. There was a moment of silence, stretching between himself and Wyatt that he didn’t feel particularly inclined to break—after all, Wyatt had been taking liberties with Elliot that he shouldn’t have been—before the blonde finally broke the silence.

“Congrats,” Wyatt said after a minute. “About—uh, the baby, I mean. I didn’t know!”

Ah, he thought, feeling a strange little surge of pride at the way the man across from him shifted on his feet with discomfort, and that’s why Elliot’s mad I brought it up. Her friends didn’t know.

Well, it was better this way, after all. He wouldn’t have taken it back even if he’d gotten the chance, knowing what he did now.

“Thank you,” he replied amiably. “It’s certainly a blessing.”

Wyatt’s mouth twisted for a moment, looking like there was something he wanted to say specifically and didn’t know how to say it without foregoing social niceties, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

“Wyatt, you gonna stand out here like a lemming all afternoon or what?” Via called. “Get the car warmed up, you caveman.” She took a few steps down the front stairs and looked at John. “You’re wanted inside, Mr. Seed.”

A very polite way of telling him that Elliot, perhaps, was in the mood to throttle him with her bare hands. Though he didn’t really see the harm in spilling the news—perhaps with Via, sure, but Wyatt? The cowboy? Like that was ever going to be anything.

“Thanks for your help,” John said, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder before he made his way to the front steps. Via hadn’t moved. In fact, her normally polite expression was eerily cool—whatever amicable, feigned interest she had manicured for him in the past seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Elliot’s own fury.

As he neared, he said, “Something else you needed, Miss West?”

Via’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Wyatt, now inside the car, and then back to John. “You must think I’m mighty dumb, don’t you?”

John lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you think I instigated that little outburst on purpose—”

“What I think,” Via replied, “is that you know exactly what she’s capable of handling. Just because you didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking of letting her physically assault a police officer.”

His easy-going expression flattened. Sylvia, and her seeing, the same kind of uncanny people-reading skills that Joseph had, too. Seeing his delight at knowing that Elliot would have taken on a man a foot taller than her, pregnant, if it meant keeping him away from the baby, if it meant keeping herself out of the grip of a greater power that wanted her in a psychiatric evaluation.

“I want to like you,” Via continued, taking the steps until she reached the bottom, “and I thought maybe you were here to make a real effort. But it seems like you’re the same person you were before, John Duncan.”

The name sent a jolt of red-hot anger flushing down his spine, filling him up suddenly with a sort of molten rage that only the reminder of his adoptive parents could have inspired in him. When Via went to move past him, he snatched her elbow, holding her in place.

“And where,” he ground out, “did you hear that name, Miss West?”

“It’s called a web browser, John,” Via replied coolly. “You ever heard of Google? Imagine how many John Seeds there are in Hope County, Montana. I don’t need to tell you that the articles regarding you and your brothers, though a bit old, are unflattering. And all I want you to know—” She paused, arm still in his grip. “—is that we’re aware of each other, and that I don’t want anything happening to Elliot.”

“Neither do I,” John replied tightly, “and I especially don’t want someone digging trenches where there’s not a war zone.”

Via regarded him with an even gaze for a moment, glancing back at the car where her brother sat, before she murmured idly, “Kindly take your hand off of my arm, John.”

“Ellliot’s already aware of the any of the information in those articles,” he continued lowly, “just so you know.”

“My point, John,” Via replied casually, “is that I know, and I can—and will—deal with it as I see fit. Now, you gonna take your fuckin’ hand off of my arm, or are we going to have a problem?”

He watched her for a moment—just long enough to consider the dopamine rush of killing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her face into the top of the porch, doing something, anything to ensure that Sylvia West was not capable of messing up anything that he was doing—and then he planted a big smile on his face and dropped his hand from her arm.

“Careful,” he said, louder now so that Wyatt would hear, “it’s icy.”

The blonde didn’t respond. Instead, she brushed her hand absently where his had been, as though to brush herself free of his touch, and picked her way across the driveway and to the truck idling just on the other side of the jeep.

Well, that would be one less problem to deal with, in the end.

John made his way inside, closing the front door quietly behind himself and taking a moment to gauge. Just to see what was going on. The house itself was quiet, and Boomer’s little footfalls were nowhere to be heard, and Scarlet wasn’t sipping her vodka in the living room—so.

So.

So.

Taking a breath, he started up the stairs, turning into the hall to find Elliot’s bedroom door halfway ajar. He paused in the doorway; she was rifling through drawers, pulling sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweats out and dropping them into a duffel bag, furious little exhales occasionally coming out of her.

“I was told I was being summoned,” John said, Elliot’s attention razor-sharp and snapping to him immediately.

“Pack your shit,” she said briskly, “we’re leaving.”

He blinked. Taking a step inside, he glanced at Boomer—perched protectively between himself and Elliot—and said, “I thought we were waiting until after the Christmas party?”

“You’re not fucking deaf, John, you heard Pritchard,” she snapped. “The Feds have been asking about me. The only reason they don’t know exactly where to look—whoever it is—is because Pritchard’s a fucking asshole and likes to be as obstinate as possible.”

“And if we sprint out of here,” he replied, “you’re just going to draw their attention.”

“It’s what Pritchard wants.” Elliot zipped the duffel bag shut and then brushed past him into the bathroom, gathering up her toothbrush and toothpaste and the sleeping pills. “For me to be gone. He’ll piss off if I go. And there’s no way he’s going to put up a big fight to cozy up to the government.”

“Elliot.” John watched her furiously gathering things up, and then when she came by again he caught her with his hands. “Ell, just slow down—”

“Stop,” she bit out, “stop telling me what to fucking do, John, and—I told you not to touch me.”

He lifted his hands from her, but not far enough that she could duck past. “Are you that mad about Sylvia and Wyatt knowing you’re pregnant?” When she didn’t answer, and instead hauled the bag over from the other side of the bed to be close to her so that she could dump the collections from the bathroom into it, he sighed. “I didn’t know you hadn’t told them, but I don’t understand what all of the secrecy is about. The baby isn’t—”

“I felt normal!” Elliot replied sharply, her voice pitching a little higher now, and John heard the wet wobble in it too—the way the timbre of her voice thickened and rounded out with the threat of oncoming tears, her cheeks flushed with anger and maybe shame and pain, too. “Okay? I felt—I f-fucking felt normal, for once, and it was enough that Sylvia knew you and I had been—that we’re married, which I don’t even want to dig into right now, but it was another to be like—yes, the father of my fucking child, who I’m actually married to even though I didn’t want it, is here and oh, by the way? He’s part of a cult. Yeah, a fucking doomsday cult. I’m carrying the child of a doomsday cultist.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he demanded. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t want Sylvia and her brother knowing you were pregnant? You never said. And what does it matter?” And then, feeling the petulance well up inside of him: “I know it probably felt nice, to have Wyatt giving you attention—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re really pulling that now? So, what—you dumped the news because you wanted to make sure my friend found me as off-limited as possible?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I know this may come as a shock to you,” he said, feeling the tension peeling apart behind his eyelids, “I really didn’t want Pritchard smoking near my baby.”

“My baby.” Elliot jammed her finger into his chest, just above his heart, her words vicious. “It’s our baby, or it’s my baby, but there isn’t a single fucking universe where the only person this baby is beholden to is you.”

“He’s,” John corrected, tartly. “He’s our baby. And at the end of the day, whether you like it or not—”

“Have you ever,” she cut in over him, biting the words out between her teeth, “done anything for me that wasn’t for you too?”

Watching her, the words sat sticky in his chest. His instinct was to say, of course I have, but that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to pretend like it was, either—because he wasn’t ashamed that everything he had done had been for them, that if Elliot wasn’t his then there would be no point in it, that it was a zero sum game where he either had her or he had nothing.

He said, evenly, “No.”

Elliot looked unseated by his honesty. She swept her fingers across her forehead tiredly and turned back to her bag. “Then do me a favor and pack your shit so we can go.”

John sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“John,” she bit out, “I am making an executive decision.”

“Alright, Ell.”

“And—”

John had turned to the door to go gather what few of his belongings he’d had when Elliot cut herself off, drawing his eyes over his shoulder to her again. She looked unwell—stressed, feverish, her hands buried into the duffel bag maybe to hide the shaking and her face flushed and her brows furrowed together.

“Thank you,” she managed out after a minute, “for being honest. For once.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pratt brushed the snow from his hair, teeth chattering as he waded through knee-deep snow out towards the water. It had been three days, and Helmi had told him to meet her out there—how she was going to get past the compound’s security, Pratt didn’t know, but he also thought it probably was best not to dwell on the things that Helmi would do (and could do) to get where she needed to be.

Which is why he found himself less and less surprised to find her standing at the edge of the water, in the middle of the night, swathed up to her jaw in dark, heavy fabrics. The only part of her that wasn’t covered were her hands; the closer he got, he could see she was turning a smooth, dark rock over and over in her hands, passing it between them as she watched him come nearer.

“You remembered,” was how she greeted him, most of her face cast in shadow thanks to the high position of the moon behind her. Pratt shivered and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“Yeah, well, kinda hard to forget,” he replied. “Considering it’s been looming over me for the last few days.”

“Poor thing,” Helmi agreed, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Did you call her?”

Pratt paused, clearing his throat. There was something that didn’t quite sit right with him, knowing that he had called Elliot not out of a cry for her help—not really, anyway—but because this other cult wanted her. This cult, which had tore its way through Hope County splitting and gutting its residents, wanted her. And Helmi didn’t seem keen on telling him why.

“I did. They just got word that she and John are on the road now,” he said after a moment. “What, uh—do you want her for, anyway?”

Helmi quirked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making the phone call, if it was going to bother you?”

A little lick of shame and embarrassment crawled red-hot into his cheeks, and he scoffed, turning his face away. “Well, you said you wanted her alive. Can’t say the same for the Seeds.”

“She’s carrying John’s child,” Helmi pointed out. “You think they’d kill her still?”

Pratt grimaced. It was still hard to stomach—the idea that Elliot was with John. Or had been, at one point. It didn’t sound like things were going great, and he could only imagine why. Still—

Still, he thought there was a lesser of the two evils, and Helmi sounded like it. Maybe not the others, but Helmi.

“They don’t have a problem killing babies,” Pratt replied after a minute. “What are you going to do, once she gets here? They won’t let her leave, and they definitely won’t let you in.”

Now, the blonde grinned—pearly teeth in the dark of the night, surprisingly satisfied with herself. “Big one’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, Faith too. You've been killing her angels.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a plan. You know exactly as much as you need to know right now. Are you eating?”

The question came so quickly that Pratt didn’t have time to register the oddness of it, replying on automatic the same way he had been with Arden’s consistent, gentle pestering: “Yeah, I mean—don’t have much of an appetite, but...”

His voice trailed off and he glanced back at the woman. Her head was cocked and her eyes were fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“Eat,” she told him. “Take advantage of as much as you can. And most of all, listen. Any information you can get will be helpful.”

Pratt’s throat felt a little tight. He kept thinking about the way Jacob had grabbed his shoulder, laughing when he’d insulted the woman doing the heavy lifting for Joseph—grinning like a fucking wolf, like he was going to be dinner, next.

He managed out, “He’ll kill me. If he suspects. He’ll take—everything, from me.”

Helmi planted a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made him want to flinch, but he bit back the urge, and he thought maybe she’d seen but didn’t say.

“He already took everything from you,” she replied lightly, “and do you know what that means?”

The dark of her gaze was intense, piercing even in the late night; it made it hard to look away. Voices echoed back in the compound, and briefly, he thought maybe they’d noticed his absence—but he only shook his head.

“It means you have nothing to lose,” Helmi murmured, “and everything to take back from him.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the pad of her thumb sweeping up to his pulsepoint pensively. “See? Your heart is beating, and hard. Your blood knows it’s what you want, even if you don’t yet.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded his head once. Nothing to lose, and everything to take back. Could he? Could he get things back? Is that what Helmi had done? What Elliot had done?

“And don’t fuck it up,” she added, dropping her hand from his neck and zipping her coat up. Leaving so soon. She grinned. “Or I’ll gut you myself. And I guarantee, it won’t be an Återfödelse.”

A nervous, almost hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of him. Helmi shot him a look and then brushed past him, heading back into where the brush became the thickest, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days, Staci Pratt.”

A few days. A few days, Elliot would be back, and John Seed would be back, and Helmi would be seeing him. Seeing them. Maybe it would be better to make a break with Elliot, once she got in—but what if she didn’t want to? What if she was one of them?

Pratt let out a puff of hot breath, digging the heel of his palm into his eyesocket while the pain bloomed just there, turning and beginning to trudge back to the compound before anyone noticed his absence. Each scrape and puff of snow fell in line with his heartbeat, the mantra on and off again.

Nothing to lose.

Everything to take back.

[awilddreamermain]

Hi, Chels! Congratulations!! I'm so happy for you! You deserve every follower and more! That is a threat, I'm holding everyone hostage 🔪

I would love to get a MHA matchup, I wanna see who you'd match me with! Got me so curious! SFW & NSFW if you'd be willing!

My name is Chloe but I prefer May, nicknames include May-May, Maybell or Chlo.

I'm 25, pronouns are she/he, Cancer Moon, Aries Sun and Virgo Rising. Quite the weird mash of zodiacs, huh?

My favorite colors are pink (that soft pastel kinda baby pink), red (especially blood/garnet red) and...can I add pink again? Any shade of pink this time. Bubblegum or hot pink.

Favorite AU's include A/B/O, Mafia, Historical, Fantasy and does Mythical Creatures count?

Oh...oh boy, I gotta look deep for some fun facts that aren't just...facts but I'll do my best!

1) My sneezes are so short and high pitched I go "chu".

2) I have vitiligo, makes me look like a dog because it's mostly around my mouth and my right eye so I have a spot!

3) I have atrocious balance, my knees and shins are always banged up because I cannot for the life of me walk correctly.

4) I have a stutter, on top of speaking so quickly it turns into a jumbled mess. So good luck understanding what I said because I have no idea either.

5) I have a growing unicorn plush collection. My favorite is Cupcake, one that's actually taller than I am. Big chunk.

My likes are pretty simple. Cute & soft sweaters, blankets, warm coffee and strawberry milk, pastries and the cold! Winter is my favorite season. History, particularly the Medieval and Victorian times.

My interests revolve around creativity and you could say they're my hobbies as well. Drawing in particular, I used to do digital but I'm stuck with traditional pencil and paper at the moment. I'm dipping my toes into painting and its very fun! Obviously writing and reading and if I'm not doing of those listed then I'm definitely playing video games.

Personality I might say I'm quite split down the middle. At first, to a complete stranger I might come across as cold, stoic, with a resting bitch face, that just wants to get whatever I'm outside for done so I can leave. I'd create a witty or sarcastic comeback if I was given sass by a Karen but with my speech issues? I'd be lucky to get one coherent word out at her...and spend the rest of the day fantasizing what could've happened. So I'm rather quiet, agoraphobia hits hard in large or crowded places so I'm an anxiety riddled mess on the verge of a panic attack. In private or with people that I'm comfortable with? Complete opposite. Happy, bubbly, cracking puns and jokes so get those groan worthy reactions. I try to be the "mom friend" and get over my issues if someone is having it worse, I'll march up to a counter and ask for ketchup if someone wanted it but was too scared to do it themselves. The shoulder to lean and cry on, I'm highly empathetic and understanding, compassionate at times. But I have to actively try and keep myself positive and say good things about myself because I do fall into the pit of self-loathing and hate.

