#stitches n revenge posting

[motherofagony]

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,” you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

[heli0s-writes]

You’re Toxic, I’m Slipping Under

Summary: He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it. “See you next week,” he hums.

A/n: To celebrate Glass Onion coming out, here’s ol’ boy Ransom because I hate him so much :) 4.1k words. Warnings: Smut; mild degradation, spitting, daddy kink; classism; Mind Games with Ransom Hour etc. etc. Please stop reading if you’re not 18+

Your whole apartment building seems to rattle when he arrives thirty minutes late. Like raucous fanfare to announce his appearance, the door slams shut, the latch clicks loudly, and then you hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs.

His shoes are still on—of course they are—stomping your floorboards and dragging in dirt. You can practically see them, the usual suede loafers switched out for leather boots with the late fall chill, and probably mud-caked because he’s thankless like that.

With your attention still on your laptop, already irritated because you’ve been attempting a paper that’s only chased its tail for the last three hours, you ask, “Did you misplace your watch, Ransom?”

Turning, you show him you’re the screen reading 8:32 and blink pointedly, “Is that a yes?”

“Don’t be smart,” he snaps back. “You know I don’t like that.”

Your head’s been a mess of fog, body tense and frustrated for days, and although you’ve always prided yourself on tact and grace—patient like a saint—Ransom manages to bring out the worst. You hiss, “Take your damn shoes off, you know I don’t like that.”

You watch mutely as he does so, not without a sneer here, a shitty comment there. He takes three long steps and plops himself on your bed, hands curling into the quilt, thumbs brushing over the patchwork fabric disparagingly. He pinches a loose thread and begins to pull, tugging slowly at first, and then finding joy in unraveling a line of stitching until nearly three inches rip apart.

“I always thought you needed to replace this thing.” He twirls the string disdainfully, “It’s ugly as sin.”

He pretends he doesn’t know how you obviously love this quilt—handstitched and affectionately made, your damn initials are embroidered into the corner, after all. He’s made a game of testing your patience, gleefully punching at every button as he tries to get you to snap.

Ransom Drysdale Thrombey. You’d met him at one of the Thrombey’s family… functions. Dysfunction, you’d muttered under your breath when Walt beat his cane against the floor in a drunken tirade and Meg ran out back to wolf down a pot cookie that she was supposed to be saving for later.

She was on the cusp of a panic attack, words tumbling out like a car crash, her hand in her beret, then hair, then trembling over her maroon-painted lips.

“God, I’m so sorry— I thought we could just make a pit stop before heading out. The food’s always catered and really good— god… it’s a fucking mess.”

You waved her off because it’s not like you haven’t witnessed at least one aunt having a meltdown during holiday dinner before— family’s just like that—and tried to placate her with, “Can’t be worse than the cousin who asked if we’d be scissoring later.”

Meg’s face twisted in disgust. “Ugh, ew! Fucking Jacob! He’s a skeezy little incel— I swear he’s a moderator on one of those internet forums where they post revenge porn and upskirt vids— honestly, he was adorable two years ago. Then I guess he went through puberty and got radicalized on Youtube.”

You paused as she lit a cigarette and inhaled furiously before realizing that the two of you were thinking of two entirely different cousins.

“I meant the big one, Meg. This one went through puberty twenty years ago.”

“Ew, Ransom,” Meg frowned, “That’s even worse.”

“Ransom? What is he, a Disney villain?”

Leaves crunched behind your back and Meg looked up from flicking ash into the yard toward the sound.

“Let’s be honest, I’ve got the face of a leading man.”

Meg blew smoke at him, as if the fumes were enough to threaten his sensibilities. You figured not, he looked like a cigar smoker anyway—one of those guys who’d dedicate a whole room in their house with the humidity just right to keep them fresh. Rich people shit.

“Go away, Ransom,” she said, to clarify.

“I don’t recall addressing you, Megan.” He took a drawn-out look, lips pursing in scrutiny before lifting a brow, making a real goddamn show about it. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll bite. 400 on the dresser for an hour; you can get yourself something nice.”

You’re still not sure what it was about either your attire or attitude that allowed him to conjure up such an offer.

Maybe it was your shitty jeans and your sweater from freshman year orientation. Maybe you looked like an easy mark to tear down.

His audacity shocked out a laugh from you—a loud, abrupt guffaw that eased Meg enough for her to dip back inside to grab more from her stash. And when she was out of sight, focused on rummaging in the old clock, you responded, “Yeah, okay. I’ll bite back.”

Maybe it was an act of rebellion against your background in contrast to all this excess. The bitter aftertaste of eating bottom shelf food out of necessity for weeks at a time—those awful chicken bouillon packets and dried blocks of instant noodles your first year of college. No one paid for your schooling or housing so learning to balance an over-abundance of classes and a job because you needed to graduate early, needed to spend less money on tuition, meant that you were working yourself to death.

If Youtube radicalized Jacob, then habitually sleeping three hours a night in the campus library and skipping meals to afford textbooks while men like Ransom crashed Maserati’s for fun radicalized you.

So, sure. Game on.

He picked you up the following weekend without anyone knowing and took you somewhere expensive. It was a whirlwind of exorbitant dinners and being quietly sneered at down the straight line of his tall nose bridge. The front door to his bachelor pad shutting but not bothered with locking. Falling into the thousand-count Egyptian cotton bedsheets naked, the skylight’s beam spilling like gold-flecked champagne.

You promised yourself it meant nothing. Just an experiment of unbridled spite. If he wanted to throw money at you, hell, that’s his problem. If he wanted to fuck you, well, you’d give him the best fuck of his life— let him see that despite wealth, at the end of the day, he was flesh and blood trembling for the right stroke.

And sure, he trembled, but it was your mistake to pare it down so simply.

Ransom juggled fuck buddies much longer than you’d been fucking at all. He knew it was best with the right amount of emotion involved. Just enough to yearn. If he laid roses at your feet, kissed your knees featherlight and worked his way up to your jaw, cradled the back of your head, nosed the pulse of your wrist, your collarbones, asked for your eyes on him, and panted the lightest breath of your name at the edge of it all—now who’s fucking who over, sweetheart?

You were out of your depth. He was powerful, older, and more experienced. He touched you in ways that emulated affection—that brought fire and danger. His hands were large and callused at the juncture of his fingers. His pretty mouth was pink, wet, kissed greedy. His sharp eyes took everything in.

But, as you predicted, his moods soon volleyed in every direction as consequence of never being told no, and once the novelty of crazy hot—often angry—sex grew stale, you crashed back down to earth burned out. You ghosted.

“You’re, what…” he called through the door the week after you texted that it was both too much and not enough to carry on with, “breaking up with me? Seriously. This is a fucking joke.”

And you could have practically seen it—how his bottom lip would jut out as his incisors crossed, how his brows would sink when he got angry. He was never belligerent, only calculating.

You told him to leave, and he did, after a single loud kick to the frame, because he’s never begged for anything, and he wasn’t going to start.

The guilt came afterwards, with the bouquet of roses on the doormat, petals scattered around because he’d slammed them down after being ignored again and again, and you swept them inside to throw into a vase next to the three other vases with flowers in various degrees of wilted.

“Breaking up” prickled complicatedly in the middle of your chest, because despite the many shows of affection, you knew you weren’t exactly breaking up. You had never really been with him anyway. People aren’t… with Ransom. They’re towed along by Ransom, dragged by their hair by Ransom. Played with by Ransom until he inevitably gets bored.

It devolved into needless melodrama. Weekly episodes of a teen show with grandiose gestures of toxic relationships perceived as romance. Ransom’s habit of whisking you away, fucking you senseless, turning around to fight with you about any-goddamn-thing he pleased. Dropping off flowers and champagne. Restarting the whole process.

It wasn’t healthy—isn’t healthy, probably, according to most therapists—since he’s here, present-day, in your room, beginning to undress.

You fiddle with the sleeves at your elbows, thumbing cool satin before advancing, arms subconsciously crossed.

He’s only in his underwear now. A pair of nondescript gray boxer briefs fitted on his muscular thighs, taut as he leans back on his palms. He slowly spreads his legs, inviting you between them. His lips purse when you stand passively, knee brushing his bulge, hands resting over his shoulders. He’s warm.

One palm caresses your lower back and the other on himself, gliding up and down. His lids are half open, voice low, “You miss this?”

“No,” which is a lie. You missed it when evenings were boring, half-heartedly nodding to some boy’s drivel about campus life, mind wandering to someone who didn’t look freshly 21, didn’t date like it. Didn’t talk themselves up just to get you into bed.

At least Ransom was honest; he always said exactly what he thought, told you exactly when you were pissing him off, how he was going to teach you a lesson—where he wanted you, how he wanted you, and— a chill races up your arms.

He’s downright smug when he notices.

“No? You prefer sloppy frat boys pawing at you like virgins over me? Every time, you think they might fuck right but, well, you’re always disappointed.” He reaches beneath the short hem of the robe, splays his hand out over your thigh and very slowly feels his way up.

Your eyes shutter as he pulls you forward, gripping tightly and massaging up toward your ass. The pit of your belly is tightening, the rest trying to push down being too eager for him all over you, his broad shoulders, his strong hands, how he bends his grasp on your shoulder, fixes you in a perfect curved arch just the way he likes.

Ransom noses the robe out of his path, sinking his teeth lightly down until he scrapes a line over your breastbone, laying his face gently down like a child—like a lover.

“You know,” he begins, taunting again, “You make a… face.” He says it as he trails down beneath the swell of one breast, letting your nipple graze his cheek, before he presses a kiss to your ribcage. Hot like a brand, searing into your belly. And then he bites.

You flinch, hand going to his hair to pull him away. He throws his head back into your grasp, eyes glittering and amused. He quickly works your thighs apart, dipping two fingers between and sinking into your heat.

“There it is,” he chuckles when your eyes flutter, “Yeah... Really gets me off.”

You’re in his lap before you know it, your hold on him fallen off and now scrambling for his wide shoulders to hold yourself steady. He’s got you leaned back on his thighs, hanging off the edge of the bed and perfectly helpless, the only thing planting you even close to secure are your folded knees, your arms around his neck. He’s shushing you, one large hand on the small of your back, the other still working inside your pussy.

He says, “Calm down unless you want to fall,” but it’s goddamn hard when your heart is pounding with equal parts fear and arousal. He’s sucking on your tits, balancing you just precariously enough to thrill, fingering you all the while—like it’s nothing to him, like you’re an object he can manipulate however he pleases.

His cock is erect, flexing against the fabric over his groin, a swell of hard, aching muscle. You want to put your hand around it, feel its girth in your palm, simply hold it because you do fucking miss it. The places he can reach, the ways he spreads you, rocking in and pulling out—how he sometimes settles inside, and then does nothing but watch you squirm.

It’s undeniably gorgeous—and he is too—when you fumble it out after he lays you down and hovers over you with interest. You’re wetting your lips automatically, staring in awe at his thick shaft sprouting from soft, dark, curls, the tip of it smooth and almost purple, swollen up with blood.

“Legs up,” and the way he says it, how he just goes right out and says it, makes you groan.

Boys don’t do that. Too busy in their heads about peacocking and re-enacting the kind of porno where performers wordlessly move into new positions in sync, nothing verbal exchanged but high-pitched shrieking and nasally fuck me’s.

Ransom’s extremely verbal in bed. He easily says, “Look at me. Show me how much you want it,” and flits his eyes between your bodies.  

You do, shivering, sliding two fingers along the sides of your folds, finding yourself aroused and damp, humiliated and incredibly turned on when he grins, simply content with watching. Your thighs are squeezing reflexively, abdomen crunching up trying to keep it together.

But he’s never been patient, and quickly tells you to hold your knees, rock back, make yourself small and exposed, and then he’s delving gently into your hole— thumbs taking turns, coaxing more.

Two fingers tuck in, then another two struggle next to them, and you can’t stop yourself from gasping and crying out at how he pulls apart the walls of your cunt.

The sound of it— sloppy, squelching, a light and hollow kind of noise like a tongue flicking inside an open mouth.

“Look at this pretty pussy.” He tugs a little more, and you wriggle into it, gripping your legs tighter, pulling your knees up, shins toward your burning face to hide.

He descends on your clit, tip of his tongue licking into your stretched hole, purposefully only running against the taut skin around his fingers. “You got a talent, baby,” he murmurs, buzzing. “I could fuck you the whole day, fuck you numb… but give you about half an hour and it’s good as new, tight and perfect.”

There had been marathon rounds of bouncing in his lap between being at each other’s throats, his thighs splitting yours, hands holding you up, nibbling at your ear. Then he’d turn you around, take you to the floor until you collapsed on the bearskin rug, the sweat on your neck and chest rolling into dark furs. Railed you until you were so sensitive anything would make you come; your body unsure if it was considered your own anymore.

Fuck, fight, rinse, and repeat.

“Are you—going to talk all night?” You grunt up to the ceiling, trying to steel yourself from panting or moaning and only barely making it.

“Thought you liked it when I talked.”  His dark head is still between your legs, nose pressed into your skin, licking agonizingly slow with his entire tongue. It’s so warm, and gentle, and assertive. “What, you don’t like being told how good you taste?”

He keeps licking, pushing at the back of your knees when you try to switch positions, holding you in that bent up pose. He’s suckling at your clit when his fingers find their way back inside, easily hooking in three and pumping them smoothly.

“How—” he sucks hard, the shape of his full, plush lips fitted over you making a filthy wet smack, “mmm—I love the taste of your sweet pussy?”

When you come like it’s being ripped out of you, legs shaking around his head, lines of his spit dripping down your ass and onto the sheets, he lets you go with a hard slap on your sex, and you nearly wail.

“That’s my girl,” he says. “Yeah, you missed me, huh? You missed it like this, didn’t you? Tell me.”

“Unnng …” a high whine, “Ransom.”

“I know,” he mumbles, kissing up your belly, your neck, your ear.

He moves into position, entering effortlessly after all his prep work, and the shine of your juice still on his beard is fucking unholy hot. He’s grinning and panting, eyes fluttering briefly as he slides home.

“I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, you’re gonna take it.” He’s a fraction unfocused, letting himself enjoy how you squeeze around him before he begins to punish.

Jesus, you missed this. Missed the agonizing drag of his shaft that feels like it goes on and on forever. Miss the way you get full of him, miss how it almost hurts.

His hipbones are hitting against yours, a steady fast rhythm because he’s experienced like that. Whereas some others might go faster when you’re close, Ransom stays at the pace that got you there in the first place. If anything, he pushes just a bit harder, makes you listen to the sound of his skin on yours, the choke of your breath he punches out.

You crunch yourself up smaller, toes touching the headboard now. Anything to get him further in.

“Fuck, you’re a slut,” he laughs. “Pretty little slut, god you don’t give it up like this for anyone else, do you?”

There’s not enough sense in you to argue even if you wanted to. The room is swimming, undulating, slipping further and further out of reach as the bed rocks and squeaks in protest. You’re sure you met a very handsome guy at the bar weeks ago but as soon as he started hinting that he was interested and stirred up conversation by asking your major, you left.

It just… wasn’t there. It wasn’t the same. No way in hell.

That boy wouldn’t have done this—wouldn’t be planting one foot on the bed, the other knee still down, enormous hands tight on your hips and crashing in.

You could cry, it feels so goddamn good.

Tears dribble their way out from the corner of your eyes. You turn your face enough to get a breath of fresh air, gulping it in frantically between the drive of Ransom’s cock and the half second he slides out.

You vaguely register his hand moving from your hip to your cheek, knuckles brushing upward.

“Oh,” he sighs, “pretty, pretty girl.” He slows his pace, nearly stilling. You squirm beneath him, inching away from how deep he is inside you, how intimate it feels as he kisses the hollow of your cheek and then toward your brow.

“So sweet for me,” he says, pulsing, making you whine with how he pushes against your sore walls. “Did I make a slut out of you? Huh? Make you stupid for my dick?”