For appearance I'd say I'm average height, pale with white splotches that are inching larger due to my vitiligo, chubby, ashy blonde, blue eyes, button nose. I'd say I'm decently cute? I don't know if I can rate myself.

Okay I know I said I'd be looking into Zodiac compatibility for this but— I literally just screamed internally "KIRISHIMA" when I was reading this. You two would be perfect omg. This Libra king would do anything for you. For this you're an artist and the daughter of a mafia boss :) I like to think of ship names sometimes so like, yours would either be like Eijmay or Mayjirou or Kiriloe— that last one and first are awful I know so lets go with the second? I can't write a proper stutter for the life of me so I tried to keep your dialogue to the minimum.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ Pairing: Eijirou Kirishima

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AU: Mafia

⠀Theme Song: You're The One That I Want - Alex & Sierra

How you meet (his point of view):

⠀⠀The gallery was full of black and white suits, tight, floor length dresses with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses meeting his ears. It was a joyous evening, celebrating the wonderful art work created by the boss's daughter. He had never met her before but he had heard whispers, all good as no one would dare slander the name of their leader's precious little girl. You were the boss's pride and joy, thus he kept you as far away from the darker side of the family business as possible.

⠀⠀Kirishima was still a new hire, a bodyguard of sorts and would consider this his first gig. He had an idea of who he was looking for as he walked further into the mass of people admiring your work but didn't expect what he would eventually come across. You were as far away from the crowd as you possibly could be, guzzling glasses of wine and over all appearing to be a deer in headlights. He couldn't fugure out for the life of him why you seemed so frightened until he watched people approach you to talk, noticing the stutter in your voice when you replied to questions and greetings,your body language telling people to stear clear of you.

⠀⠀So, he did what he was hired to do. "Kindly step away from the lady." He said with a smile, approaching with his large arms crossing over his broad chest as he towered over the guests. They looked at him as if he were a giant shark looking to devour them before scurrying away, leaving the two of you alone. He stood quietly, listening to the voices on the other side of his ear piece as his ruby eyes scanned the area around you. He made sure to not stand so close and avoided in letting his gaze wander.

⠀⠀He couldn't help but admire your skin in quick glances, finding the spot over your eye to be quite adorable. Your silky, ask blonde hair was all dolled up for the event, light make up on your face but not enough to cover the vitiligo. You were stunning and his heart hammered against his chest. So the rumors were true.

⠀⠀You thanked him, voice quiet and careful as you set down your wine glass and clasped your hands together. Out of the corner of his eye he watched you twiddle your thumbs. You didn't want to be here, did you? This obviously wasn't your idea, how could it be? A girl like you, timid as a mouse, didn't want to be surrounded by strangers. "Miss..." He began, thinking carefully because the last thing he wanted to do was piss off the boss and likely get himself killed. But this was his job wasn't it? Making sure you were happy and safe? "Would you like to leave here for a bit? We'll come back of course, but you look like you need some air."

Extra.

He ended up taking you to a drive thru restaurant and got you whatever you wanted, letting you talk about whatever you wanted or sat quietly if you chose not to talk at all If it was quiet in the suv then that was fine too, he just wanted to help you in any way he could. Eventually the silence becomes small talk and then leads to a rather deep conversation about whatever the hell was going on inside that beautiful brain of yours. Kirishima wasn't the smartest man but he wasn't stupid, he wasn't as clueless as most thought he was. You told him how your father made you do this as an attempt to get you out there, to socialize and possibly find a suitor. This was the mafia after all.

The Confession:

⠀⠀It was a tradition now, every Sunday you and Eijirou would go to your favorite café to have coffee and enjoy the early day weather before it got too hot. You sit at the same table, in the same chairs with him facing the door. You get the same drinks and food and just overall enjoy each others company. After that night at the gallery you two became fast friends, which your father obviously had to approve of but thankfully he did. Kirishima was a good man, he's trustworthy and puts you before himself.

⠀⠀The day he approached your father and asked to speak in private was the day he knew he was likely to get thrown in the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. He has confessed his feelings for you to your old man, who listened intently with a blank face behind his desk. "Sir, I'm in love with your daughter, and with your blessing I'd like to... court her." He was utterly terrified when your father cleared his throat and sighed, shifting where he sat so he could stand and move around the desk. He reached out for a handshake which Kirishima looked up at him with a questioning look.

⠀⠀Your father gave his blessing and now... He just had to tell you, his best friend, that he loved you. God he loved you so much— "Kiri," you interrupted his thoughts, bringing him crashing back to reality," a-are you alright? You seem nervous." He swallowed hard in response but cleared his throat, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

⠀⠀"Oh yeah— definitely." He breathed with a laugh, moving a hand to the back of his neck to scratch. How was he going to say it? "So, uh—" he licked his lips, adjusting himself in his seat multiple times until he groaned and leaned forward. "Fuck, I'm just gonna say it— Maybell, I love you. I have for a long time now and I talked to your father and he said—"

⠀⠀"Said what, Eijirou?" Your eyes widened at his confession and he felt like a complete idiot. Should he had said something to you first? Was this a mistake? What if you didn't feel the same way? God his mind was going to explode—

⠀⠀"That I could... court you. With your permission." You were quick to nod and smile to his surprise, which prompted a grin if his own.

Extra.

Kirishima HAS to be facing the door in any public place you go to. I don't make the rules.

He never let's you walk close to the road, he has to be between you and it at all times when you're walking.

He oders your food and drinks for you when you can't but is there for moral support when you do. He wants you comfortable and happy. He wouldn't ever dare get in your way though, you're a lot stronger and braver than most may think you are.

The Relationship:

⠀⠀On days like this, Kirishima can't help but admire you. He catches himself staring wuite often but he just can't help it. What did he do to deserve such a beautiful partner? He looks at you and all he can think about is how much he loves you and wants to see you smile. He watched you from the kitchen island, leaning against it as you waltz around the kitchen in your pinky fuzzy slippers and one of his shirts that's much, much too big on you. He remembers your surprise when you found his clothing was actually too big on you and how happy you were.

⠀⠀"Maybell?" He hums, adjusting his stance and crossing his arms on the counter. He listened for you to him back in response, a smile on his lips. "You look so cute in my clothes.

⠀⠀You giggled, shaking your head and continued putting the dishes away until Eijirou appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and his forehead coming down on your shoulder. "Need somethin' baby?" You turned your head just slightly, a brow cocked inquisitively. He squeezed you in response, swiftly lifting you and making you squeal. Thankfully you didn't have anything in your hands at the moment. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face, setting you down only to lift you again bridal style.

⠀⠀"I've got all I need right here in my arms." He chuckled and you playfully smacked his chest, letting him carry you to your shared bedroom.

Extra.

TICKLE FIGHTS.

He thinks your sneezes are the cutest thing in the world.

He loves your god awful puns, they crack him up every time.

Adores the fact you're a nurturer, especially with your friends. He thinks you'd make a great mother but if that's something you don't want he respects that.

You take care of everyone, but who takes care of you? Eijirou is always there to be your shoulder to lean and cry on, he's your sound board and is always happy to let you talk about your feelings with him. You're allowed to not be happy and bubbly all the time, he realizes how staying positive all the time can actually do more damage than goof, especially if you bottle everything up.

If on a particular day you're struggling with your speech he's happy to be your voice as well. He understands you better than anyone, even your own father.

Speaking of your father, he can't wait to make Eijirou his son-in-law! He's a good man with a good heart and treats you right, what's not to like?

He has trouble saying no to you and spoils you quite a bit.

The Fights:

...

Extra.

There's nothing, what you say goes and all he can say is "yes dear". He knows better than to argue with you, however when he's right and he knows he is, he finds a way to prove it without making you mad.

The Sex:

⠀⠀"Fuck baby—" he hissed, hands finding your hips and guiding you as you rub yourself on his cock. Your hands are on his thighs and your head is tossed back, giving him the perfect view of your tits. God he loves them, he loves the plush skin of your stomach and your thighs, your ass too, he loved seeing all of you. He was so happy that you allow him this privilege of seeing you, granted you've been dating a while now but still. Your sounds are music to his ears and all he wants is to make more, make you feel so good you're calling his name and making a mess.

He wanted— no, needed, to feel you, to feel inside your warm and wet cunt, to feel it squeeze him and milk him dry. He was quick to flip the two of you over, careful to not hurt you as he did. You gasped and giggled, reaching up to hold his face as he smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He loved your taste, he could go on and on about all the things he loved about you all day if he could. "You want it baby?" You nodded excitedly, lip caught between your teeth. He smirked and reached between the two of you, thick fingers tracing a line between your lips and slipping inside your soaked pussy.

"D-Daddy—" you whine, a slight pout on your lips as your face morphs into one of pleasure. He chuckled, pumping his fingers in and out a few times before removing them and grabbing his cock. He coated it more in your slick, guiding it between tge lips of your cunt before slowly pushing inside, groaning at how tight you are. You squeal of course, gasping for breath because Kirishima is an impressive size, you still struggled to take him sometimes but like a good girl you always managed.

"That's my good girl." He cooed, moving so his forearms were on either side of your head. He gave a couple test thrusts, waiting for you to adjust u til you nodded for him to continue.

Extra.

Terrified of activating his quirk while he's fucking you, but he keeps himself under control.

He loves his hair pulled and he loves to be bitten, he especially likes it when you scratch his back when he hits that good spot.

Eats you out for his pleasure mostly, but for yours as well. He loves when you grind on his face and moan his name when you do it. Speaking of, please sit on his face, he loves that shit. He knows how to be careful of his teeth!

If you have pets they CANNOT be in the same roon when you're doing the do, it's just weird.

He'd happily bend you over in the kitchen and do you right there. Hell, he'll fuck you anywhere you deem suitable.

He likes to do a mixture if praise and degradation with you, and edging and overstimulation is a big go-to. He just loves seeing you squirm under him, hr loves hearing you beg and say you need him.

[musedblues]

We’ll Be Alright

Summary: The heart wants what the heart wants. Roger seems to live by that motto. You're certain he has more than enough. But he's determined to prove you wrong.

w/c: 12k (oops?)

a/n: Here it is! My LOC Event Fic for the wonderful darling @brianandthemays​ 🌈 This is my first time publishing something for Roger, so I'm a bit anxious, but mostly excited! I sincerely hope you enjoy this lovie 💖 Thanks to  @dtfrogertaylor​ for hosting another fun event! Without further ado...

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Freddie escorted you through the doors of his favorite overpriced coffee shop, a Thursday afternoon tradition. Like always, you followed behind your friend and complained about the things that had gone wrong all week since the last Thursday like this one.

"...And not only did my internship get canceled, but they dropped the whole production. Now it's too late for me to sign up to any other until the fall." You fretted all the way to the back of the place, plopping down in a booth across from Freddie. He was entirely overdressed for the casual occasion, but you'd be worried if he wasn't.

"Well, you think you've got it bad, dear, we're on an actual fucking deadline for once. We have to record in two months and we have no songs, and no place to stay and rehearse for a month. All our neighbors have had enough." Freddie waved his hand and widened his eyes, only trying to relate to you by airing out his own misfortunes.

"You're kidding, right?" You narrowed your eyes as Freddie waited for you to make clear what you thought was already obvious. That's when a barista brought out your usual drinks. The staff had come to expect you and Freddie to twirl in like clockwork and order the same drinks at the same time each week. So eventually, someone started making your orders ahead of time.

"Decaf tea and a piping hot black coffee." A familiar girl placed mismatched cups between yourself and Freddie. Your feather haired friend bowed to the barista who laughed on her spin the other direction.

"Fred!" You snapped his attention back on you, wrapping your fingers around the steaming mug.

"My dad owns that countryside villa in Surrey."  You reminded. "Well, it's more of a done up farmhouse. But, still." The countryside getaway was more quaint than Romanesque, but it was big enough for a band. Freddie's obsidian eyes sparkled, maybe with remembrance, but you couldn't tell past the obvious hope that flooded his gaze.

"Oh, darling. Do you think we could come and stay for a while? We just need a place to write and rehearse before we record. Could you help?"  

"I'll see what I can do. We have a big empty barn where you could set up your instruments to practice."  You shrugged, taking a sip of your tea.

"You'd save my life darling, you'd absolutely be my queen." Freddie fawned.

"Yeah yeah, some friends we are. I've talked about spending summers in Surrey more than anything. Do you even know me?" You dramatically provoked, sticking your lip out for show.

"I know that you always order decaf tea. And that your dad owns a place in Surrey. And that I'd do anything for you if we got to stay."

"You're in luck... I haven't got anything better to do this year!" You laughed, albeit a little somberly. You had always loved wasting away summers in the countryside. But, until recently, you'd finally been an arm's length away from dipping your toes into the metaphorical waters of your dream job. You'd finally felt like the future was at your doorstep, and it was all canceled in the blink of an eye.

///

You followed Freddie home from the coffee shop, at his behest. When the sunset, he and his three best friends were scheduled to put on a show. And according to Freddie, you needed something new and fun to wear. At the foot of his bed, he tossed dresses and tops and scarves over his shoulder, digging in an old chest for something your style. You leaned against his pillows, laughing as your friend argued with himself while matching patterns.

From behind Freddies halfway shut bedroom door, you heard the front lock turn and a bright giggle you didn't recognize echo into the flat.

"Roger's home." Freddie looked up to you, holding out a dress and jacket to imagine how it might fit your form.

"That doesn't sound much like Roger." You laughed, posing in place as Freddie held up another outfit. With a look, he moved to click his bedroom door shut.

"You're right. It sounds like Ivy. Who I'm sure is a fine girl, but is entirely wrong for Roger." Freddie tossed a floral number your way as he shut the lid of the chest decidedly. You let out an "Ah," of understanding moving to change your outfit.

"Is anybody right for Roger?" You chuckled, thinking to the few long evenings you'd spent getting to know Queen's drummer. He was deadly funny, and jarringly good looking. With an overload of talent and style, you recognized Mr. Taylor as one of the most sought after bachelors in the region- using the word bachelor loosely. He always seemed to have a lady on his arm. At least one girl was hot on Rogers trail each time you'd been near him.

"Well, yes." Freddie sang, leafing through his own closet. "He needs someone driven in their own right. Someone willing to deal with all the pressures of Roger being a superstar, because you know darling, we're going to be famous one day. Someone who will be happy for him. Someone he can be just as proud of."

You halfway listened as you shimmied into the outfit your dear friend picked just for you. It fit quite nicely, even with the back still unzipped. Freddie had thrown on a yellow and black striped jacket before he sauntered over your way.

"Someone quite like you, if I'm honest." Freddie seemed to confess as he zipped you into style. He barely got the chance before you spun to face him, holding back a barking laugh.

"You can't be serious." You began, watching Freddie feign innocence. "Freddie. No. You're scheming I can tell!" You pointed as your friend spun out of your way. Where was all this coming from?

"I don't know what you're on about, love." Freddie sighed, grabbing a pair of sunglasses. "I'll leave things between you and Rog to figure out yourselves." He reached for the door with a shrug.