“Make me come,” you say. “Make me—“

“Ask me real nice, baby. Ask daddy to make you come.”

You want to hit him. Kill him.

“No?” He whispers into the sensitive shell of your ear, “You don’t want it?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment clawing up your face, but Ransom’s hold is tighter, sharper, and he really is— so fucking right. You want it. And he’s made you a little stupid, so yeah--

“Please make me come, daddy. I wanna come.”

The Cheshire grin that unfurls on his face is more panther than cat. “You wanna come on daddy’s big cock?”

“Yes, daddy,” you admit. “I wanna so bad.”

“Oh, that’s it, baby. You’re a good girl, aren’t you. You put on a little show just for me? Act like you don’t want it but soon as I get in you and you let me lay you out anywhere, make you say anything.”

You turn away but he’s got your fucking number— got you as a boneless, spineless mess beneath him as he begins to fuck you again, and harder, his calculating, beautiful, cruel face hanging above you like a fever dream.

“You gonna come? Gonna cry?”

He’s melting away, he’s everywhere, and the lights behind your eyelids are starting to glare and threaten to explode.

“Gonna come for daddy, huh. That’s it, baby. That’s my girl, let me feel your pussy— ah— there it is— you can’t help it, can you? Mmm, swallow daddy’s cock with your pussy.”

Your orgasm is a wreck of curses and teeth on Ransom’s shoulder when he drops down close enough to make contact. You shake and whimper, struggling to calm yourself through the aftershocks.

When you’re done, still floaty but more aware, the mess of your humming insides less tight around him, he pulls out and shuffles up until his swollen tip is at your chin.  

You obey wordlessly, and afterwards, when the flex of his shaft is tell-tale, and he empties into your mouth, you hold it there, show him the mess.

“Baby,” he says, slowly making his way back down, admiring the come submerging your tongue.

Ransom licks his lips, licks the inside of his cheek, and leans back over again, his eyes liquid darkness and pleased as punch. And he drops a line of spit on top, drools it down over your teeth, into your mouth, and says, “Good girl.”

-

“You need a new laptop.” He’s tugging his belt until the clasp hooks into place.

“I don’t.”

“It looks old.”

“So do you.”

He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it.

“See you next week,” he hums.

You don’t say anything in response, only listening for the same heavy footsteps slam back downstairs—perhaps a fraction lighter—and the clunk of the door swinging shut. A long breath and you stretch slowly, letting your body regain its normal shape before he bent you into a goddamn pretzel. A few minutes pass, and then a few more, and you hear the roar of his car speed out of the parking lot.

Safe now, out of his reach, you amble back up into your computer chair to face the awful white, blank document staring back like a judgmental audience. You slide in and crack your neck, feeling the throb between your thighs yield to a less uncomfortable ache.

The problem, you’ve learned after leaving Ransom’s world, was that you had been ill-equipped to play his game. His game, and by extension, Meg’s game. All the Thrombeys and Drysdales and everyone in-between.

They belonged to a class you couldn’t really understand unless you were making a fucking killing—and graduation was just around the bend, so maybe you would, one day—but you were in the red with 45 grand of student debt and staring down the barrel of a subsequent degree because it was getting hard to make it with just a single bachelor’s in anything.

There was too much to do and not enough time to be jerked around by Ransom—not nearly enough time to feel frustrated about your situation in any sense. No, scraping by taught you to survive. You couldn’t be whisked off to the Caymans for brunch, couldn’t be fucked raw in hotel infinity pools, get lost for days meandering the Pacific on luxury yachts for the fun of it.

Your world was a little more drab, a little less rose-tinted.

So it was back to normal now, back to the grind, back to not wasting any part of your week on shitty dates, shitty sex, and coming home more frustrated than you left it. Because there was Ransom, so eager to make some kind of statement about proving you wrong that he’d be the last to know when he’s being used.

And maybe 4 out of 5 therapists would say that your coping mechanism to a normal sex drive is unhealthy—mind-fucking and regular-fucking your ex/not-ex will do that—but you wouldn’t know. You can’t afford therapy just yet.

You rub your back, patting out the tightness of overworked muscles. It doesn’t feel any worse than the cramp you’d gotten after staying up three nights in a row cramming for finals.

As if your brain has reset, your fingers begin tapping on the keys, and you realize your writer’s block’s been lifted.

[thesparkling-diamond27]

The Second Bridgerton And I: Part 7

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Y/n Clearwater is named the “Sparkling Diamond” by Queen Charlotte herself, but she doesn’t know what to do with all this attention. Of course she has her family, but sometimes that doesn’t seem enough. But what happens when she encounters a specific Bridgerton, which changes the course of her season.

Author’s Note: I am so sorry for not posting sooner. I posted an update and said a chapter would come in the next couple of days and then a week passed. I’m finally back and I wills definitely have more time to write since I’m done with work for the summer.

Author’s Note: This chapter includes scenes from season 3 episode 4 of Bridgerton. Down below is the link to the part 6 and part 8. I hope you enjoy!

I sat on the windowsill in my room and stared out the window at the people walking down the street. They seemed so carefree. Not having a care in the world. I wish I could be like that.

My eyes drifted to the Featherington household where my friend resided. Lord Avcott’a ball was yesterday and I was still digesting the news that I have received last night.

Penelope was Lady Whistledown.

It was a lot to take in. I never would have thought of it on my own, but her being the infamous Lady does make sense. Before this season, Penelope rarely brought attention upon herself, which was perfect for her to sneak from balls and social events to the print shop when no one was looking. She was a self made woman and I felt proud to call her my friend.

However, I thought about all the lives she has ruined with her quill. Her words were usually calculating and had bite, which caused the downfall of most of the people she wrote about. Specifically Eloise last season, although she did bounce back from the scandal.

I wonder why she wrote such nasty things about her best friend. Did she write about her in order to get revenge after she found out about her identity? If so, I hope she doesn’t do the same with me. But she did tell me she was Lady Whistledown herself, so maybe she won’t write badly about me. Eventually my eyes wandered from the Featherington household to the Bridgerton household.

Benedict and I still haven’t fixed our issue and I hope we will soon. I wanted to fix it as soon as possible, but my pride made me hesitate. My mom once told me that “Sometimes you cannot fix a relationship. If you put effort and the other person did not, then it is not worth it.” I offered the olive branch and he did not take it, so if Benedict wanted to talk then he will have to come to me.

I looked at the handkerchief, from Benedict, that was still placed on the side of my vanity. I stood from the windowsill and walked to my vanity. I picked up the soft white cloth and brought it up to my nose to smell. It didn’t really smell like much anymore, but I can still imagine. My fingers traced along the initials that were stitched along the corner of the handkerchief.

B.B.

I missed him. I really did. I did not want to admit it, but I did. I have only known him for a short period of time, but it feels like I have known him forever. It was never awkward between us and conversation became easy like walking. And kissing him was like oxygen. It was as if I did not know how to breathe until we kissed. That one kiss brought life within me and I wanted more of it. I wanted him to introduce me to the world that I just discovered. I wanted him to teach me everything I did not know about.

I heard a knock from my door and turned to see my maid Alexandra with the door cracked open.

“You have a visitor Y/n.”

I placed the handkerchief on my vanity.

“Who is it?”

“Miss Penelope.”

“Send her in.”

I wanted to speak with Penelope. Although I was a little hesitant to do so, she was still my best friend. I told her that whatever she tells me will not change how I perceive her and I meant it.

Alexandra fully opened my bedroom door and Penelope sheepishly stepped into the doorway.

“Thank you Alexandra.” I said.

“Of course.”

Alexandra closed the door and I was left alone with Penelope.

“Hello Pen.” I said with a smile.

“Hello Y/n. I was surprised that I was sent up here. I did not think you wanted to see me.”

I walked up to Penelope.

“If I am to be honest yes. I was hesitant to let you in, but you are my best friend. Even though I disagree with some things that you wrote as Lady Whistledown, I still consider you the kindhearted Pen that I know.”

Relief settled on her face and she instantly brought me into a hug.

“This is a much better reaction than last time.” She stated.

“Did Eloise not take it well?”

“It was a screaming match.”

“She did not even try to hear you out?”

“Sadly no.”

“Well I am glad I can make this secret reveal easier for you.”

It was a shame the way Eloise responded to Penelope. I do understand why Eloise would be upset, but to cut someone out of your life is a new level.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.

“Anything.”

“Why did you write about Eloise. You two were best friends at the time. What happened?”

Penelope stared at the ground as she thought of what to say. I could tell that she was choosing her words carefully.

“I had seen Eloise in the rough parts of town talking with a boy of low class. I thought that it would be a terrible thing if someone caught what she was doing, so I wrote about it. I realize now that that was a mistake and I should have confronted her, but at the time I believed I was doing her a favor. I was too naive to see that my issue would do more harm than good. When she found out that I was Whistledown she was furious and rightfully so. I wish I can take it back and it can’t. I am terrible friend and I do not know why you can forgive me.”

I grabbed the sides of her arms.

“There is nothing that you did for me to forgive and do not say such things of you not being a good friend. You are a wonderful friend and I would not trade you for the world.”

“You are too good to me Y/nn.”

“I am good to the people who are good to me.”

We shared a smile and then I plopped onto the head of my bed. Penelope smiled and joined me on the other side.

“The real reason I came here Y/nn was to check on you.”

Check on me? Why would she need to check up on me? My instead thoughts seemed to be showing on my facial expression because she answered my questions.

“I noticed that you seemed a little off when you saw Benedict with another woman. Did something happen between the two of you?”

The kiss happened two days ago and I haven’t told anyone. I cannot tell my brothers because a) they will kill him and b) Alex and Benedict are best friends. Noah would be livid, but Alex would be ten times worse. My dad has the same ideals as my brothers, so that is a no. I do not know how my mother would react, but I am mortified to even think about that.

Pen was the only logical answer. She has shown to be a true friend and I know she will not share such information, even if she is Whistledown. I have felt the need to tell someone and Pen was the perfect person.

“Please swear to never tell another soul.” I said.

“Of course.”

I took a deep breath.

“Do you remember when you told me, not too long ago, that you and Colin kissed?”

“Yes I do recall.”

“Well…Benedict and I sort of did the same thing.”

Suddenly Penelope’s expression showed something that surprised me. A smirk appeared on her lips and her eyes showed amusement.

“I knew it!” She shouted.

Her statement surprised me even more.

“You knew?! What do you mean you knew?” I questioned.

“Well I was not aware that the two of you had kissed, but I knew that there was something going on with you two. When the balloon almost crushed you, he was the first person to reach you. He ran in order to get to you. And he never took his eyes off of you, even when you said you were alright.”

I never knew Penelope was so perceptive. I wonder if she was the only person to realized something was going on. I also did not realize Benedict had did all those things. That could also be because I was extremely startled from the balloon, but Penelope’s words made me realize that he did not have to stay with me after the situation was over. He chose to spend time with me and make sure that I was alright. At the time I thought it was purely due to our friendship, but could it have been something more?

“I thought his intentions were because we were friends.” I said.

“To someone like your brother probably, but if you payed attention closely you could have seen that his touches lasted a little longer, his eyes held more worry than a normal person, and other little details. You definitely did not know at the time, and maybe he did not either, but I could tell that he had feelings for you. I knew only time would tell. You telling me that you two shared a kiss only supports my suspicions.”

Her words made me think even deeper into the rabbit hole. At Lord Tremble’s estate, Benedict ran after me in the middle of my panic attack. He gave me his handkerchief, with his initials stitched in the corner, which is still sitting on my vanity folded neatly. He did not have to do so, but he did anyway.

When my family and the Bridgertons had dinner together, he told the cook himself that my favorite desserts were raspberry macrons and lemon cakes. He did not have to do so, but he did anyway.

I looked at the painting that was sitting on top of my dresser. The one that Benedict gave me later that night. I was the first person he showed his artwork to. He trusted me enough to show me his finished and unfinished work when he did not have to.

Benedict had gifted me the bouquet of flowers. He brought me three books from my favorite book store because he knew I liked to read. Well our book store. The book store where we exchanged books for each other to read. I have read to about half way through the book he recommended me and the poetry was beautiful. He was right about giving poetry a try. Suddenly all of his past actions started coming together. Did he like me from the beginning?

“If he has feelings for you,” Penelope stared. “And you too kissed, then what happened between you two?”

“That I do not know.”

“What happened before and after you kissed?”

I took a moment to remember what exactly happened. He showed me his art, he gave me my books, we kissed, I pulled away, and then he seemed off. I told Penelope what happened.

“I do not understand why he would act in such a way.” Penelope stated.

“I do not understood either.”

“There is only one way to find out.”

“Which is?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“I have already tried. At Lord Avcott’s ball, I smiled when we made eye contact, but he walked away and I do not wish to chase after him. I do not want to seem desperate.”

“Yes we do not want that. But we will have to figure out something soon.”

“What do you mean by that.”

“You two have feelings for each other and it is time that both of you see that.”

“I do both have feelings for Benedict. I only miss him as a friend.”

Penelope gave me a look as if she was sarcastically trying to tell me “Really”.

“Alright I will play along.” Penelope said, “You do not have feelings for Benedict. But just imagine that you had to pick between Benedict and Maxwell and you had freedom to choose. Without the influence from your family, or the outside world, who would you choose?”

I thought about what she had just asked me. Maxwell was an amazing guy. He is sweet, kind, and thoughtful. I have enjoyed the daily letters that he has been sending me and they have always brought a smile upon my face. Not to mention that my family approves. I imagined what my life would be like being married do Maxwell. I could see myself being well taken care of, content and happy. But would it be enough?

—————————

My family and I were currently entering Lord Fuller’s estate along with my aunt and uncle and cousins. I looked around as we continued walking. The interior had a grandness to it, but also some familiarity to it. The color scheme kind of reminded me of the Featherington household. We were currently following Lord and Lady Fuller as they guided us to their library.

“I have been building my collection since 1790. And thought it only fitting to share it after all these years.” Lord Fuller said.

I looked above and noticed all the paintings of past Fuller’s. It reminded me of the hallway in my house that shows generations of Viscounts in my family.

We entered the library and I was blown away by how many books Lord Fuller had in his collection. The bookshelves started on the ground and reached all the way up to the ceiling. The walls were completely covered by books, upon books, upon books and it did not stop there. There was a doorway that led to more rooms that weee filled to the brim with books. I was stepping into one of my wildest dreams, but it was reality.

“Alex pinch me now.”

I felt a sting on my arm and looked to see Alex laughing. I slapped his arm.

“I did not mean literally! It was an expression!”

“I know.”

He ran up to catch up to my parents in the front before I could kill him. He is lucky we are in public and not at home. We ventured further into Lord Fuller’s library to a less populated era.

“Mama I think I see Lord Harvey.” Adeline said.

I rolled my eyes at the comment. I was happy for my sister, but I was not a fan of Lord Harvey. He was rather vain and only talked about himself, so I could not see how Adeline could possibly like him, but it is her decision. It is her marriage and her life.

“I shall chaperone Adeline and Lord Harvey. You all should be fine by yourselves yes?” My mama questioned the rest of us.

“Yes we will Aphrodite now go.” My aunt Athena said. She motioned with her hands to usher my mama and sister along.

“I am going to see if I can find Penelope.” I said.

“Alright we’ll be here dear.” Aunt Athena said. “Come back here when you are finished.”

I nodded and walked away to search for Penelope. It did not take long for me to find her. I walked into a nearby room and there she was, but she was not alone. Penelope was occupied with her mother and Lord Debling, so they might be busy for a while.

I looked around for a familiar face and found none, so I decided to walk into another room. For all my family knew I was with Penelope. I went from room to room and the population of people in each room decreased little by little until I encountered an empty room. I turned to see if anybody was looking before slipping in and shutting the door. Even though we were visiting Lord Fuller’s library, I had brought a book for myself to read.