"There isn't anything between us to discuss!" You laughed, in a bit of shock at the prospect of this conversation you hadn't seen coming at all. You'd never had more than a few casual conversations with Roger. Freddie seemed to drop it, spinning into the main room to get the show on the road.

Roger was there, lounging with a pretty little hippie lady decked out in lace. Freddie called for the pair to get up and get going- it was time to head toward soundcheck.

"Rog, before we leave, pay some respect to the lovely y/n. She's going to save our lives this summer!" Freddie fawned, ignoring your previous discussion, trying to start a fire that you never realized had the potential to burn.

As Roger led his date out the door, he stalled to greet you for the night.

"Nice dress, love." Roger's familiar rasp was gentle past his grossly over-rehearsed line. His saucer eyes raked up your figure in a way you'd seen him do to others, but never to you, until now.

"Thank Freddie." You spoke through your teeth, turning away from Roger to hide your blush and shoot your glare to the frontman who was already biting back an "I told you so."

///

You could count the evenings you'd spent with Queen on a couple of hands. But the days you spent with Freddie were in the hundreds by now. He was your closest friend, someone you meditated with, cried with. Someone who might have known you better than you knew yourself. And on occasion, some of Fred's bandmates would join in on the fun.

John had become accustomed to accompanying you and Fred on Thursdays for coffee and tea. You liked John's ideas and the way was keen to listen to you and Freddie banter more than he joined in to do the same. When John spoke, it was decidedly. A wit filled joke, or a valuable point, John hardly uttered any passing thought; unless, of course, he was absolutely hammered.

Brian would sometimes join you and Freddie before shows for dinner, or on rainy Sunday afternoons to play Scrabble and dream of the future. You admired the things that mattered to Brian and how fiercely he protected the value of the things he spoke of, big and small.

Then there was Roger. He was always around, in the other room, at the back of the stage, at the end of the night. But he usually kept company of his own. And the times he joined in for Scrabble or lunch, he was usually too preoccupied with whoever he brought along. But there were odd exceptions- when Freddie had fallen asleep and Rogers dates would leave for the evening- when you'd share a drink in the kitchen and traded updates on your week.

Times like then, you noticed Roger's gaze was hypnotic. You didn't think it was a power he used manically. You figured it was a trait that came naturally, the inherent draw of his piercing blue eyes. It must have been what made all the girls line up like ducklings and follow Roger around for their turn at wooing him. He was always kind to them, and a few times you wondered if he might have fallen in love. But then another would follow the last and you decided that Roger must have been happiest dating around, meeting all kinds of people with all kinds of stories to share. Such was the way of a man who dreamed of touring the world, singing about it, and the lot.

///

"Do you own any wellies?" You asked, twirling your mustard yellow phone cord around your index, studying your grossly overpacked suitcase.

Freddie's response of laughter was rich and crackly through the other line.

"I'm just saying... that you're bound to muck up those ballet flats of yours when you and the boys come to stay in Surrey in a week."

"You serious? We can come and stay? Oh, how shall I ever repay you?" Freddie shrieked into your ear. You held the receiver back with a grin as you tossed a couple of sweaters on the floor in hopes your suitcase would better zip closed. Freddie promised you he was on his knees, shouting thanks into the phone. You promised you'd see him soon, gave him the last of the info he needed, and managed to seal your bag shut.

///

You swore you could smell the freshness in the air, see the vibrant hue of the trees through clearer eyes. The house in Surrey your father called a villa, was the place you spent most summers.

Until the last few summers in a row, the summer palace was a place your extended family came to stay for a month or two. You'd all get together and kick around the countryside for a while, forgetting petty worries and putting off all the responsibilities you could manage. You hadn't missed a summer yet, but each one became quieter, less action-packed. Last year it was only yourself and your parents who spent a while enjoying the quiet getaway.

But you always had Mona. The old, cheery, pale-haired woman hired to come around on the weekends to help keep order about the place. You always insisted she stay and enjoy a day or two of peace when her work was done. Mona always accepted the offer, much to your delight. When there was nothing left for her to do, she gave in to your pleas to help bake ridiculously complicated recipes or to simply keep you company in the quiet for a while. You and Mona would lose yourselves in conversation while cooking meals and enjoying days where you did nothing but track the rise and fall of the sun in the sky.

Then there was Otto. He was your only neighbor for miles, right across the road, behind his own mess of trees. Otto was only a few years older than you, and when his parents left the property, he gladly took it over with big plans of his own. After Otto had landscaped his home to his heart's content, your father hired him to come and spruce up your family's property. Even if that hadn't ever happened, you'd already made a habit of inviting Otto over for dinners and game nights. You imaged going it alone in the depths of the country had to be lonely so many months in a row.

Last summer, Otto made miraculous headway on your property's garden. He planted new trees, fixed up your old windows, and even built a chicken coop, something that provided a bit of entertainment for you, but became your neighbor's pride and joy.

He'd stop over every day, even if it was just to check on the chickens. And following close in  Otto's stride from across the road, was his pet retriever, Pepper. Otto never minded when you stole his pet for walks through the trails you'd worn between trees in the distant forest, over the years.

In fact, the golden pup was always the first one to greet you every summer. The tradition held fast even now, as you pulled into the gravel drive. You spotted her yellow form zooming from out of nowhere at all, barking to greet you.

"Hi Pepper!" You chimed after collecting your luggage. You dropped to your knees at the edge of the drive as the dog bound your way. She was nearly eight years old, or was it nine, now? Pepper pranced in time with you as you made your way to the countryside home for another year in a row.

"Your dog missed you especially, this year." Otto's familiar accent drifted from the porch, where he appeared to stand painting the entry doorway. He dropped his brush and turned to watch you ease up the steps, with a smile.

"I missed her too." You smiled, rolling your eyes at the decade-old joke. The pup belonged to Otto but she was always hot on your heels, usually leaving her owner far behind whenever you were near.

"Ah yes, she has been sneaking in and sleeping on your bed. Hope you don't mind the extra layer of fur tonight." Your mother popped her head in the doorway, careful not to touch the fresh paint. She waved you inside, insisting Otto follow along. Apparently dinner was ready.  

The home was as cozy as ever, long wooden halls and big comfy furniture. Your father was sat at the kitchen table, sorting through a stack of mail. Behind him your old, dear friend. Mona abandoned her mission to reorganize the silverware drawer to wrap you in a big warm hug. The kind woman had always been like a grandmother to you. Between the company of her and Otto, your summers here were even more special and sought after.

"Alright, sit." Your father turned his eyes toward yours, gesturing for you to rest in the empty seat at his side.

"Nice to see you too, dad." You laughed, gazing to the mail set out before him.

"I've socked up on food and essentials for all your mates coming in a week. And since they are your friends, ya think you can handle staying here while mum and I go on our own summer holiday?"

Your father figured you could handle keeping order, and he made plans with your mother seem like a long time coming.

"I can phone your uncle to come help if you don't think you can manage it."

"How hard can serving tea and keeping the place clean be? I'll have Mona's help like always. And Otto's a great human security system. remember a few years back when he wrestled a man double his size, to the ground? Made him cry."

"Oh yeah, that guy! Pretended his car broke down and tried to break in." Your mother pointed with a shiver. Otto had spotted the stranger stalking toward your home in the middle of the night, and you all woke up to the sound of the two wrestling in the gravel driveway.

"I'm just a poor gardener, but I'll do what I have to." Otto declared as you all chuckled at the distant memory. Otto took a handful of dinner plates from your mother's grasp and offered to help set the table as you moved next to Mona to help finish make the first evening meal of the summer.

///

It was early enough for you to double-check everything three times. Living room tidy? Check. Snacks on the counter? Check. Extra blankets, pillows, and beer enough for a band full of divas? Check. All that was left to do was sit on the porch with Pepper at your feet, and wait.

You'd spend endless days doing just that, but you had never had something quite like this to look forward too. You'd brought some pals to stay, growing up, but this was different. You could almost sense that Queen's stay in your family's cherished getaway would be the marking of a time you'd remember more fondly than most.

Eventually, the sound of crunching gravel disrupted your daydreams of the future.  You were quicker than Pepper at your feet, who followed behind on your bolt down the porch steps with a delighted squeal.

John was the first one to step out of the van when it pulled to a stop. You raced up to greet him with a hug, one he returned with a bit of shy reluctance, but genuine mirth all the same.

"You're here! You're here!" You cheered, noticing Brian as you broke your hug with the feather haired bass player. You couldn't be stopped from greeting the lanky guitar player with the same excitement, your hug ended when Freddie's voice called out;

"I'm here! Hug me!"

Freddie planted a kiss to your cheek as you flung yourself toward him with a smile. The band stretched their legs out onto the grass, remarking about the beauty of the countryside.

"Welcome, you." You looked to Freddie, whose brows rose high over his dark sunglasses, his smile glowing as he peered past your shoulder to take it all in.

"Don't I get a warm welcome?"

Roger's familiar rasp whined from a few paces behind. He was dressed in denim head to toe, and was wearing the most ridiculous hat you'd ever seen. It made your heart buzz with some odd adoration you hadn't expected to feel at the sight of him. Your strange sudden feelings made approaching the blonde seem newly nerve-wracking, but you were glad to see him. So you opened your arms and invited Roger into a hug, same as everybody else. But Roger wasn't everybody else, was he?

Ever expressive, Roger scooped you up and lifted your feet from the ground in gratitude as he said,

"We owe you our lives for making this happen!"

You laughed in surprise, letting out a little squeal as Roger stumbled in an attempt to spin you around.

"Rog, put her down! She's got to give us a tour of this place or we're bound to get lost. It's massive." Freddie barked.

Roger did as he was told, setting you on your feet with care. You pulled down the bill of Rogers silly hat and spun around to lead everyone inside.

As the boys entered your favorite place, you introduced them two at a time to your family and friends who hurried to greet them all the same. It was a mess of hello's and warm welcomes as you shut the door and stepped further inside.

Your father held an arm out to show the boys to their rooms, chatting away on his tour down the halls. Your mother lifted a brow and shoulder when her gaze met yours after lingering on the band as they walked away.

"You've got a fun summer ahead." She grinned as if she knew something was coming, something you couldn't see yet.

The next thing you knew, you were helping Mona finish making dinner. You were sent to find Otto in the forest of flowerbeds outside of the barn. The two of you walked up the hill after you invited him in for dinner, listening to Otto ramble about the plans your father talked him into, of starting a vegetable garden.

Your mother had already rounded up everyone else in the dining room, going on about how excited she was to get to know your friends. And to your surprise, she'd even broken out the fancy fine china.

Between Otto and Freddie, the usual security you felt in their company had only been on separate respective accounts. Your worlds colliding was something you hadn't expected to be so warmed by. As you ate, you realized all your favorite people were here in one lucky place.

Queen were ever themselves, interrupting one another to share stories with your parents and Mona who asked questions at breakneck speeds. And while the jokes and banter flew from one topic to another, you held your breath each time Roger spoke up. Because every time before now, Roger only spoke in playful tones, and daring one-liners. You expected him to say something that might have embarrassed you, even if that wasn't his goal, if he even had one. But Roger surprised you in a different way, one you hadn't expected.

He utterly charmed your mother with the way he spoke about his education and aspirations. He gained your father's respect sometime after you poured everyone a new drink. During dinner, Roger was... shy. No, not shy, respectable. Boyish. No, not boyish... forbearing in a way you'd never seen from him before. Maybe you didn't have Roger figured out after all...

///

Your room was full of things you loved, in the back of the house. You enjoyed the privacy, but seeking through the halls at odd hours was always a challenge you held your breath during. The wood creaked underfoot as you followed the beams of the rising sun through the halls, daring not to wake anyone.

You snuck toward the front door without a hitch, clicking it shut with care. When on the steps of the porch, you were surprised to find two of the boys had already risen and were sharing a smoke.

John and Roger turned their heads from the steps, smiles stretching when they saw you.

"The only time I've seen you two up this early was if you were still awake from the night before." You laughed, stretching into the new day.

"Never realized you were such an early riser, either." John spoke up, stamping out his cigarette.

"Things are different here." You shrugged, making your way down the steps between the two musicians.

"Where are you going?" Roger wondered. His hair was tangled from sleep, but the dark spots near his eyes suggested he'd only tossed and turned all night.

You found yourself searching his features for a beat too long, and only played it off by raising a brow and nodding for the boys to follow you, if they so desired.

And they did. As you rounded the back of your home, you stalled near the shed and grabbed a bucket from it's tried and true stop- then you headed for the chicken coop.

This was something you did every morning, you'd never missed one. Otto handled everything else, but he always let you help out if you pestered him enough.

"This is Otto's coop." You introduced the paint chipped structure as John and Roger chuckled in awe, the band had yet to have a proper tour of the grounds.

"He built it, and everything. But I come out here every morning, just gives me something to do." You waved for the boys to walk ahead of you, before you made it to the spot you stopped in every morning.

Chickens emerged like clockwork, and the boys went about chasing a couple around like little kids. One took a particular liking to John, flowing at the man's side, stopping when he stopped. And try as he might to bend down and reach out to a group of the birds, Roger had yet to score any over.

"Why don't they like me?" He whined while John laughed in response. And just like that one bird turned from the group and started flapping and clucking toward Roger, sick of being pestered. The blonde bolted to his feet with a yelp, skipping away until the chicken stopped chasing after him in a flurry.

"I'm scared, hold me." Roger reached out to you, wrapping his arms around your side. It was comforting, it felt like less of a joke than Roger made it seem. But when you turned your head to look at him, you wondered if Roger might have actually been a little distressed.

But he'd constricted your arms, and you couldn't hug him back. So you glanced back to the house and said,

"Come on, ya big baby."

Roger's grasp slowly loosened as you lead the way, but you could feel his eyes remain fixed on you.

"I'll keep you safe, big baby." John threw an arm around his friend's shoulders as the three of you started your trek back up the hill and around to the front porch. Roger let out a comical fake cry just before you made it inside to find Freddie and Brian reluctantly awake in the kitchen.

The boys gathered around the table while you scurried to make tea, and insisted they help themselves to anything in the cabinets. And it wasn't long before the rest of your parents emerged out into the new day, Mona popping out into the kitchen soon after.

Your father showed the band to the barn, and offered to help them unload their instruments in the big empty space. Your mother took the tea you poured for her and settled into the sunroom with Mona, where you joined the ladies to gossip about everything that happened since last summer.

Day's like today, there isn't much for Mona to do, but she still got paid for sitting around chatting with you. Though she'd likely turn down the extra cash at the end of the weekend, your dad would always sneak a few bills into her purse when she wasn't looking. You'd have to remember to do the same when you were left alone.

///

Your parents and Mona all left the next morning, and the week that followed was some kind of adventure- even with the little routine you'd found yourself in.

Brian ended up being the early bird, while the others milked every last bit of sleep they could get. When you awoke and found Brian reading in the small nook of the living room, you got to talking about something so in-depth that he followed up out to feed the chickens. And that's how most mornings all week had gone, chatting away in the early morning, meandering down the hill to the birdhouse with Bri at your side,  prattling all the way back to where you came from.

One by one the boys would collect at the table to pick at the breakfast you'd gotten in the habit of making, before they drifted off to the barn.

You'd stay in to clean up, stalling near the open windows where you could hear your friends music drifting up the hill. They'd clatter through newborn songs and riffs that came together each time you stood to listen.

All week, you shared lunch with Freddie. In the sunroom, on the porch, wherever as long as you were together to chat like you usually would once a week at the coffee shop. And throughout your newly established daily lunch meetups, Freddie began making liberal use of his drummer's name. "Roger this," "Roger that," The blonde started taking up more space in your conversations than most other topics.

"What's with all this talk about your friend, huh?" You challenged Freddie, reaching for some fruit on a plate you shared between the two of you.

"Surely you've caught on by now, love. He's quite taken with you?" Freddie nonchalantly responded, reaching for an apple slice of his own.

"And surely if that was the case, Roger would have made that clear by now. He flirts in place of breathing." You chuckled.

"Then he must really like you. I've never known him to get so tongue-tied. Even when he's talking about you, which he never stops doing." Freddie shrugged, looking off in the direction of the warm breeze. You both stayed silent for a beat, your excuse- searching for what to say next. But Freddie found more words before you could.

"I think he would be happy with you. And I think you'd be happy with him. I just want you both to be happy."

"Well, so long as we've all got you Fred, I'm sure we will be." You grinned, truly meaning it. You and Freddie clinked your apple slices together in a toast, more like a truce to drop the subject, for now anyway.

Then as the sun burned, you meandered poolside, making Otto cease digging in the dirt long enough to ask how his day was going and distract him from work just long enough to share a few laughs.

You'd always ask him to take Pepper out, and he always insisted you didn't need to ask. You'd wander toward the forest with your furry friend, enjoying a bit of quiet. You used to bring books and pencils along when you had nothing better to do than sit against a tree and dream of the future. But this year, you keep calling Pepper back the way you came at the end of the trail, in a hurry back to check in with your friends.

When night fell after long dinners full of more chatter than food, everyone decided they'd seen enough of each other. That's when you and John would steal away the sunroom, and play cards moonlight. Sometimes you wouldn't speak much at all. And sometimes you'd share secrets, wishes you thought anyone else might make fun of you for dreaming of.

And all week, when you least expected it, you kept ending up next to Roger.

The blonde would ask to sit out on the porch with you, where you curled up in a rocking chair to read. He would ease onto the wooden steps and scribble away in his notebook, crossing out lyrics and penning new ones. He'd never tell you what he was writing, and you never asked. But you heard him humming under his breath, and you missed the gentle sound when you were called back in by Freddie for one reason or another.

Roger would find you again eventually, though. He'd leaf through the books in your living room, asking about every author. He'd appear at your side at the table during every meal, even the ones everyone ate in a hurry before scurrying off to rehearse.

One afternoon he surprised you by the side of the pool, when no one else was around. Though you had started to prepare to see Roger around when you least expected it, it was always a pleasant surprise.

"How's rehearsal today?" You asked, looking up from where you sat with your feet dangling in the water. Roger squinted your way, the shadows on his face illuminated by the hot summer sun.  It wasn't until you patted the space beside you that Roger spoke up, and slowly moved to join where you sat.

"Freddie called for a break. Writer's block, or something."

You hummed in understanding, watching Roger relax at your side. And after another look your way, maybe to check if you were actually keen on listening, he went on...

"I think we've all got a hit up our sleeves. Now if we could just all agree on one thing for one minute." Roger laughed, crossing his legs, reaching in the pool to grab the stem of a leaf that floated by.

Right then, Freddie stormed around the corner. He called off practice for the rest of the afternoon and declared he planned to lock himself in his room to finish writing.

When the door shut decidedly behind Freddie, you and Roger burst into shared laughter. And for another hour at least, you stayed right where you were. Roger told you about the songs he was writing. And the songs the others were writing. He asked what you would rather be doing, because surely, staying in the middle of no place with the lads of Queen around every corner, couldn't have been at the top of your list. You assured that it was, in fact. But you still somehow started to talk about how disappointed you had been to lose out on the opportunity to live your dreams, this summer. You talked about what you wanted and why you wanted it. Roger listened and asked questions he seemed truly interested in hearing the answers too. What was the harm in sharing a few more laughs?

///

The next day at breakfast, everyone was called to order by Freddie, who relaxed at the head of the table with some announcement to make. He sat in uncharacteristic patience as his friends filled up on orange juice and yammered about what they planned to accomplish that afternoon. When Brian went off on some sorry muttering over whose songs were better or worse, you and Roger locked eyes, and dulled the same sort of snicker. You were both thinking the same thing- thinking back to the conversation you had most of yesterday.

"Alright! Listen!" Freddie demanded. "We're taking a break today. We're going to lounge poolside, and gossip about trivial things. And if anyone starts to argue about recording or writing or what you bloody want to wear on stage, you'll be swiftly excommunicated to the chicken coop. Got it?"

There was little push back and soon the lot of you abandoned your breakfast to head outback.

The boys zoomed ahead of you, tossing their things into the places they claimed as their own. John sat at the small iron table under the cool shade of the umbrella and cracked open a magazine. Brian set up his things on a beach chair and was the first to creep toward the pool. Freddie checked his hair in a small compact mirror as he kicked off his sandals. And Roger raced straight for the deep end, splashing you with water on his dive in the water.

You yelped in surprise,  shocked by the cold.

"Come in!" Roger chirped after emerging to the surface.

"It's a bit cold isn't it?" You laughed, setting your things on a chair nearby.

"There," Roger intentionally splashed water at your feet. "Now you ought to be used to it. Come in!"

You reluctantly sat on the edge to dip your feet in as Roger waded toward where you settled. You turned your eyes to the water to avoid ogling the drummer, your throat going dry at the sight of his mostly bare frame so close to yours.

"I supposed it's not as cold as I thought." You cleared your throat, more so trying to keep your own cool. He hummed, still inching his way closer, making your cheeks burn.

And then, he was pulling you in. Roger yanked you from the edge, keeping a sturdy hold around you to ensure you didn't go under. You felt strangely comfortable and secure in his arms, in all the commotion. But you were still surprised enough to splash water in Roger's direction, a pitiful attempt to get back at him.

"We're meant to be relaxing!" Brian reprimanded, dodging the water you were splattering his way on accident.

"Exactly, Bri, do calm down." Freddie teased as he walked down the steps to join the rest of you.

"Deacy! Darling! You can read later, come enjoy the sun while it's here!"

And just like that, Freddie's wishes came true. The people he loved circled around your favorite old pool, gossiping about trivial things and hardly mentioned making music at all. It was the perfect summer day.

Eventually, you decided to get out to fix lunch for everyone. On your walk toward the house, you found Otto hunched over a broken wagon wheel, skin tanned from years under the same summer sky. You demanded he took a break and joined the lot of you for a much needed day of nothing but fun. He agreed, but only if you'd let him help throw food together.

When the pair of you toted trays of bite-sized lunch foods out to the nearest shade, the band of boys casually flocked to join you, scattering about the shade and fueling up to float around some more. Otto gave everyone a lesson on the kind of trees you sat under. Brian took a beer back to the deep end, Freddie following close behind, muttering something about catching the last of the day's sun. John offered to carry the empty trays back in, where he planned to head for a much-needed nap, swearing he planned to beat you at cards later.

Then there was Roger, who sulked between you and the rest of his friends. He sat near you, keeping his mouth full of beer as you chatted with Otto about all the times you'd enjoyed the pool most, before. And when Roger eventually joined Freddie and Brian in the pool, the blonde kept casting looks your way, gazes no one missed.

"He's a bit mad about you isn't he?" Otto pointed out in a hush, sipping his own beer while you scoffed a laugh.

"That's just how Roger is. He can't help himself. There's usually a line of girls waiting around for him. I must be his last resort, out here in the middle of nowhere." You explained, shifting your weight in your seat and pretending you didn't notice the drummers glances your way.

"Oh please, if that was true he'd be trying to to make you blush, right now. He's resorted to lovestruck gazes, and the occasional glare my way. That man likes you." Otto chuckled, pointing his beer can toward the boys in the pool. "Trust me I'm a guy, I know what's happening."

"That's dumb." You shot Otto a look over the top of your sunglasses. "Roger is my friend." At least you were pretty sure he was. "And I know that's just how he is."  You knew that for a fact.

///

The next morning you'd woken to a silent house, and found the halls were still even upon your return from feeding the chickens. You shrugged into the kitchen, realized it was a little earlier than usual, and fixed yourself some decaf tea. When the kettle rang, the hallway creaked, and you cringed on your hurry to quiet things down again.

Roger appeared in the doorway, looking as if he was still trying to wake from a dream.

"Sorry if I woke you I-"

"It's okay, you're fine." Roger murmured, easing into the room, buttoning up his undone nightshirt.

"Fancy a cup? Mona should be here any minute, we usually start the day with tea." You explained, pouring your own drink and biting your lip.

"You wouldn't mind if I joined?" Roger asked, like you'd just invited him on some grand adventure.

"Course not." You chuckled, reaching for two more cups.

You and Roger were halfway through your tea before Mona showed up. You sat together in the sunroom, where you and your much older friend usually settled at the start of every weekend. Roger asked you'd had any dreams while you slept, and you prompted him to tell of any he might have conjured.  

When Mona showed up, she eased across the small table from you like always, but in place of gossip, she spoke mostly to Roger. She asked about his hobbies and he asked about her life. Roger loved getting to know people, you knew. He was always so genuinely interested in hearing what made everyone tick. When he asked Mona about her loves and losses, she'd spoke in a vulnerable way you'd never seen from her prior. Ah, of course. Roger had that way with people, like the second anyone locked eyes with his sea-blue pair, they were in trance.

And while Mona looked after Roger as he spoke, the blonde kept turning to you, asking for details of the week he couldn't quite recall, and begging you to tell a certain story he swore you had a better perspective of.

When the rest of the band showed up, they traded sweet good mornings with your guest just before pulling Roger out into the barn to pick up where they left off the day before last.

"Now what's all that about?" Mona wondered, pouring the two of you more tea, initiating a more personal one on one chat. You cast her a perplexed gaze as she settled across from you, uttering Roger's name like you should have already been thinking of it.

You knew then that Mona was curious about all the too long gazes and nervous chuckles Roger was reduced to during the quiet morning visit at your side.

"That's just how Roger is." You shrugged. "A bit of a flirt."

"Well, that's not how you are." Mona shot back with an arch of her brow. "I know you. And if you really believed he was just having a little fun you wouldn't let yourself look at him the way you've been looking at him all morning. He has the same look, too. You match."

Mona's point toward the obvious hit you like a ton of bricks. Though she was swift to move on to your usual gossip, you felt yourself floating around the same thoughts of Roger.

For the rest of the day, in fact, you struggled to accept the fact that you'd been falling for Roger. Of course, you had, everyone seemed to expect it, root for it. And Roger had the perfect pair of eyes that refused to look away from yours until you were a puddle under his gaze; ready and willing to be pieced back together by his questions about how, exactly you were made.

You took Pepper down the walking paths between ever-growing trees, and wandered between them, the long way back home. The whole time you figured there was no harm in giving in to the little advances Roger couldn't seem to stop giving. You didn't want to fall so deep your heart would shatter when you finally collided with something cold and unmoving. But you were stuck out here for another two weeks, and Roger's persistent presence was warmer than the sun.

///

The next couple of days, when you looked to Roger, your heart started up like an engine. You didn't like it one bit. You only planned to let his flirting entertain you. You couldn't become invested in it. You'd lodged yourself between wanting to spend every odd hour listening to him talk, and knowing you were better off to go about your day like usual, to save yourself the trouble.

So when Roger invited you to come and sit while the band showed off their mostly put together list of songs, you did. And when Roger sat next to you during every meal, you offered him a smile before tucking in. And when Roger woke up to share a cup of tea with you every other morning, you let him. And you liked it.

But when Roger leaned in too close, you turned your eyes to your lap, focusing on your nails digging into your palms so you couldn't feel his breath ghosting across your ear as he told a joke no one else could hear. And when Roger asked to join your walks with Pepper, you told him no, because you'd never been so alone with him before, and you couldn't let that happen now.

The week was full of conflicts between the imaginary angel and devil on either of your shoulders. You waded further from the waters of self-control, but dashed back with the tide when Rogers moonstruck gaze grew too pretty to handle.

By the end of the second week, you'd continued your normal lunches with Freddie, the occasional morning debate with Brian, and the promised game of cards with John, when everyone else went to bed.

You poured some drinks for the two of you and sat in silence while the game started up. But before too long, John eased into a conversation about how much he enjoyed your countryside getaway.

"We're all so glad you've let us come round, it's so nice to be here. Feels like home. Fred might be going a bit stir crazy but he loves it, don't let him fool you." John laughed, laying down a card. You chuckled too.

"And Bri is content out here, with all the stars." You pointed out. Every night, Brian made a show of pointing out all the things the naked eye could see when the sky started turning black.

"And somehow, Rog is happiest. Can you believe that?" John's smile remained lithe but you realized John had subtly achieved changing the subject entirely.

"No, not really." You offered an honest simper.

"He really does like you, y/n."

"Hm..."

You laid a final card down, lost the round, and stretched upright, grabbing both empty glasses to rest in the sink.

"Just because I'm the only girl around for him to attach himself to, doesn't mean he likes me." You shrugged from across the room. John stood to join you, curiously meeting your gaze, waiting to hear more of what you had to say.

"Roger just can't be alone. I'm not interested in being a placeholder." You reasoned.

"Then why haven't you told him so? You've let him follow you around like a puppy all since he got here." John pointed out unabashedly. But he wasn't wrong to wonder why you'd started giving into the small advances.

"Because I like him." You admitted with a frustrated sigh. "And all I have is the rest of this summer to pretend that I'm not just his only option. But I can't... I just can't let him break my heart. It already hurts bad enough knowing this'll all end in a week."

"I get where you're coming from..." John sighed, disgruntled. A silence weighed between the two of you, while you stood in place, mind racing too fast to focus on a single thought through the white noise.

"But, you know," John went on, raising his chin as if that would help make a clearer point. "Rog may be reckless. And he may get caught up in getting the things he wants, so much so that he'll make a bit of a mess on his mission. But when he really genuinely wants something, he gets it. And when he has it, he doesn't let it go."

"I'm a person, Deacy. Not a fucking stamp. I refuse to be collected with all the other pretty souvenirs to be left on a shelf." You spoke in a harsh, exhausted hiss. John hung his head, pursing his lips as if he'd been personally defeated. You spun to leave the room, but someone was blocking the doorway.

Roger was clutching the door frame, fingertips going white, eyes and mouth drooping pitifully. You barely looked his way as you brushed past, scurrying down the hall to take cover. And the whole time, Roger hurried after you, asking your name like a big scary question.

You managed to shut yourself in your room before the blonde rounded the corner and caught up with you. And when you heard his voice muffle past the closed door, a silly little sadness bubbled up in your throat.

You didn't want to shut him out, but you really believed you had to. A couple of frustrated tears escaped as you went on getting ready for bed, and as you tried to talk yourself down from all the mess of thoughts threatening to make you cry harder, everything turned to white noise as your eyes grew heavy.

///

When you awoke, it was as if everything that happened before you fell asleep was a fever dream. You crossed your fingers for that to have been the case and went to start your morning like every one before it.