The room was rather cozy, but small. It had a long couch, with two soft plush looking chairs on each end. There was a small wooden table in front and a fireplace across from it. The drapes were open, which allowed for sunlight to course through the windows.

I found a spot on the couch and began to read in the spot of the book where I left off. The book was the book that Benedict recommended me. I did not realize how diverse and complex poetry could be until I started reading this book. One poem that stood out to me was about sunsets. It describes how even though you can go through a terrible day, it can end with something beautiful. It made me reflect on the day and to appreciate life more often.

I got to a part of the book with a tone shift to something more dark and somber:

“Ever night I crawl

In and out of my grave

Clutching the illusion of us

So when I die,

It might be

With my last piece of you.”

It was quite a vast contrast from the inspiring poems earlier in the book and it reminded me of a specific someone. I closed the book before I could read anymore and I had to take a deep breath in order to not let my tears spill. He is not even here and just the thought of him sends me into a spiral.

Thinking about him brought me back to the conversation I had with Penelope. According to her he has feelings for me. But did I have feelings for him? That was a good question. I saw him as a friend, but could I see him as someone more? Then I thought of Maxwell who has been missing this whole time. Ever since he left I have been in a state of confusion. Maybe my questions shall be answered when he returns.

After a few moments of silence. I decided it was time to head back to my family. I went back the way I came from and noticed the Bridgertons. They seemed to have already noticed me, so I decided to join them instead of walking on by.

“Y/n it is a pleasure to see you!” Violet said while giving me a hug with excitement. I returned the hug with an equal amount of excitement.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

I pulled away from the hug and noticed Colin, Eloise, and Francesca accompanied by Lord Samadani. No one else was with them. Violet must have suspected I was looking for a specific Bridgerton because she said,

“Benedict did not wish to attend, but I will inform him that you send your regards.”

I did not wish for her to do so, but I nodded in gratitude nonetheless. The next time Benedict Bridgerton is mentioned I might just break down and I would rather not do so in front of his family.

“I actually have been meaning to speak with your mother. Francesca and I were planning to attend the modiste this weekend and I was wondering if you, your sister and mother would like to join us.”

“That sounds lovely!” I said towards Francesca and Violet. Francesca nodded in agreement.

“Where is your family?” Violet asked.

“I was on my way to them already. I shall take you there.”

Violet nodded, but then seemed at a dilemma when she noticed Lord Samadani. She probably did not know if she should have him leave or have him join us.

“Lord Samadani. Do you care to join the Clearwaters?”

“I would love to, but I do not wish to intrude. I also have some errands that I need to attend to. Thank you for sharing your afternoon with me.”

He turned to Francesca and grabbed her hand to kiss the back of it.

“Miss Francesca.” He said and walked away.

“Well then.” Violet said. “Shall we?”

—————————

“If the Marquess asks you to dance a second time at the queen’s ball, it is a clear declaration of interest.” Violet said.

“We shall see if he even asks me for a first dance this time.” Francesca responded.

At Lord Fuller’s book collection event, Violet and my mama made plans to visit the modiste this weekend, which was today.We had already visited the modiste and were currently walking out and about town. I have brought a selection of new dresses and I could not wait to wear them to future balls.

Eventually our conversation switched to suitors this season, then to Adeline and Lord Harvey and Francesca and Lord Samadani.

“Oh something tells me he will. But if that interest is not shared, and…” Violet’s words soon trailed when she realized that Francesca was no longer listening. I noticed her eyes locked on something else, or rather someone else.

“There is Lord Kilmartin.” Francesca stated.”

Violet looked confused at the sudden change of subject and attitude from Francesca, but spoke nothing of it.

“Do you know his family?” Francesca asked.

“Oh not well.” My mama said. “They’re a rather reserved bunch, known to keep to themselves.”

“Are you interested in him?” Violet asked.

Francesca ignored her mama and started making her way to Lord Kilmartin, and we had no choice but to follow after her.

She curtsied when she approached him.

“Good day, Lord Kilmartin.” Francesca said.

“Miss Francesca. Lady Bridgerton.” Lord Kilmartin turned to Adeline, my mama and I.

“Miss Y/n. Miss Adeline. Lady Clearwater.”

We all curtsied in response. How he knew my sister and I’s names I did not know. I do not think I even seen him at any social events, but Francesca surprisingly seemed to be aware of him.

“You left quite abruptly the other morning.” She said.

“Well…you had another caller.” He replied.

Francesca face showed awkwardness and she tried to hide it by continuing.

“I hoped I might see you at the opening of Lord Fuller’s collection yesterday.”

“No. I do not often attend society events unless I am required to by rules of good manners.”

It now made sense. His rareness in society would explain how I have not seen him before until now.

“I see.” Francesca said. “And so, are you stopping to speak with us just to…be polite?”

“I…believe you stopped me.”

Francesca looked even more awkward and now defeated due to him being correct, which he was. She was the one who stopped him and not the other way around. The music from the man playing the fiddle in the street became more prominent when there conversation died down and Lord Kilmartin used that to keep the conversation flowing.

“Enjoyable music, yes?” He asked.

Francesca timidly looked down on the cobblestone road.

“If I am being honest, no. The pase is too fickle. Just as you think you are starting to comprehend the melody, the song is over. A song like this would be sweeter if it were played in 3/4 so one could, in fact, feel…the music.”

I would not have thought of that solution if I were in Francesca’s showstopper. I did not think the music even needed a solution. Although I love to play the Piano forte, I do not love it as much as Francesca. Her explanation of the time signature change further proves that. Music is her passion and she definitely knows what she is talking about.

Lord Kilmartin seemed to have an Epiphany.“ That is helpful. Uh…if you’ll excuse me.” He slightly bowed before walking away. His departure was abrupt and odd, but I guess that is just the way he was.

Francesca turned her gaze from Lord Kilmartin and to her mama.

“To answer your question no, I am not interested in him.”

Francesca grabbed my hand and led me further down the road.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I did not push it, but I could tell she was lying.

—————————

Benedict

I walked into the Queen’s ball arm and arm with my mother, while Eloise, and Francesca followed shortly behind. Colin was not feeling up for tonight’s ball and decided to stay home. Something has been off with him and I do not know what it is. He has been odd as of late and I want to talk with him when the time was right.

We entered the ballroom and began to ascend the stairs to reach the Queen Charlotte on the other side. The ballroom was different from most that I have seen. The dance floor was elevated marble and there were pillars standing on each side like the Romans from my studies. Guests mingled around the dance floor and I greeted a few familiar faces as we made our way to the Queen. Mother looked perplexed as if she was hesitating, so I decided to wait for her to speak.

“Benedict.” She said.

“Yes.”

“I would like to discuss something with you.”

“What is on your mind mother?”

Although I had an inkling about what she wanted to address I let her ask regardless.

“You have been acting odd lately. You are mostly normal, but you appear slightly sad. What is the matter?”

There was a lot that was the matter. But the one thing, or person, that caused a dip in my mood was Y/n Clearwater. When we first met I had already known who she was. The Clearwaters are a well off family and I would be surprised if no one had never heard of them. I especially knew who she was because her brother Alex is one of my closest friends. I knew of her existence based on the stories Alex would share with me and I was curious about how she would be in person.

When I first met her at Lady Danbury’s ball she was a breath of fresh air I never thought I needed. Ever since we encountered each other at Thomas’s book store, she has been on my mind for most of each day. Throughout the days I would see things that reminded me of her, or I thought she might like. Y/n fully consumed my mind and I let it happen.

After we exchanged books at the bookstore we crossed paths at Lord Tremble’s house. Y/n was in a panicked state and all I wanted to do was hold her in my arms and make sure she was okay. I gave her my handkerchief as a way to clean her face, but also to comfort her. When I was little, the handkerchief used to belong to my dad and he would use it to comfort me as well when I was upset. When I got older, he had my mother stitch my initials on it, so he could give it to me as a gift. I hope the handkerchief was able to comfort her in some sort of way. I would think so, because she still possesses it. She could keep it for as long as she needs to if it makes her happy.