But when you opened your door, all the dreaded feelings you'd gone to sleep with flooded back tenfold. You found Roger asleep, slumped against the wall outside your door. At his side, Pepper, comfily curled against the man with her head in his lap, asleep too. You huffed, creeping past him to do your job.

And as you hurry your practiced creep through the house and out of the door, you thought you'd made it to the porch steps without any trouble. But of course, when you reached the shed, you heard the door swing open and heavy footsteps bounding down the porch. Roger hurried toward you with wild red eyes.

"Roger I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression. I guess I just got used to being around you." You let out a breath that sounded like a laugh as you grabbed your bucket of feed, and kept walking.

"Do you really feel that way?" Roger asked, voice rattling in a pitch you'd never heard him use.

"Does it matter?" You shrugged, approaching the coop.

"Do you really think I'm not mad about you? Do you really think I'm just going to go back to the city and shag the first lass I see? I want you, y/n. Isn't it dead obvious?"

"Roger!" You spun to face him, your tone starling a couple of chickens, and the blonde, who flinched away from a bird who flapped too close. "Don't do this to me!" You threatened.

If you could see up the hill you would know your voices traveled far enough to alarm John, Brian, and Freddie who were sharing tea next to the open kitchen windows. They couldn't make out what you were saying, but they could tell this wasn't going to be a morning like any other. They'd been watching things between you and Roger morph past friendly acquaintance, and they realized this must have been the breaking point. Things were boiling over, but where would they fall?

"It's worse to think you might actually be a little interested in me."

"I want to be with you y/n! Why is that bad?" Roger pointed desperately trying to make himself clear.

"For now, you might!" You shouted back. That stopped him in his tracks.

"But I want a forever, Roger. And you can't even get through breakfast without changing your plans. You can't even sign an autograph for one groupie without letting your eyes linger to meet someone else's! They might be okay with it. And if you are too, fine! But it would just break my heart."

You slammed the bucket of feed on the ground, birds hurrying toward the meal. Roger looked as though the wind had been knocked out of him. You hated it. But you had to stand your ground. It was going to hurt eventually anyway.

"Then what does it say about me that I still want you? Even if you think I'm so horrid?" Roger winced.

"I don't think you're horrid, I think you're amazing!" You shouted back with a wild gesture.

"That's the whole bloody problem!"  Wasn't it obvious? "I'll want you forever, even when you don't want me anymore!" You admitted, only realizing the weight of your statement after your words hung in the air, your heart cracking in its mold.

"What do I need to do?" Roger asked in a panic, stepping closer to you. "How can I prove that you're the only one for me? For now, and for always. Tell me what you want and I'll do anything I fucking swear." Roger's voice was thick and frantic, but you'd heard him sing and forget what he'd been wailing about the morning after.

"You don't mean that!" You cried, moving away. You heard all the times he planned one date with someone else while he toted a different girl on his arm. You didn't think it was a problem, not if that's what everyone was looking for. But you weren't that girl. You couldn't wait on the sidelines and be glad you got a kiss at the end of the day. And you couldn't expect Roger to play the part you wanted if that wasn't really him. You just didn't fit together. No matter how badly you wished you did.

So you picked up your bucket and turned to stomp up the hill.

"Y/n!" Roger plead, watching your storm away. He stood debating on letting you have a bit of space. But, he'd done enough of that. He needed to prove himself now.

You stormed inside, casually so. You'd planned to ignore the rest of the boys who still stood about the kitchen, and head straight for your room. But you hadn't out run Rogers hurry to stop you. He bolted through the entry just as you reached the doorway to the hall.

"Y/n wait," Roger begged, instead of demanded. His dejected tone was what forced your feet to stall before they reached the corner. The boys fell silent from across the room while you fixated your stare at the wall, afraid if you met anyone eye, you'd burst into tears.

"Please." Roger croaked. The room was silent. And when you slowly turned to face him, Roger was struggling to hold back tears, pools brimming in his impossibly big eyes. Everyone around seemed to hold their breath, waiting for you to say something.

After what felt like forever, Freddie ushered his two remaining bandmates out the back door while you and Roger stood, deadlocked.

You sighed, shook your head, grabbed Roger by the wrist, and pulled him toward the living room. You released him from your grasp near the sofa, where Roger slowly sat, gapping your way.

"I don't want to fight with you, Roger." You sighed after a while of staring out the window, searching for just what to say.

"I'm fighting for you, y/n. I've never wanted anything more."

"But Rog..." You implored softly. But when you turned and looked at his watery eyes, you'd forgotten what point you were busy making.

He sucked in a breath bracing for you to keep at it, but you slumped, sitting next to him sorrily. You moved both of your hands to Roger's face, and brushed your thumbs under each of his eyes, wiping away the traces of tears that happened to overflow.

"Everything is different with you. I understand just saying so isn't good enough. Give me a chance to prove it?" Roger asked in a hush, looking in your eyes his fingers slowly wrapped around your wrists. The drummer slid off the side of the couch, tangled his fingers with yours, and looked up to you from his knees, one final silent plea.

Your heart was too conflicted, too quick to cower behind the wall you'd build up. So you just gave Roger a pathetic nod, because you knew you couldn't say no.

"I'm sorry I upset you." You spoke, glancing at the way Roger's hands clutched yours, still. With that, the blonde let out a sigh and rested his head in your lap, accepting the conclusion.

You lost your fingers in his strands of hair,  accepting his display of affection, or whatever it might have been. All you knew was that you'd never felt more content and confused at the same time.

The pair of you stayed like that for a while, in shared silence. It was broken when Freddie's voice echoed through the back door. He called both of your names, and then Rogers once more. The band didn't have much more time to waste.

When Roger lifted his head from your lap, you stopped him from standing to brush his hair back into place. The two of you shared the smallest laugh, the tiniest expressions that made you believe you were on the same page. Then you walked toward the sound of Freddie's timbre, side by side.

The singer was wringing his hands in the garden doorway, casting Roger a concerned expression as the two of you approached. The blonde nodded toward Freddie as he walked outdoors and sauntered toward the barn, stretching his arms. But Freddie stalled in the doorway, turning to you once Roger was a few paces off.

"We'll figure it out, I promise." You told Freddie, before he could even ask. You knew he only stopped you to wonder what just happened. The only thing was that you weren't entirely too sure.  "We'll be alright. And you can finish your record. I'm sorry-"

Freddie raised his hand ceasing your statement. Then he looped an arm through yours and insisted you come and listen to Queen's newly perfected masterpiece that still didn't have a name.

///

The last week you continued to share most mornings with Brian, and every lunch with Freddie. You still beat John at the same old card game. But each day you spent near Roger, was different.

The silence you shared held a new weight, a ticking time bomb. The conversations you traded were gentler, but shifted around familiar topics. There was nothing you and Roger were afraid to discuss, well, everything except one thing. And when the subject of your feelings for each other threatened to come up, you and Roger shared a glance in place of any discussion.

He followed you out to the forest with Pepper, throwing sticks she'd chase after but fail to bring back. Roger sat by you at every meal, looking to you first for every open-ended question that popped up through your friend's chatter.

And during the last night of the band's stay, after they spent the morning loading up their instruments into their van, you planned a big evening in. Setting out movies and snacks and all the proper essentials for any good party.

Otto came over, with a plate of desserts and some seeds for Brian to plant. Mona stayed an extra night, exchanging recipes with John, and sharing a long chat with Freddie and Roger in the sun room. When everyone gathered to watch a film or two, most of the boys fell asleep before the second film started. Besides you and Mona, Otto was the last man standing as the credits rolled.

When Mona lifted her frame for a big comfy claw-footed chair, she brushed past you with a wink on her way to bed. Roger had fallen asleep at your side long ago. with his head on your shoulder. You gave your old friend a pursed grin, before closing your eyes and leaning into the drummer's warmth. If whatever happened between you and Roger was only meant to last for a month, this was your last chance to enjoy it. You'd already fallen. Why not give in for a second or two?

The next morning, you awoke to find you'd switched places. Your head was comfortably perched on Roger's shoulder, his body turned toward yours as if he was inviting in the comfort. You blinked to the band still passed out around the living room. But Roger was awake, and already waiting to meet your gaze.

You could tell when your eyes met then, that it was one of those moments with a dozen outcomes. Whatever either of you said or did next felt detrimental. So you stuck to what you knew, and asked Roger if he'd like one last cup of tea. He said yes.

Eventually, the boys started dragging their suitcases to the front porch, blabbering about the sunshine and the city they were headed back to. You passed around hugs, sending each boy to their ride one by one. They all thanked you in their own silly little way, all of them groggy and reluctant to leave the quiet.

When the van pulled out of the driveway, you couldn't tell if Roger was looking back or not. You bit back tears as your friends drove off, and for the first summer ever, you feel stuck in Surrey.

///

The next time you saw Queen was on stage.

You'd made it back home to the city just in time to change and race to see your friends play. Because even though you'd had the pleasure of hearing the echoes of their endless rehearsal for weeks on end, you still weren't sick of the sound. They were set up in a small club, getting back into the swing of putting on a show for more than a wandering chicken and or two.

A usual cast of friends, groupies, and followers were scattered about the crowd. You knew some of them, and a few introduced you to faces you'd never seen before then. But when Queen took the stage, the audience ceased their chatter to join in giving the band a warm welcome.

They needed no introduction. Their instruments caught fire and melded together in perfect timing, in alarming harmony. You watched on in wonder, each member using their talent to the band's advantage, showing off in each other's favor. You'd never tire of marveling over their music.

After a setlist full of head-spinning tunes, the crowd thinned out respectively. Fans meandered out front, planning to linger near the band's parked van. Friends drifted toward the stage while the boys tore down their set, shooting winks and nods toward the groupies who slipped backstage. That left you eyeing a side exit, planning your route home, wondering if you had time to stop for a bite to eat on the way home.

But your mission toward the exit was hindered when someone yanked you backward by your shirt sleeve.

"You're not leaving." Brian declared, pulling you along, past the stage, where Freddie spun, blowing you a kiss. Brian pulled you backstage, down a couple of dank halls lined with girls and guys waiting to get their hands on one of Queen.

Brian dumped you off in the doorway of the green room, you supposed. The space offered a sofa, a mirror, and a table full of half-consumed liquor bottles. And all alone stood Roger Taylor. He appeared to have changed shirts, and was screwing the lid back on to a bottle of water when he looked up and noticed you.

If you thought Rogers eyes were bright, his smile upon seeing you was blinding.

"You came! I thought you'd be sick of us by now." Roger chuckled, opening his arms as he approached to wrap you in a hug.

"I swear you get better every time." You laughed, hugging him back, surprisingly relieved and relaxed in his arms. When Roger let go of you, he searched your face as you stood, failing to hide your blush.

"You came." He smiled again, as if he was just now really realizing you were here.

"Of course I did, Rog."

With that, he grabbed your hand like he'd done it more than once. Roger pulled you alongside him, greeting every odd familiar face in the halls. Some knew your name, others learned it when Roger introduced you in passing. He led you right to the stage, where he went to take his drums apart. Freddie cornered you to spill what seemed like every thought he had since last you'd seen each other. John even circled back around to offer you a goodbye on his hurry home for the evening.

Then, the rest of the weekend went almost just like that. You stood and watched your friends warm-up the same stage in preparation to tour later on. And when the shows ended, you waited around to make sure you told each boy hello, or goodbye.

Roger seemed to wait up for you. He never sought you out, never hurried off stage to cling to your side. He simply waited near the bar or in the green room, where you found him kicking his feet until he saw you. Then, he'd dare to cling to you. To grab your hand, or lean his shoulder against yours while you both listened to some stranger tell a long boring story.

Rogered waited up for you, and that's how you knew. At the end of the weekend, you went home feeling utterly incomplete. Thoughts of Roger used to hurt your head and heart, but the ache you felt at the thought of the blonde was much different now. You were only torturing yourself, really. It was time to give in.

You told yourself that whatever happened next, was exactly what was meant to happen. On your drive to Rogers flat, you made yourself accept your fate in advance, no matter what it might have been.

On your march up the complex stairs, you figured you didn't have much to lose.

You knocked, bolts of nerves surging through each time your knuckles met the door. When it opened, Roger seemed genuinely surprised to see you.

"Oh hey," He uttered, moving back to let you in. You glanced past Roger's shoulders as you stepped inside the space he shared with Brian, though the guitarist was usually staying with his soon to be wife in the little apartment they'd started slowly moving into.

"I thought Bri left for the evening. But I suppose if you're expecting him he'll be back any minute..." Roger reasoned, shutting the door and shuffling a safe distance away from where you'd planted your feet in the kitchen.

"I'm here to see you, Roger." You bit back a grin.

"Me? I-" His saucer eyes were innocently confused. He was clad in an old sweatshirt and his hair was still a little damp from a shower at the end of a long night. Before he had time to finish asking what you were doing here, you closed the space between the two of you.

You placed a hand on Roger's jaw and kissed him in the blink of an eye. His lips were warm and soft, and even more perfect than you imagined them to be. He stalled for a moment, but when you showed no signs of pulling away, Roger gave in. He snaked an arm around your middle and kissed you back in the manor a soldier coming home from war might have. Your lips moved together for what seemed like forever, you hoped it was.

"I'm sorry I never did that sooner." You breathed after your kisses died down. Roger kept his arm around you, holding you close against his form.

"Better late than never, right?" Roger mused, curling his lip into a grin as his eyes searched yours. This was what you wanted, no questions asked. It was time to give in.

"If you want forever, I'd love to share that with you." You nodded in a whisper, holding your breath during the nanosecond it took Roger to agree.

"I want everything with you." Roger laughed a little like he shouldn't have had to state the obvious, but was glad to all the same. You let out a small laugh too, more like a sigh of relief, though. You hadn't expected to end up in the situation, but as the summer crept into autumn, you couldn't imagine your world with Roger.

///

Thursdays were still reserved for you and Freddie to share your usual order at the coffee shop. And John still sometimes joined in to share a joke or a wise old sentiment in between your gossip. You still saw Brian at every odd dinner, game night, and gig; where you rambled and argued about the workings of the universe. And in between it all, Roger was always at the back of the stage and at the end of every day, always looking to you. You rocketed into sharing beds, and breakfasts and shopping trips together. You and Roger were never too far apart.

As autumn turned to winter, you went on the hunt for another internship and found something better; a job. It was only then you realized how glad you were to have missed out on that very first opportunity. How lucky you got when everything was canceled and you were propelled into the forest with your favorite band. That must have been how things were always meant to happen. Because the production you signed on to now caused stars to form in your eyes. It was a position even dreamier than you ever hoped to score, but something that wasn't meant to start until the beginning of the next year.

So when Queen released their record and started morphing from hometown heroes to actual superstars, they each begged you to join the tour meant to promote their new music. And you didn't have a single reason to decline.

You tagged along for a couple of weeks, snapping photos of the boys on the plane, in front of shop windows, and on each new stage they took by storm.

And as the days you'd booked to ride along dwindled away, as fate threatened to keep you apart longer than you'd like to have ever been, you just kept planning for your future.

"Let's get a dog." Roger piped up one night, as he slipped into a cozy hotel bed beside you.

"What if he gets lonely? If we get one we'd have to get another." You countered, snuggling close. Roger hummed in agreeance, while you settled against him for the last night you'd get the chance to for months in a row.