The balloon was coming towards her and I was terrified as it reached closer and closer to her. My biggest fear was all of us pulling the balloon and not being strong enough to stop the balloon from hitting her. That is why I made it my mission to rush to her right away when we secured the balloon from harming other people. Y/n said she was alright, but I still wanted to stay with her to make sure she was safe and unharmed.

At the bench she mentioned how she wanted to receive a bouquet of flowers. I was going to get her a real bouquet of flowers, but I stopped by Thomas’s bookstore first. After I selected my books, Thomas showed me the new spring books that he received for his collection. The titles all included flower names and the idea to give her a flower bouquet of books was born. I was nervous about how she would react, and I’m pretty sure she appreciated it. She did hug me after.

The day before we had dinner with the Clearwaters I snuck into the kitchens and told our cook Y/n’s favorite desserts. By then I knew that I have fallen in deep. I was going out of my way to change my cook’s already set menu in order to make a girl happy. It was a big gesture and I do not regret it.

I rarely show people my art, but I showed her after dinner. Usually when I show people my art, I show it when it is completely finished and I make sure there are zero flaws present. However, I was comfortable enough with Y/n to show her everything. My finished paintings, unfinished paintings, sketches, etc. It shocked me how I wanted to show her my artwork. Looking back now I think I wanted to impress her. And based off her expression and her wanting to keep the painting I gifted to her I think I did.

That same night we shared a kiss and I would be lying if I said I never thought about that moment beforehand. Several times I caught myself staring at her lips and wondering what it would be like to feel them against my own lips. When we kissed it was as if my biggest dream came true. Holding her in my arms I felt warm and at home. I wondered what took me so long to get to Y/n, but I realized that that did not matter. We still found each other in the end.

But then something weird happened. She pulled away and I was taken out of my ecstasy. I looked upon her face and she looked confused and not pleased, which is not the look you want on the girl you just kissed. I was hurt that she did not enjoy the kiss like I did and I was starting to think that maybe I read the signs incorrectly. I thought the feelings were mutual, but her reaction was telling me something else.

When I saw her at Lord Fuller’s ball, she smiled at me. I wanted to smile back and probably walk down the stairs to greet her, but decided not to. Y/n was acting like everything was alright and acting like nothing ever happened between us when it did. We kissed and we cannot take it back. I do not want to, but I am not too sure about Y/n.

That is why I tried to forget about Y/n. At least in a way where we were more than friends. That same night, I found comfort in Lady Arnold and have been going to her ever since. Spending my nights with her was a way for me to forget about my feelings for Y/n and maybe one day I could get rid of them completely.

My mind wandered from my thoughts and finally back to my mother and I answered my mother’s question.

“Nothing is the matter mother.”

When she looked up at me I could tell that she did not believe me. I did not do a good job of concealing it either.

“If I can say a few words.” She said.

I urged her to continue.

“I have realized that you and Y/n have grown quite close with one another this season and it has been lovely to see you two getting along so well. You are a great friend you know that right. She must be so lonely with Lord Tewkesberry being away in Paris. It is nice that she found a companionship with you, while he is away. I can see you made her really happy.”

She smiled at me and turned to tend to Eloise and Francesca. What my mother said struck a nerve.

I had completely forgot about Maxwell Tewkesberry. They were supposed to courting. At least I think so. I have never seen them out in society with one another, but maybe that was because he has not been here in London for most of the season so far. It made a tiny part of me hope that Y/n and I might have a chance if I tried. But the other part of me was telling me to be realistic. Y/n only sees you as a friend, so you should only see her that way. It was like the angel and the devil were both on my shoulders telling me what to do. I was conflicted and-

“Benedict come on!”

I turned to see Eloise calling me and I quickly walked to meet up with her.

“I have been calling you. There is supposed to be a show, so mother found us a spot.”

“Sorry I did not realize.” I answered.

“Benedict Bridgerton apologizing? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

“Keep on asking more questions and you will find out.”

Eloise shook her head and linked our arms together. She led us to where our mother was where we could watch the ballet duet performance according to my mother.

————————

Benedict

“Did you enjoy the ballet Mr. Bridgerton?”

Lady Fuller asked me.

The ballet performance finished and although it was quite beautiful, it was also upsetting. All I could think about was how much Y/n would enjoy this. While, the two dancers were dancing I peeped at the surrounding crowd to see if Y/n was amongst them, but I did not spot her. Matter of fact I did not notice any of the Clearwaters which was strange. A family like them would definitely be invited to this ball and there was no need for them not to be here. Unless something happened. I could not think about that right now, because I was currently being asked a question.

“Very much. So much so I wonder if I missed my calling.” I said

Lord and Lady Fuller both looked puzzled at my response.

“As a dancer.” I concluded.

My joke caused the both of them to exclaim with laughter. Society talk is not that hard to master. Say the right thing and you could have the audience go nuts in a good way.

Lord Fuller motioned for someone else to join us. “Ah Lady Arnold. You must join us.”

When she notices us she gives a face of recognition and walks over to greet us.

“Lord Fuller. Lady Fuller. A pleasure seeing you both.” She said.

“Have you met Mr. Bridgerton?” Lady Fuller said as she gestured to me.

“Indeed.” I said.

“Briefly.” Arnold said.

What Lord and Lady did not know won’t hurt them.

“Quite so. It is a pleasure, though. We were just sharing our thoughts on the ballet.” I said trying to involve her in our conversation.

“I must say, I do not know that the male dancer needed to be in such a state of undress.” Lady Fuller said.

“He certainly could have put on a shirt.” Lord Fuller added.

“Could not agree more. Nothing worse than a state of undress.” Lady Arnold said, while looking directly at me. I noticed the hidden jab directed towards me that obviously went undetected by Lord and Lady Fuller. Lady Arnold’s words were definitely society talk because they did not match her actions behind closed doors.

Lord and Lady Fuller’s attention was pulled elsewhere and I tried to see what they were looking at and my jaw hit the floor when I saw her walking down the stairs.

—————————

It was a loose screw according to my favorite footman David. My family and I were on our way to tonight’s ball when one of the wheels of our carriage ran over a large rock. According to David, a carriage in its pristine condition would have been able to withstand such little impact, but since the screw was loose it fell off and caused us to tilt downward.

Because of this accident we were late to the ball. My mom was stressed because we were going to arrive late to the ball and the Queen is supposed to be in attendance tonight. If the Queen was not attending there would have not been a problem. People arrive late to balls all the time and no one bats an eye when someone struts in a little later than usual. But this was the Queen we were talking about and she did not take these things lightly. She expected to you to be on time, and that was not going to happen.

David rose after inspecting the broken wheel and turned to us.

“Lady Clearwater if you leave now you can arrive only a few minutes late to the ball tonight. You and your two daughters can join Lord Clearwater and your sons in their carriage. You will be here all night if you wait.”

Mama thought about it for a few moments before deciding.

“Alright thank you David.” My mama said.

“Come along girls.” She gestured for me and Adeline to follow her to the other carriage with my father and brother. After we all climbed in, the carriage continued its way to the Queen’s ball.

“Well this is cozy.” Alex joked.

I laughed in response, but my mama still showed a worried face. My father tried to console her, but she was still concerned about being late and I couldn’t blame her. I too am anxious to see how Queen Charlotte shall react to our lateness.

We passed the modiste and at the corner of my eye I noticed Alex staring at me. I met his gaze and gave him a questioning look. His expression did not change, and he looked out the window. That was odd. But I decided to shake it off.

We arrived at a Queen’s ball and David helped me out of carriage. Mama quickly grabbed Alex’s arm, but he refused.

“Go with father. I will take Y/n.”

Mama nodded, not wanting to argue and prolong our lateness. Alex looped his arm with mine and as we walked I could tell something was on his mind. I tapped his arm with my fingers three times. Something we used to do when we were kids when we were wanted to talk. Alex laughed in response with his head down.

“You have not done that in so long.” He said.

I thought about it and realized that he was right.

“You are correct. I did not realize.”

He nodded in response and we continued waking in silence. I know he wanted to share something, so I prompted him to speak his mind.

“Are you alright Carina?”

“Of course Felis why do you ask?”

He thought for a moment before speaking.

“I know we all have been telling you this, but you seem off. I remember when you used to come to me for every little thing. You would tell me everything. Now you do not do that anymore. All those days you spend cooped up in your room, I was waiting for you to come to me, but you never did. I know something is wrong and you are not obligated to tell me everything, but I miss you. I want you to know that I can still be your shoulder to cry and lean on.”

My brothers words made me want to cry. If only he knew how many times I wanted to spill what was on my mind. To confide in him and tell him all my worries. There are some things that I can discuss with him, but I cannot share my biggest issue with him. If he found out about what happened with Benedict I do not know what he would do and I do not want to find out. However, I have been shutting him out more than usual and I needed to change that.

“I know I have been off lately and I am sorry I have been so closed off. It was never my intention to shut you out the way I did and I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you. I did want to reach out and tell you my worries, but I was too caught up in my own feelings. From now on I will tell you what is on my mind if you promise to do the same.”

Alex smiled at my response and kissed the top of my head.

“I just want to make sure that you are all right. It is not alright to keep all those feelings bottled up. Sometimes you need to release them by talking to someone.”

I nodded my head at his words.

“Now let’s hurry up, we have fallen behind from mother and father.”

Alex and I reached the doors of the ballroom and we noticed our parents and sister were still waiting outside for us.

“Okay we are all here.” Mama said.

Before we walked in, I grabbed my fan tied around my wrist and opened it up to cover my face.

(A/n for this entrance scene I am imagining it like when Daphne entered the ball after she ended things with Simon and dropped the fan in front of the prince)

My family and I entered the ballroom and as we walked down the stairs, I traced the railing with my white gloved hand. The majority of everyone’s eyes landed on all of us, but that could be because we were late. My attire, as well as my persona, tonight was very different from my previous ones. Instead of the usual family color purple, or my spring like hues, my dress tonight was purely white.

The sleeves were puffed out with a tule material and my dress was a silk satin material with pearl accents scattered around. Alexandra added a sheer silver glitter fabric overlay to add a wow factor to the ensemble. My hair was tied into a high pony and my hair was curled to accentuate my hairstyle. A crown was placed on my head which made me feel like a princess, or as close as I ever would get to feeling like one.

In my right hand I held the feather hand held fan and shook it in front of my face from time to time to add for effect. What I was doing seemed to be working because several suitors began to make there way to the bottom of the staircase.

Even though I was secretly courting Maxwell, and the only other people who knew were my family and the Bridgertons, I wanted to show Benedict that his actions did not affect me. I was moving on with life and if he wanted to talk he would have to initiate conversation.

I reached the bottom of the stairs, and a suitors stood in front of me. I believe he was Lord James.

I dropped my fan purposefully, a trick I learned from my mother, and Lord James quickly picked it up from the ground. He dusted it off before handing it back to me.

“Miss Clearwater.” He bowed. “May I have the pleasure of being your first dance partner?”

“The pleasure is mine.” The said.

I separated myself from Alex and offered my dance card to Lord James. He signed his name for the dance that was coming up right now, so I handed my mama my fan and followed Lord James to take our places.

—————————

Benedict

I could not believe what I was seeing and I had no intention to look away. There Y/n was looking ethereal in an all white gown as she and her family walked down the stairs. I was entranced as she ascended the stairs without a care in the world.

Her appearance taunted me as if she was telling me you can look at me, but you cannot touch me or have me. It reminded me of the words my mother would tell me as a child: look with your eyes, and not with your hands. But I did not want to just look at her I wanted to do more. I stopped my thoughts before they went somewhere I did not want them to be.

She dropped her fan, which was definitely on purpose, and a man nearby picked it up. They exchanged a few words before they made their way to the dance floor and I could not help but feel some type of way. His hand should not be on her waist like that. He should not be smiling down at her like that. They should not be that close to one another. They were too close for my comfort and it took everything in me not to walk over there and cut in to be her dance partner.

That should be me dancing with her on the dance floor, me holding her in my arms, me whispering in her ear. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby servant and downed it in one go and I placed the glass back on the plate before he could leave.

Seeing her dance was agonizing, but finally the music came to a stop and the man she was dancing with bowed as she curtsied in return. I needed to get to her now and fast before someone else does.

I dashed across the ballroom to where she was near the dessert table. Y/n was eying the different ice cream flavors, but she was also with her mother. I took this as an opportunity to make myself known because I knew her mom will know something is up if she dismisses me. I approached Y/n and her mother and her mother was the first to recognize me.

“Benedict! How lovely to see you dear!”

“It is lovely to see you as wall Lady Clearwater and you as well Y/n.” I replied.

Y/n’s mother gave me a look, “What did I say about calling me Lady Clearwater Benedict.”

“You told me to call you Aphrodite.”

“Correct! There is no need for formalities when you are with me.”

“Understood.”

Y/n’s mother looked at Y/n and said, “You are rather quiet Y/n. You are usually quite the chatterbox when you are with him. Are you alright?”

Y/n was staring ahead, but quickly broke from her trance after hearing her mother’s words.

“I am alright. I was just thinking.” Y/n tried to muster a smile, but I could tell it was forced. Her mother did not seem to buy it either, but she remained quiet.

“I actually came over to ask if Y/n would like to join me on to the dance floor. It has been a while since we shared a dance and she is my favorite dance partner.” I said.

“Oh that sounds wonderful! Y/n has some time before her next dance! You two go on ahead!”

Y/n’s mother turned around to look at the ice cream and I extended my hand for Y/n’s dance card. Y/n started at my hand and then up at me. After contemplating for a few moments, she finally slipped her dance card off her wrist and handed it to me. After I signed my name, with the attaches writing tool, I reached out my hand toward her and she accepted it with a sigh. I then gently guided her to take our places onto the dance floor. The music began and we eventually fell into a comfortable stance that felt familiar. Y/n had said nothing, so I decided to get the conversation rolling.

“How are you Y/n?” I asked softly.

She did not respond and instead looked somewhere else over my shoulder. Now she was completely ignoring me. What a great start Benedict.

The dance required to have her with her back facing towards me, so I waited until we were face to face to ask,

“Are you well?”

Still nothing.

But I wasn’t going to give up. Before this ball was over I was going to clear the air with Y/n and that was a fact.

The music slowly came to an end and I slightly bowed and Y/n slightly curtsied in return.

“Thank you for the dance.” she said quietly before quickly leaving the dance floor.

“Wait!” I shouted, but even if she heard me, which I know she did, she still kept on walking. My only solution was to follow her. Y/n made her way up the stairs and up to the second floor. I followed her closely behind. Y/n found her way to the doors that led to the balcony and she quickly walked through them. When I approached the door, my hand touched the door knob, but I hesitated to open the door.

I wanted to talk to her, but did she want to talk to me? She was going through all this effort to avoid me and I almost walked away from the door, but then my mind went to the night Y/n had a panic attack. If I did not come to comfort her she would have been struggling alone. I did not know if she was suffering from one right now, but I did not want to take that chance. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

—————————

Why won’t Benedict just leave me alone! He knows that I do not wish to talk to him, I have made myself quite clear, but her either does not seem to get the hint or simply does not care. Yes. Eventually I wish to have a conversation with him about our situation, but not tonight. I am not ready just yet.

I wanted to walk away when he approached my mom and I, and I would have, but of course my mom had to agree upon Benedict dancing with me when he proposed the idea. I wanted to reject his hand when he held it out for me, but I could not do that in front of my mother, so I took his hand.

I thought I would flinch from his touch, but my body reacted differently. When he placed his hand on my waist my body instantly relaxed. As if my body knew it was home. When he pressed my back against his chest, I felt his breath against my head and it reminded me of when his family came over for dinner and his face was in kissing distance of mine. And then later that night we kissed. The kiss.

Maybe it was a good idea to talk tonight. To find out what he was thinking, but then I remembered the way he reacted when I tried to talk with him. He flat out ignored me. So it was only fitting for me to do the same.