"One day we'll have all the dogs we want." Roger sighed, the softness of his tone and the rattle of his chest under your ear was just as good as any of the other music he made. "A whole farm."

"Even a chicken coop?" You teased in a falsely hopeful manner, assuming he'd shiver at the thought.

"Whatever you want." You felt Roger shrug. You lifted your head to meet his eyes, waiting for the catch, because you knew he couldn't possibly care for you so much to bend at the will of all of your silly little suggestions.

"I love you. I want everything with you. Even chicken coop." Roger spoke in a hush, reaching his long fingers to brush your cheek. You stared at him in awe, completely submerged in appreciation for Roger, and this moment you shared.

"You'll have to feed them though," Roger spoke as you searched his features. With that, you both laughed until you fell asleep, together.

When morning came, you hoped packing your bags at a slow pace would stall time, in a magic moment. But in the blink of an eye, you were rushing to catch a cab, glancing over your shoulder to find Roger watching you go.

It was hard to settle back home in the quiet rainy city without the boys to keep you company, to keep you on your toes. But you settled into your dream job, finally fulfilled with all the hard work you spent getting to the place you landed in. You worked, and dreamed of Roger, and pinched yourself every time you realized just how lucky you were.

You and Roger were further apart than ever before, even when you hadn't attached at the hip. But he called, and sent letters, and promised he'd see you soon. And you answered and wrote back and promised you were counting down the days.

When he finally came home to you after months away he bound your way with arms outstretched. Roger lifted you from the ground, spinning around with ease, pleading for you to come on the next tour, and the one after that if there was one. And you knew Roger was yours, that your days were better spent dreaming together. You knew you'd be alright.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[writefightandflightclub]

Pillow Talk (Poe x reader)

What is this? This is 4 of 14 short prompt requests I’ll be writing as part of my 500 follower celebration! See my call-out for requests (now closed… unless you’re desperate!) and credit for prompt list creators here.

What is the prompt? “Ow, oka- OW, CAN YOU STOP HITTING ME WITH YOUR PILLOW?!” I wasn’t sure where to take this at first and then it just came to me. So much fun to write- thanks so much for the request @asianravenpuff​ <3

Author’s note: AND THERE IS ONLY ONE BED. Everyone’s favourite trope, yah? Another bed-centric bit of fluff but pretty different to the last.

Word count: I’m just gonna pretend I never set any word limit for this challenge. This is 1767 words. OOPS.

Warnings: Fluff + bickering + mild sexual references. No Poes were harmed in the writing of this fic. It’s a very soft pillow, ok?

GIF: By @psychotic-psychadelic​ (I couldn’t find any appropriate Poe / Ocasr GIFs and I think this GIF is adorable, though sorry it won’t represent all readers. Please imagine the fic however you like! <3)

“Ow, oka- OW, CAN YOU STOP HITTING ME WITH YOUR PILLOW?!” Poe bites off, the narked, affronted edge in his tone fairly transparent.

“No! No, I won’t stop!” you exclaim, having leapt from your shared bed for the night to pummel him, still brandishing the pillow and looking ready to strike the Commander again. He raises his arms defensively as he continues to lay down. “What in the hell do you think you were doing, Poe?!” Your voice is stretched thin and high-pitched, your words flowing a little too fast. You’re seemingly in mild freak-out mode.

You lower your marshmallow-y weapon, eyebrows shooting up, expression pointed and inviting an explanation, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. 

Poe drop his arms and recites your question under his breath, disbelieving. “What do I think I was doing?” And then loudly, propping himself up on his elbows. “Honey, you kissed me!”

You clutch your pillow more tightly, one hand on your hip as you wind up your rebuke “I certainly don’t think...” But your voice falters. A heat rises in your cheeks as you suddenly doubt your own version of events. Especially as the blanket slips down over his bare chest and it occurs to you that your ability to resist him might be somewhat... compromised, after all. “I’m... not sure that’s true!” Suddenly you are clutching the pillow to your chest for comfort rather than as ammunition.

This should never have happened. You are Poe were simply retiring after the day’s mission, getting some rest. Two colleagues, essentially. No matter that the one kriffing guest house had one kriffing room left. With only one kriffing bed. Surely, you could both control yourself for one night, couldn’t you? Well, turns out that perhaps you had overestimated yourself. There is distinct evidence of your failure in the way your lips continue to tingle from the feeling of his hot kiss.

Poe sits all the way up now, the sheet slipping down so far that you can see the elasticated hem of his boxers. Sleeping semi-nude hadn’t seemed such a terrible idea when you had both undressed in the dark, but now that there was plenty of moonlight flitering in... now that your eyes had adjusted.... Yikes, his underwear was certainly drawing your attention.

“Well, I’m definitely sure. Trust me, I didn’t kiss you. I would have asked for permission.”  Poe states with conviction.

You think you might just be freaking-out a little more now. There’s that nervous, unnatural timbre to your voice coming out of you again. “I just kissed you?! Oh Maker, no. This is all your fault, Poe!”

You hit him again with the pillow. He throws his hands and his eyebrows up in utter disbelief, not understanding exactly how he’s still considered culpable. And, ok, this is pissing him off now. He swings his legs from the bed, his feet planting on the floor. “Would you please stop hitting me with that?”

Your thoughts swirl in panic as you try to concoct a way to remove yourself from the situation. Then it occurs to you. “I have to go.” you insist, as if with sudden clarity.

Poe looks around the compact room, face scrunching in confusion. There’s nowhere to go. “Where are you... ? Come on, don’t be silly.”

He takes a step towards you and, well, that’s just too much. You don’t think closing the distance is a good idea at all, in your current state. Or in his state of undress. So you opt to put a solid five paces between you and you lock yourself away in the adjoining refresher. The door in this crappy room is so thin that you hear Poe’s heavy sigh through it. Hating the feeling that you’ve exasperated him, you slide down the wall into a heap and bury your head in the pillow, wishing the floor might swallow you up.

Momentarily, you think you hear the mattress springs creak, and you guess that Poe has taken a seat on the bed. Or maybe he’ll just go to sleep and you can stay in here until morning and hope he magically forgets about this, somehow?

“Are you embarrassed?” he probes, his voice kind, but you give him no answer. Are you? You’ll say. How would anyone in the Resistance, how would he ever respect you again? You were here on a mission and you lost control of yourself after all of two minutes in a bed with him. Who does that?

“It was a good kiss.” he concedes -to the closed door- and your heart hammers in your chest. Did he mean that? There’s something about his tone though which sounds strained, and you hear another heavy sigh.

He comes at you with another tack. “Look, don’t you think you’re over-reacting? I don’t think anyone could blame you for kissing me, I’m pretty hard to resist. In fact, I’m not even shocked that you just couldn’t help yourself.”

You finally push the refresher door open, from your seated position. You lean forward until you have a clear view of him sat on the bed, just enough of a view to fling the pillow out and get a clear shot at his head. Oh, you could do it.

He nods, his mouth a thin line. “That’s about right. I thought that might be the one to get a reaction out of you.” His elbows are propped on his knees, his fingers tented together under his chin. “Can we just... talk about this?”

Poe Dameron. Apparently, quite a sensible guy, against all odds. You concede that he’s right. And it’s not as if you have anywhere to go, in reality. So, reluctantly, you stand and shuffle yourself back into the main room.

Boy, do you feel like an idiot. “I’m sorry, Commander. For freaking out. I’m sorry for hitting you with the pillow. And I’m sorry if I...” you look down at your feet. “...I’m really sorry that I kissed you. I’m such an ass.”

He stands again, the grumpy, sourpuss expression evaporating from his face as he senses your vulnerability. And it helps that you seem to have stopped attacking him. He shrugs, casually, his voice soft. “If it makes you feel better, I was a second away from asking you.”

“Asking me what?” you practically whisper.

He raises a suggestive eyebrow at you. “If I could kiss you.”

“Y- oh, y-.You?” you’re not forming words now, but you guess the string of sounds you’re making adequately displays your shock anyway. Your mouth forms an ‘o’, in lieu of any actual vowels. Or consonants. Or anything.

“Yeah. Something like that.” his mouth tugs up into a smile, his voice drops low into his throat. “You know, whenever I’ve imagined kissing you, there is usually a lot more actual kissing.”

Is the room suddenly really hot? Did it just get smaller in here?

“So,” Poe continues, stepping closer to you and entwining his fingers in yours  (is this still real-life?). “Can you stop throwing pillows at me, and maybe we’ll just lie back down and try that again?”

Ohhh boyyyy, all the times you’ve imagined him propositioning you, not once have you turned him down. It takes every ounce of self-control you can muster. “I... I can’t. We shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. You’re my Commander.”

He drops his hands from yours. “Right. No. You’re right. We... shouldn’t.”

“In fact, Commander, I can’t believe you would just go around kissing your subordinates like that. It’s so improper.” 

He’s about to rebuke you until he recognises the playful glint in your eyes.You’re pleased to have him smiling again, at least.

“Ok. Fine.” He raises his hands defensively. “We’ll just sleep then. Sound good?”

“Ok.” you agree, and you clamber into the far side of the bed, holiding the covers open for him. “Sounds good. It was just a little kiss. We can just forget it.”

He hesitates, but then he tugs in a deep breath and climbs in next to you, shimmying down beneath the blankets. Immediately, you both close your eyes tightly and turn your backs on one another.

Except, you can’t forget it, of course. It’s all you can kriffing think about. There’s no way you can sleep now! After that kiss?! The kiss of your life. Just imagine how good it would feel if you had given him a chance to properly kiss you back. The crush of his lips up against yours, his supple tongue slipping in and...And maybe you need to get out of bed and take a cold shower.

“Goodnight then, Commander.” you say in a small, unconvincing voice.

You feel him spin around in the bed, evidently now facing you, his breath billowing over the nape of your neck as he plonks his head back down on the pillow.

“G’night, sweet cheeks.” he purrs, ever so deliberately.

Oh, that smug flyboy. He knows. He knows you’re going to cave. And, you do as well. You turn, kiss him again, and this time his lips respond, his tongue leading; insistent and sinful and everything you could have hoped for.

When you’re both breathless he pulls away, leaning his forehead against yours. “Ok, just to clarify. You definitely kissed me that time too. Can we agree on that?” Then, he quickly wraps his arms around his head in case you’re about to launch another pillow-centric affront on his face.

“I know, Poe.” you admit, not caring in the slightest anymore. “Just shut up and kiss me some more.”

He smiles, dipping his lips towards yours again. “Now that’s the kind of pillow talk I like to hear.”

His kisses spread a heat through you. Make you feel so good. You realise that if you keep this up any longer you just won’t be able to stop. So, with a concerted effort you manage to break apart from him and catch your breath.

“Poe. We can’t. Shouldn’t. We should stop. I’m gonna sleep on the floor. Before I get ideas about banging you.”

“Ok.” he says causally, as if unbothered, unaffected. He simply folds his arms behind his head and waits quietly for you to gather up your pillow and spare blankets and retreat to the floor.

And then, just as you settle, he launches his pillow at your head with perfect aim. You complain loudly.

“I hear you, honey, but counter-suggestion. How about you just sleep in the bed, after you bang me?”

“Yeah, ok.” you respond instantly, reaching and pulling him down on to the floor with you.

There is only one bed, and you don’t get much use out of it that night.

Nor do you do a whole lot of sleeping.

[imagines-hoarder]

The Devil in the Dark- Dark!Steve Rogers

Warning: smut, murder, abuse, gaslighting, swearing, drug and alcohol abuse

Word Count: 6,400

Summary: 70s AU; When a handsome stranger rolls into town, you get caught up in being the center of his attention. You could never expect how falling in love with him would change your life forever.

Masterlist

*I don’t think I’m pleased by what I’ve created, and honestly no one asked for what I am unleashing. This is my first dip into the marvel universe and probably the darkest thing I have ever written so be warned; this is not for the faint of heart. For those of you who can get through all 6,000 words, I’d love to get your feedback. This may only be the beginning. xoxox*

The room has become muggy and sweat clung to your neck as you pawed the velvet sofa. Everything had felt fuzzy at the edges after you smoked a joint in one of the shady rooms upstairs. After a couple more shots, you hit the dance floor and everything else in the last 30 minutes had been a blur. Now you sat watching everyone laugh and feign geniality without your rose-tinted lenses. You were at a party that you should have been ashamed of. Cigarettes, booze, and coke had awoken something sinful in the partygoers and after getting your own fill, you just preferred to watch.

Mel had tried to sell it to you earlier that evening as something else entirely: “It’s just gonna be a small thing, okay? Brian wants to see everyone again before we go back to A-State.” She had called just after your mother and her boyfriend departed for their first barstools of the night. She knew better than to call any earlier.

“Last time I checked, Brian doesn’t really do small gigs. Remember when he put on your birthday party last year and invited all his buddies? I'm pretty sure his scrawny friend was the one who puked in your fish tank,” you responded, twirling the landline cord around your finger and picking at a slice of leftover pizza. “You know I'm coming anyway. It’s gonna get really quiet around here in a couple of weeks when you go back to school.”

“Not if you come with me,” she said with a singsong tone.

“That’s why I’m staying here in the first place.” The pizza didn’t sound too appealing as your stomach turned sour. “If I wash and style a couple more heads, I should have enough money to join you and the meatheads for the Spring semester. Then we can get hammered every weekend together… just like old times.” You find comfort from her laughter on the other end.

You had spent the last couple minutes recalling the last time you saw Mel before you started people watching from the sidelines. You're pretty sure she was the one who rolled your joint, sitting wasted on Brian’s lap. When your eyes ached from staring at crowded bodies, you laid your head back and shut your eyes, letting the beat of the music ground you.

It couldn’t have taken more than a moment for the couch to sink under the weight of another person. “You alright over here?” It was a dude; no doubt he thought you were passed out or an easy lay.

You rolled your head to get a good look at him, and it was like the Big Man himself had decided to serve you sex on legs, carrying a Miller Light and smelling like cigarettes. He wasn’t from around here and wasn’t in college, that much you could tell; no guy fresh from adolescence could grow a beard like his. He wore a button-down that was half open and exposed how warm he was as a bead of sweat trickled down his neck. You had been so ready to tell him to fuck off until you met that pretty blue gaze. You must have looked like some creep undressing him with your eyes.

“I’m steller. You probably think I’m a burnout that can’t control myself,” you shouted to him, though he was close enough to hear you just fine.

“Well, I never said that.” His low laugh sounded like music. “I saw you come from upstairs. Wanted to make sure you weren't choking on vomit.” 

“That would make a fun story. Instead, I’m just people watching.” You turned your attention back to the bodies getting hot and heavy on a makeshift dance floor and hoped he wouldn’t notice the red blooming in your cheeks.

“I think that can be fun, especially when everyone around you is a stranger.” It was clear he wasn’t from Arkansas. His voice was as smooth as butter but lacked the draw everyone else in the room had. 

When you looked back at him, he was still looking at you. You extended your hand and he took it into his own for a firm shake before letting it far to the couch. You introduced yourself and smiled when you were able to restrain your nerves. “Now we’re not strangers to each other.” He returned the gesture and gave you a smile so dazzling it nearly sobered you.

“Name’s Steve.” He gave the room a passive glance-over without ever indicating he spotted another familiar face. “I’m not from around here. Just met a guy in town today and he told me I should stop by; he said he was the host.”

“Brian?” He gave you a nod but you’re sure he couldn’t recall what he looked like. “Yeah I know him; we grew up together. I’m actually really close with his girlfriend, Mel.” You knew he was listening but didn’t want to lose his attention to small talk. “And I know you’re not from around here, Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m a townie, born and raised. I would have noticed a man like you if you were kicking around any earlier than now.”

He rewarded you with another smile, stained with allure. “I’m just passing through Arkansas and thought I would stay the night. I’ve never even driven through Arkansas; kind of one of those places you forget is on the map.”

“How do you think I feel? I’m living in this unremarkable town in a forgettable state.” He joined you in laughing as the music became white noise. You pulled your legs under your body as you leaned in closer to him. You quickly realized you must have looked so young and so enamored; no stupid. You couldn’t move now but he didn’t seem to mind.

“You know, I like your style. You’re a beauty with a mouth on you.”

“Do you want to see what else my mouth can do.” It fell from your lips before you could stop it. You quickly looked away from him in hopes of returning to the conversation you were pursuing before you ruined it. His gaze burned into your face before he got up. You could have scolded yourself for how soon you played your cards. Before you could blame the substances in your system for your poor behavior, he stood in front of you trying to regain your attention.

When you looked up, his head jerked toward the door. “You wanna smoke outside?” Something about the question made you tense. You could use some fresh air and thought Steve could make good company, but you didn’t want him to think you’d be an easy lay he could fuck around the corner; you were sure that was the impression your lewd comment left. He must have sensed your reluctance. “We can stay here if you want but I can barely hear you over the music, doll. Promise I won’t try anything on ya,” he disclosed.

Maybe it was a bad idea, but you decided to go anyways. He offered you his hand as he detached you from the velveteen sofa. Before you were even out the door, he was pulling a have-full carton of cigarettes from his pocket and wedged one between his lips. No one else was outside, but you could hear the muffled rhythm of a Donna Summers tune starting up by the time you settled at the edge of the house. After supplying you with a cigarette of your own and drawing close to light it, you reached a comfortable silence that let you take your drags in peace.

“So why California,” you asked. You supposed his brusque appearance could sell magazines or movie tickets. “Trying to catch your big break in Hollywood?”

“Nah, just need a fresh start. I’ve been living in the cold all my life, just wanted a fresh start somewhere warm, you know?”

You give him an affirming nod. “The weather’s not too one this end of the country, I guess. Where are you coming from anyways?”

He just chuckled it off with an air of skepticism. “You sure ask a lot of questions.” 

“Well we aren’t strangers anymore, right? We’re sharing a smoke, having a laugh...” 

He just shrugged, deflecting the question in the process. “Maybe I wanna know more about you.”

“There’s not much to know about me.”

“Well, I don't believe that for a second.” You roll your eyes and lean against the brick wall, listening but refusing to give him the pleasure of seeing you blush. “You’re young, you're beautiful… girls like you aren’t born to both start and end in nowhere Arkansas.” 

''I want to, but not all of us have the luxury of up and moving to California, Stevie.” When you looked over to him, he had a look that you hoped wasn’t pity. “Plus, I’m earning my Associates Degree at Arkansas State. I’ve got one more year of being tied to this place.”

“Stevie... Gosh, I haven’t been called that since I was a kid.” You smirk at him, taking his change in the subject as an olive branch. The air became quiet again, but you were thankful there was no ill-ease. You just closed your eyes and inhaled the last of the smoke warming your lungs. Maybe if you stood in the moment a little longer, you could convince yourself this handsome man was real once you sobered up.

All too soon, you had put out the cigarette butt under your shoe and took it as a sign to start walking back home. It had to be past four a.m. and it looked like the moon would make its departure sometime soon. “Well it was a real pleasure for you to meet me Stevie, but I should start moving before it gets any later.” You pushed yourself off of the wall and tucked your hands in the pockets of your jumper dress. “I hope you find what you’re looking for in California.”

He threw his butt out into some nearby rocks before stepping a little closer to you “Come on doll, let me drive you home. It’s late and everyone else is wasted out of their mind. Plus, I don’t think Brian even knows I was here; he just invited me cause I helped him jump his car this morning.” He was too nice to be true, but you didn’t think your mind was capable of creating something as beautiful as him. Maybe you wouldn’t mind it so much if he stuck his rough hands up your dress after all. He’d be gone in a day anyways.

“You know, young women aren’t supposed to take rides from strangers, right?” You started to walk down the driveway and tried to restrain your smugness as you heard his heavy footsteps trail behind you.

With the extra height he had on you, he caught up in no time, carefully tugging at your arm so you looked back at him. Your arm rubbed against his chest and you now knew for sure that he had more than just a pretty face on him. “I thought you said we weren’t strangers,” he retaliated. He didn’t seem like the type of man to take no for an answer, but you weren’t hoping to put up too much of a fight. As you looked at him in the moment, you saw him look you over and his cornflower blue eyes held a look that said there was something he desired about you too.

He let you pull away from him as you decided to make your final impulsive decision of the night. “Alright hotshot, which ride is yours?”

You had him drop you off a couple houses away when he drove into your neighborhood. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to invite him inside for a beer and a ‘farewell gift’, but you were sure that your mom and Pierce were already passed out and drained any bottles that were left in the fridge on their way in. Still, you spent a couple minutes steaming up the windows in his car as he slowly pushed up your dress.

You pushed at his chest and pulled down your dress when you thought the neighbors would start getting suspicious of the unfamiliar ‘73 Chevelle Malibu with the clouded windows outside their house. “Look, Steve, I gotta go. Drive safe.” You tugged at the door handle but he stopped you before you could get out, pulling you back into an attack of fervent kisses. “Steve!”

“Look, I’m staying at that Motel Court on Birchwood, Room 174. I want you to call me in the morning.”

“I thought you were just passing through...” You groaned as you pushed at his wandering hands again, trying to keep from giving him the pleasure of making you breathless.

“I am, but we can get breakfast or something? Shit, you’ll probably be passed out until noon so it’ll be lunch.” He finally let you pull away and you could see how his hair sat rugged from your needy gripping, a winded look splayed across his face. He looked around for an old receipt and pen and scribbled the name and room number of the motel on the back. He buried the sheet in your palm and you hesitated before accepting it. You reached for the handle again and he didn’t stop you as you stepped onto the sidewalk, only leaning over the seat and throwing you a wink. “You’ll call me, won’t you?”

You leaned into the frame so you could get one more look at his pretty face. “I’ll be up by 11… I’ll catch ya later.” You shut the door before anything else could be said and dragged yourself home.

After talking and teasing him at Kitty’s Diner the next morning, you let Steve take you back to his room where you got hot and heavy the rest of the day. You caught a case of Deja Vu when he dropped you off in the early hours of the morning again. You couldn’t hide your amusement when he said he planned to stay in town. “Just a little bit longer,” he professed. Steve had his arm around you as he pulled you towards him, almost tugging you into his seat. He wouldn’t say it but you had understood that he was enjoying himself too much to leave at the moment.

You spent the next five days in his motel room between your shifts at work, enjoying his body between listening to his stories and sharing your own. Mel had needed so much time to pack her life up for her return to college that you didn’t think she even took note of your absence around her place. You didn’t mind it though. He had been busy telling you about all the national parks he had stopped for and the best foods he’d tasted at 24-hour diners across the country. You’d mention your job at the beauty parlor down the street and your hope to travel cross-country yourself. He made even the bad parts of being on the road sound like an escape from your reality. You would talk about Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac and write down music recommendations to keep an ear out for on the radio. One day he pulled out a little book and a set of pencils as you laid naked and fatigued in the tangled sheets. He kept looking up at you as he scratched into the page. After keeping his head buried in the book for half an hour, he joined you on the bed and showed you the drawing he was working on. It was you in all your bare glory. After your face had run hot and asked if you could keep it, he didn’t hesitate to kiss his way down to your wanting body. He was over six years your elder, and it was clear that he had prior experience with female anatomy, not that you minded. 

He was a man of passion in many ways. Between finding new reasons to hold you a little closer to him, he would talk about his favorite novels and the literary techniques of authors like Kurt Vonnegut. He knew so much about a world that you had barely seen, and it would have been difficult for any ordinary woman to resist the combination of his charm, good looks, and intelligence.

Every hour you spent with him only further suspended your disbelief that he was truly living in your presence. You were happy that he spoke toy you on Brian’s rundown couch that first night, and after a week of finding entertainment in one another, you help him pack up the trunk of his car with what little he had traveled with. Even though you were enamored, you weren’t stupid; he had been sweet on you, but you were sure he had a trail of women he must have left behind before crossing every state border. How could a man like him not? It made your chest tighten more than you cared to admit. A week after the party, he was dropping you off for the final time.

His lips worked slowly against your neck as you sat back in the passenger seat, enjoy the last moments of his attention before he became nothing more than a memory, “I’m sure that you’ll have a new gal by the time you get to California, but will you give me a ring when you’ve settled anyways,” you moaned into his ear.

Steve pulled his head back to get a clear look at you as if he’d sobered from his lustful haze. He relaxed back into his seat and ran his hand through his messy mop with a heavy sigh. You were sure you’d killed the moment before he spoke up. “What would you say if I wanted you to come with me?”

“What?”

“I wasn’t messing around when I said you deserved better than Arkansas. You were born here but you don’t have to spend your whole life here.” Your mind was moving rapidly but you could barely focus on a single thought. “I think I’m in love with you. If you can come to California, you can keep doing hair, you can finish your degree, anything you want.” By the time he finished, only silence sat between you and he fidgeted with his keys. He waited for your response and only got more nervous when you didn’t have one. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything, doll. I’m s-”

“I’ll come with you,” you said. 

The words took a minute to settle before he could laugh out a sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Stevie. I… I think I love you too. I wanna go with you.”

He pulled you back against him and toyed with the ends of your hair. “God, you’ve made me the happiest man alive, baby. I don’t think I could have left without you.”

“And I wouldn’t want you to.” You kissed at his beard and stroked his cheek. “I need to start packing if we’re leaving in the morning.”

“Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”

“No, just... Just give me 15 minutes and I’ll be fine. I can go back to the room with you and we’ll be good to go in the morning.” You knew there wasn’t much to be gathered in your room. Just some clothes for warmer weather and books. You’d grab your cosmetology kit, some family photos, and some cash that you’d hid before your mom could notice in her drunken stupor. There wasn’t much worth salvaging from your current way of living. “I’ll call Mel later and tell her I’m leaving. She can tell the salon that I won’t be in for my shifts next week.”

“I can wait out here for you unless you need help.”

“No, just sit here and I’ll be back soon.” You kissed him one more time before exiting the car, walking with haste to get into the house.

When you walked inside, only the T.V. lit up the front room and it was if every step you took awoke the house. You were quick to pack your bag once you reached your room, grabbing for things that you decided were necessary in the heat of the moment. Once you cleared through your desk and closet, you pulled at a loose floorboard and grabbed the wad of bills you’d been saving for your semester tuition. Once you emptied your smugglers hold of some photos worth saving, you replaced the floorboard as if nothing were ever there.

“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You nearly jumped out of your skin as you caught a look at the figure in your door frame.

“Didn’t know you were home yet. Thought you and Pierce were still out for the night.”

“When I come home I expect you to be here. Do you know what goddamn time is?” Your mother was not and never had been a happy drunk, and when her boyfriend would come around it only made things worse. She started to walk towards you as you stood from your crouched position, hiding the cash and photographs from her sight.

“I was with Melissa. She’s going back to school this week and I wanted to say goodbye to her.”

“Don’t you lie to me,” she seethed. You knew this would not be the easy getaway you had wanted. “You were probably out whoring around again.”

“I’m not going to let you talk to me like that. I just told you where I was,” you challenged. You walked to your bed and filed away the contraband into your bag knowing that it was the last of the important items you could grab before leaving.

“You probably think you’ve been real clever coming in after we’re every night, but I’ve fucking noticed. You’ve never been all that smart.” She had stumbled into your room and the smell of whiskey was so strong it made your nose burn. 

You weren’t able to offer her a retort or a farewell before you heard more footsteps from down the hall. “What seems to be the problem here,” Pierce said. Drunk. They were both always drunk.

“Little Miss thinks that she can just whore herself out and then come home without consequences,” your mother announced.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving anyway.” You grabbed your bag and made an effort to quickly escape the room, pushing past Pierce in the doorway.

“Don’t you walk away from us, bitch!” Pierce’s shouting became incoherent hollers and you sped towards the living room, but you could hear her footsteps behind you.

By the time you could see the front door, you felt a tug on your hair so strong it nearly pulled you to the floor with a shriek. “You think you’re just gonna leave and move on, huh?” Your head throbbed as she raged in your ear. “You’re nothing and you’re worth nothing. Once you’re not useful for whoring anymore, you’ll end up in a ditch on the side of the road.”

You punched her in the face before she could see it coming, something you had only thought about doing to her in your wildest dreams, and it was enough to throw her to the floor. You took the chance to grab your bag and run outside without a care for your dignity or the grace of your departure. You could hear her screams from down the street and you knew that at any second, the neighbors would be looking to see what had happened.

You slammed the car door as soon as your foot was inside, startling Steve. “What the hell hap-”

“Just drive, Steve!” You all but shouted as your mom stepped onto the front lawn with blood dribbling down her chin. He didn’t need any further explanation as he put his foot on the pedal. Your mother was still screaming, that much you could hear, but her slurs were muffled as you flew past the house.

You hadn’t noticed a smudge of your mom’s blood on your knuckles until you got back to the room and you spent the next 10 minutes trying to scrub away the ghostly red specks. You couldn’t stand the feeling of it. Steve stood in the doorways with his arms across his chest the entire time. He didn’t look too thrilled about how everything played out but didn’t say anything about it.

“My mom and her boyfriend were home and fucking wasted. I didn’t even know until she came in screaming at me, calling me a whore and stuff.” He walked up to you as you dried your hands on an off-white towel. “Sad to say that’s not really an unusual encounter.”

“Are you gonna be okay, doll?” He looked concerned, maybe even a little angry for you, but the furrow of his brow did little to extinguish your distress. You just wanted him slightly closer and you held faith that he could obliterate the memory of this night.

“I’m fine... I just think that the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“We’ll be gone before the sun even rises. Let's just get a couple hours of sleep and then we’ll be on the road.” He drew you nearer to him and you nodded as you looked past through him. “This will all be behind us in a couple of hours.”

He bent down for a kiss and you readily gave into him. In so little time he had made you feel alive. He made you feel wanted. You had so little in the world — your mom was a drunk and your father had long hit the road; you were low on friends and even lower on funds — and now you had even less. You were about to take any sense of stability that was left in your life and chuck it out the window in the morning. But it didn’t matter because even one more day with Steve would make you feel more alive and more loved than you had known in your entire life.

His mouth became eager and he pulled you even closer, working his way to your chest and down your stomach as his hand wandered up your skirt. Before you could think of touching him, he had you lifted over his shoulder with a squeal. He said nothing as he moved smoothly across the room and dropped you on the bed, casting himself over you. You tried to caress him, but he quickly pinned your hands under his and he sucked at your neck. You had transformed into a puddle of moans in no time.

“Please Stevie,” you choked out. You ground your hips against his jeans but the friction wasn’t enough.

“Please what, doll?” He reached between your legs and knew he could feel how wet you were. “You’re gonna have to use your words for me, baby.”

“Please… I need you inside of me.” You squirmed in hopes to pull your hand from his grip but it was pointless. You think he got harder just feeling you struggle under him.

“That's all you had to say,” he whispered in your ear and gave you a carnal kiss against the lobe. He shifted his weight to sit up as he pulled his shirt over his head. You didn’t have more than a moment you gawk at him before he was roughly pushing your skirt over your hips. All it took was him unzipping his jeans and he drove his cock all the way inside of you. You couldn’t find a sound to make as all of the wind was knocked from your lungs.

By the time you could find your voice, he was thrusting into you at a savage pace. You cried out in complete ecstasy and he held you down; your brain felt like it was turning to mush. He growled for you to open your eyes so he could so much you loved his cock and he looked back at you with something that could only be described as darkness. It was immoral and wicked, but you couldn’t find the will to care as the man above you grabbed you like he owned you and fucked you to oblivion.

He hissed as you came around him the first time but you knew he was not done with you. He didn’t let up on his strokes until he was mirroring your moans and he never looked away from your flustered face. One of his hands began loosely circling your throat as you clenched around him again and you could feel him throb as he came inside of you. With a grunt, he pulled out and let his hot cum escape your body onto the sheets. He let his weight fall to the bed without ever letting go, and you laid on his chest in post-coital bliss. If you could choose one moment in your life to relive, you were sure it would be this one, time and time again.

“Glad to know you can keep up,” you choked out jokingly. You felt his chest vibrate with laughter as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Always, doll. We’re only getting started.” 

A heavy knock on the door had broken the silence. Steve cursed under his breath as he zipped up his pants, and he placed you back on the bed. He took his time walking to the door but it was clear that the person on the other side was growing inpatient. He looked through the peephole and cursed again before turning away. He unconsciously ground his death with his furrowed brow.

“Who is it,” you asked, trying to keep your fear at bay.

He pointed at you with a stern look and a firmer tone. “Stay right there. Don’t say anything.” Before you could ask him what was happening, he undid the chain door lock and pulled it ajar, just enough to let the unwanted visitor see his face. “What do you want, man?”

“Where the fuck is she?” Pierce. It was Pierce and you could tell he was still drunk.

“Look, I don’t know what fucking drugs your own, but if you start beating on my door again I’m gonna beat your face in,” Steve fumed. Your jaw dropped as you listened in on the conversation; you’d never heard him talk light that before. He was always the type to open the door for you and smother you with pet names. He tried to close the door but you jumped at the sound of it slamming into the wall as Pierce threw all his weight onto it. He was bursting into the room before Steve could catch him and your blood ran cold as he saw you on the bed.

“Your mother's right. You’re just some lying, ungrateful whore.” His grip on your shoulder was sudden and he threw you to the floor. Your vision was spotty but you had other things you needed to worry about. “Only God knows how bad she’s gonna beat you for busting her nose like that.”

You heard a loud crack as Steve’s fist met Pierce’s face and you grabbed at the bed, trying to gain your footing. Everything was still a little blurred at the edges, but you could see as Pierce pulled Steve to the floor with him. As they threw punches and swore for each other's misfortune, you could only clearly make out the dark blood dripping from Pierce’s mouth onto Steve as he gained an edge over him, swinging at his face a couple more times. 

You looked around the room for something, anything to make them stop, but Steve had already taken most things to the car. You could hear Steve grunt as Pierce attempted to bash his face in. He had only tried to help you and now he was paying for it. That’s when you saw it. A butterfly knife sitting on the side table next to the cigarette dish and Steve’s wallet. You didn’t hesitate to grab it and before you could even understand the consequences of your actions, you plunged the blade between Pierce’s shoulder blades. 

He dropped to the floor without hesitation as he howled in pain. “You fucking bitch!” He sounded like a wounded dog as he sprawled on the floor, and you could only watch with wide eyes. God, what had you done...

Steve pulled himself from the floor and every breath he took was heavier than the last. He had missed most of his opponent’s drunken punches, but his lip was busted and he was rattled by the brawl. He looked crazed, and as he rose to his full stature, he moved to stand over Pierce who could do nothing but cry out in the fetal position. The knife was still wedged in his back.

You ran to Steve and cried as you tugged on his arm. “Steve, I don’t… I don’t know how he found us,” you choked out between heavy tears. “He must have seen the car.”

Steve said nothing. He didn’t even look at you, and that’s what scared you the most. His neck and back were tense and your touch wouldn’t be enough to soothe him. In erratic movement, Steve reached down and pulled the knife from between Pierce’s shoulder blade with a grunt. You gasped as Pierce choked out a sob. He shook in pain, blood puddling onto the carpet under him.

It was like a nightmare. Steve crouched over Pierce, looking into the old drunk’s soul as he squeezed the knife in his hands. You wish you had done something, wish you had said anything. With hasty slash and a depraved glower, Steve slit Pierce’s throat and you couldn’t turn fast enough to not see it.

Blood. Blood poured out Pierce’s wound like a broken fire hose, pooling at your feet while it splattered on Steve’s face and chest. For only a moment, Pierce sounded like he was choking, and then there was no more. No more cries, no more movement. It was just you and Steve standing over a corpse. Everything felt frozen in time as the room reached an eerie stillness that could be described only as insidious.

Steve was the first to move. He stumbled to the bathroom and threw the knife in the sink, letting the faucet run until the steaming water cleansed the weapon of blood. He bent over the sink and he watched it with morbid fascination.

You stumbled towards him, knowing that you couldn’t look at the body on the floor or you’d lose the last ounce of your sanity. It was only when Steve looked at you over his shoulder, the craze in his stare having vanished, that bile rose in your throat. You bent over the toilet and released everything you had ate during the day and maybe a little more. You could hear the sink faucet still running but Steve moved to your side. 

“Doll-”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, Stevie,” you sobbed. His arm wrapped around your waist as his forehead fell to you back. Exactly where you stabbed Pierce. You flinched at the thought and Steve pulled back.

“Listen to me, okay?” He pulled you away from the toilet and directed you to look at him. There was blood all over his hands and on his torso. “Everything is fine.”

“He’s fucking dead.”

“I know, baby. But we had to do it”

“How are we gonna-”

“You don’t need to worry about that alright?” You nodded but it was a lie. You could do nothing but worry. “You’re gonna get in the shower. I’ll join you in just a second, but you’ve got blood all over your legs and I need you to get cleaned up right now.” You looked towards the ground and noticed that your feet were painted red; a trail of bloody footsteps led into the bathroom. “I need you to tell me you can do that for me.”

You took a breath in and tried to control the cry building in your throat. “I can do that.” You began taking off your clothes, looking for any bloodstains on the fabric only to be surprised when you saw none. You felt like you were covered in blood; there must have been a spot hiding somewhere. Steve had left the room when the saw you step inside the porcelain tub and you tried not to think about what he was doing in the other room. You let the lukewarm water run down your head and trickle down to your feet as you closed your eyes, willing you consciousness to hold on just a little bit longer.

Steve returned to the bathroom faster than you thought he would and was quick to strip his jeans and boxers. You could hear the curtain slide open as he joined behind you, pushing himself under the stream alongside you. He kissed at your shoulders and cheeks, as to tell you he had taken care of everything, and he scrubbed the crimson from his chest. You could only watch with a haunted expression as it all disappear down the drain. He turned off the water after he scrubbed both of your bodies to a level of cleanliness that you probably hadn’t reached in months. You threw on the clothes you had stepped out to close to the present and you felt dirty all over again. Steve must have retrieved his shirt from the bedroom earlier because he now looked like the version of himself from an hour back when he had nothing on his mind but loving you. Your sandals sat in the corner of the bathroom for you to toe on. When you fastened them both on at the heels, he opened the bathroom and your eyes snapped shut. You couldn’t see it again.

“You don’t need to look,” he whispered to you. “I’ve got everything in the car already. I just need you to take my hand and we’ll never be back here again.” You could want nothing more right now.

You felt for his hand and his calloused fingers wove between yours. He tugged you out of the bathroom and you could feel him navigate you through the mess you had both created. The irony stench of blood crowded your sense and you wished more than anything that you could protect him from having to see the sins that had been committed on this night. The layout of the room would be drilled in your mind forever and you were sure he wouldn’t forget either. Only when you heard him shut the room door behind you could you find the will to open your eyes but you never let go of his hand.

He put you in the car and got in on the driver's side, but he said nothing as he started the car and pulled out of the motel parking lot. You could feel it; the body was still in that room, soaking up a pool of blood. As you watched the hazy lights on the town dim in the dreary night, you got on the highway and knew that you would never see Arkansas again.

[marinaaniseed]

Pity for the pious

Song: Pity for the pious from the album WWIII by KMFDM.

Summary: Steve overhears you fantasising about him and offers you the real thing.

Pairing: Female reader x Steve Rogers (AU where Steve is a baker)

Length: 1,298 words

A/N: Absolute filth. Masturbation, face sitting, you get the gist. I wrote this in September last year, then forgot about it. But hey, it’s Steve’s birthday, so why not? You know the drill, if you’re under 18, this ain’t the place for you. See here for what this is all about.

***

Steve. Your hot neighbour. You see him in the store, in the stairwell. Ex-military, so you heard. The wall between your apartment and his must be pretty thick because you never hear anything from him.

His Dobermans are in the hall when you get home. They're cute, exactly the kind of dog you’d expect him to have. Intelligent, alert, tenaciously loyal. There’s no sign of him though.

It’s a real shame. You could’ve done with fresh material for your wank bank. Last week when you’d seen him drinking whiskey in your local bar had been a real treat, the way his clothes seemed almost painted on.

You shuffle inside your apartment and make supper. Well, heat up your microwave meal for one. Steve’s probably always out and about on dates, no need for microwave meals and shitty soap operas on TV.

You throw your spoon in the sink and the packaging in the bin when you’re done. The washing up can wait, it’s not as though anyone’s going to pop round to see you. It’s been a rough week, you need to unwind instead of doing chores.

So you go to your bedroom, put on some music, and strip off. Light a scented candle. Cinnamon, of course, after you once read that the Kamasutra mentions it as an aphrodisiac. Hail hammers outside, stones bouncing off your window. Nobody will hear you if you get a little noisy, especially given the thickness of the wall.

As you sweat and you masturbate, all you think about is Steve. The way his shirt buttons strain to contain his chest, the softness of his voice, the way he smells of bourbon when he’s been at the bar. Bringing yourself to the edge, then easing off, over and over. His name interspersed between bursts of blaspheming.

A sharp rapping on your door. No, go away, you think. But they don’t.

Throwing on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, you trudge to see who is there. Not another takeaway driver in the wrong apartment building, you hope. Although if it is, you’re tempted to accept the delivery just to spite the person for interrupting your wank.

A chiselled chest awaits at eye level. You know it’s Steve before you even look up.

“Hi Steve, what can I do for you? Is my music too loud?” you ask, leaning your hip against the doorframe, trying to play it cool.

“That depends on your perspective. It wasn’t loud enough to drown out you moaning my name. The walls are quite thin here, you know,” he teases.

You’re too embarrassed to notice the mischievous glint in his eye, looking down at the floor, wishing it would just swallow you up.

“I thought, perhaps, you might prefer to enjoy the real thing,” he continues, stepping towards you and lifting your chin with his hand. You step backwards and Steve follows you in, kicking the door closed behind him. He leans down and kisses you roughly, beard burning your delicate skin. He dips a hand down into your shorts and you shudder. He strokes lightly, before bringing his hand out and licking his fingers.

“You have the sweetest smell, but it’s nothing compared to the taste of you,” he says, before bending down for another kiss, big hands kneading your buttocks like dough. You run your hands along his broad back, feeling just how muscular he is.

Without warning, he lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He walks you backwards until you’re pressed up between the wall of his chest and the wall to your bedroom.

You rake your nails up his back, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Oh, my little kitten likes to use her claws does she?” he purrs, pushing your hair back from your ear so he can nibble on your lobe. “I wonder what else it is that you like?”

“You,” you say, realising how stupid you sound.

“Yeah? What about me?” he asks, hot breath against your ear as he continues to hold you against the wall as though you weigh nothing.

“All of you,” you answer, pressing your heels into his backside to draw him even closer to you.

“Ah, you like my ass. Did you know it was once voted America’s ass?” he asks.

“I didn’t.” But you’re not surprised. Steve looked like a guy who did a lot of squats.

“Were you thinking about it when you were touching yourself?”

“No,” you say, squirming against the wall as Steve dips his tongue into your ear. As if you could move, you’re firmly stuck between a rock and a hard-on place.

He trails kisses from your ear, across your cheek, and to your reddened lips.

“I wouldn’t mind kissing your other lips,” he says, breaking away from you again. “Or would you prefer it if I watched you get yourself off?”

“You,” you say. “Door on the right.”

Steve carries you through, slowly lowering you back onto the sheets. The familiar smell of cinnamon hits his nostrils.

“You really made it special in here, huh? If I’d have known you were into cinnamon, I’d have brought you some rolls from work.”

“I like to create an atmosphere, helps me get in the mood. You work at a bakery? That explains why you’re always up so early.”

“You’ve got it,” he says, smoothing your hair out of your face. “But let's not think about work, it’s all about pleasure right now.”

He lifts your sweatshirt off with ease, before tugging off your shorts as well. Deliberately slowly, he unbuttons his shirt, and you still have no idea how those poor plastic discs contain all of him. Sculptors everywhere would be jealous, his body seemingly carved from the most exquisite stone. He slips off his socks and shoes, before taking his trousers off, his eyes never leaving your face as he observes your reaction to him, taking him all in.

Climbing onto your bed, he rolls you on top of him.

“Climb up, I want you to sit on my face,” he insists.

You get into position, holding onto the bedstead, as Steve strokes your calves, trying to get you to relax. His tongue comes up to meet you, and his hands snake up to your thighs, holding you in position.

Where earlier, all your thoughts were of Steve, now everything is a blur. No thought can stay in your head, it’s all about what you’re feeling. It’s exhilarating, overwhelming. You ride Steve’s face like you’re in a rodeo, and he just keeps giving. Even the burn of his beard against your inner thighs is intensely thrilling.

“No, no more,” you pant as you slide off him, your legs barely able to keep you up anymore. You nuzzle into his side, nipping at his neck as he licks his lips.

“No more of that or no more at all?” he asks.

“No more of that.”

“Do you think you could handle some of this?” he asks, moving your hand to cup his dick.

“Yeah,” you say with uncertainty. Maybe it’s because you can’t see it, but it feels enormous.

“I’m not gonna do it if you’re not sure,” he says, bringing his mouth down to yours, so you can taste yourself on his soft lips.

“I don’t know if I can take you, but I’d like to try,” you insist.

“You’ll be fine, I’ll go slowly, and we warmed you up pretty good. But one small poke and you will squeal, for sure,” he teases lightly, earning a laugh from you. “I just hope I’m as good as you were imagining earlier.”

“You are, you’re better. So much better.”

“Ok, good,” he says, climbing on top of you. “Now, hold on tight, I'll fuck you all night.”

@pandaxnienke