My eyes wandered to the view below me. From here I could see the beautiful garden. It held an array of different flowers and plants and I couldn’t help, but admire the beauty. There was man made trail that led from the garden and into the woods that was nearby. Overhead the trail were white arches that were covered in flowers and it acted like a tunnel. It must be so wonderful to walk through the tunnel.

I looked to my right and noticed vines with light pink roses. I was always fascinated with flowers, so I approached the roses to inspect them further. I was about to pluck one off the vine for myself when I suddenly heard the balcony doors open and close.

I already knew who it was. I did not even need to turn around to know.

“Y/n.”

Hearing his voice only confirmed my claim. I knew Benedict would follow me.

“Y/n.” He said again.

I retracted my hand from the pink rose and turned around to see Benedict looking down at me.

“Benedict.” I said coldly.

He seemed hurt with my tone, but I did not care. If he wanted to gain back my trust he would have to earn it.

“I wanted to talk with you.” He said.

“You are talking with me now.”

I wanted to walk away, but there was nowhere to go except back to the ballroom and I would like to stay thank you very much. For awhile it was silent and none of us dared to move until he tentatively reached for my hand. When he noticed that I did not move away my hand, he took that as a chance to gently grab it and I let him. The pad of his thumb gently caressed the side of hand and it took everything in my power not to smile. I wanted to continue giving him the cold shoulder, but he wasn’t making it easier.

I could tell he was nervous, but I waited for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

I was not expecting him to say that. I thought he was going to start with explaining why he was acting the way he was.

“Sorry for?” I tried to act uncertain, but I had a feeling I knew what he was sorry for.

“For ignoring you the other night.” He said. “I was upset and I took my anger out on you. When you smiled I ignored you and I am truly sorry. I now realize you were only trying to be kind towards me and I repaid that kindness by being rude. I was just…”

He paused and it looked like he was trying to figure out the right words to say.

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with me anymore.” He finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“After we kissed…the expression on your face showed that you did not like it.”

Now I was shocked and more confused. I do not remember showing a face of disgust after we kissed, but then again I do not know what my face looked like at that moment. Maybe I did show disgust, but I did not mean it. I was mostly confused. Confused on what our kiss would mean for us and wondering if he had feelings for me like how I have them for him.

“I did not feel that way at all.” I said.

Now he was the one who was shocked and confused.

“In fact I enjoyed it a lot. I was scared about what the kiss would mean for us. I did not want to ruin the friendship that we have, but a part of me wanted more and I was afraid about your feelings on the matter. I know you do not possess feelings for me and I respect that, but I want things to be the way they used to be. You and me as friends.”

I looked at Benedict. Awaiting his answer. Suddenly his face broke into a smile.

“That is where you’re wrong.” He said.

“What do you mean?”

“I wish for us to not be just friends. I wish to be more than friends.”

This was very shocking to hear. So all this time Benedict had feelings for me. He reciprocates the feelings that I have for him. I could not tell if this was real or just a figment of my imagination, so I asked.

“Is this real?”

Benedict chuckled at my question.

“Yes. Yes this is very real. My love for you is real and I want to be given the chance to show you how much I love you. If you will let me.”

I lost my will to speak. All I could do was simply nod at his words.

“You do not know how many times I dreamed about this moment happening.” He stated.

“Oh yeah…so what happens next?” I replied after I found my voice.

“Well after I tell you of my feelings, you confess your undying love for me.”

I playfully roll my eyes at his choice of words. He looks at me as if he is waiting for my answer.

“Oh you want me to answer?”

“Yes that would be much appreciated.” He chuckled. “I want to make sure this is real as well.”

I took a deep breath and stared into his crystal blue eyes. His eyes that make me feel safe and at home. The pair of eyes that wrap me in a warm comforting embrace when I’m feeling upset. That’s why the next sentence I said was as easy as breathing.

“Benedict I am hopelessly in love with you.”

Benedict’s smile grew bigger if that was even possible.

“What happens next?” I asked playing along.

“Next. I come to you.” He approached me slowly as he said so. Our faces were now inches from each other. “Then…” he grabbed a nervy rose that was behind me and carefully placed it in my hair. “…I tell you how beautiful you look tonight.” His words make my cheeks color and I step back in embarrassment.

My back made contact with the balcony and Benedict had me trapped. There was nowhere to go, but I did not feel like a prisoner. I felt comfortable and I knew that Benedict would let me leave if I wished to do so.

“I grab on to your cheek and look into your eyes.” Benedict continued as his hand found its way to the side my face and his blue eyes stared into my e/c eyes. “And then…”

“And then?” I ask.

“I think you know what happens next.” He said.

And before I could say anything back, Benedict grabbed both sides of my arms and moved me so that my back was against the wall next to the balcony doors. There was a pillar between us and the door, so no one would see us if they see walking by. We were completely alone and out of sight from the ton.

Benedict slowly inched closer towards me and used his pointer finger to lift my chin up.He looked into my eyes silently asking for my permission for what was about to come next and I gave it to him.

Benedict then closed the distance between us and placed his lips onto mine.

[soapyghost]

Scarred- Graves x Fem! reader

Warnings- swearing, violence, mentions of death, guns, angst (A LOT OF ANGST) dark Graves, prior relationship with Graves, mean Graves, smut, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected p in v. ALSO SPOILER WARNINGS- IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE MW2 CAMPAGIN PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DO NOT WANT IT SPOILED. THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER THE GAMEA/N: I was chatting with @johnnytavish about a post game angst filled Graves and this is the product of that so enjoy. Wordcount- 3k

He hadn’t even so much as looked at you since he was brought back. After the crushing defeat in Las Almas, he’d changed. The 141 squad had assumed that Commander Graves had died in that tank, and to their credit part of him did. He no longer laughed or even smiled. His somewhat jovial demeanor was never seen again.

General Sheppard had been the one to coordinate the rescue mission, fully expecting it to be a body retrieval. When you and the small group of remaining Shadows touched down in the dead of night your heart was in your throat. You always knew this was a possibility, that you would lose him. But now being smacked with the reality that Graves really was gone shattered you to your very core. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, you thought to yourself. The sweet promises you two had shared all those nights twisted up in the sheets of his room had all snapped like glass. They would never come true now.

You came up first to the metal heap of the tank, unable to contain your anxiety. Wrenching open the door you saw him. He was pale and blood battered. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes as you stumbled into the scrapped hull and reached to find a pulse. As your fingers touched his neck you almost yanked your hand away, he was warm. He was warm.

You could feel the faint dancing pulse beneath his skin. “He’s alive” you screamed. You hoisted him over your shoulder with a strength that you never knew you had. “Get me EVAC NOW!” You shouted, placing him gently on the ground. Swallowing hard to force the tears to recede back into your skull you began removing some of his gear and throwing it at one of the other shadows, you began to search his body for wounds. There was a huge gash on his face that went from the top of his forehead down through his left eye, across his lips ending at his chin. It was bleeding pretty heavily and may need stitches. Continuing your search you came across several broken ribs, a fractured shin and too many cut wounds to count. He was battered and bruised almost beyond recognition but he was alive.

The months after his rescue felt like years. He had lost sight in his left eye because of the cut he suffered, and it snapped something in him. Graves vowed that he would take something from 141 for the things they took from him. Gone was the man you knew, the man you loved, and all that remained was a husk of a man fueled only by revenge. You had tried to talk to him on dozens of occasions but he never even looked your way, let alone deign a response. The anger began to well up inside you after each encounter. This man vowed to protect and love you and now he can’t even look you in the eye. You were supposed to go away together after this mission. Take a month long vacation on some sandy beach thinking about nothing other than each other. Yet here you were, in the dark damp forest in hiding from the rest of the world. His greed had ripped everything from you.

Now that he had fully healed you were going to corner him. You bit your lip as you went over and over in your mind how you were going to talk to him, a stranger in the body of your boyfriend. You had gone over and over in your mind the things you wanted to say but it all flew out the window the minute you see him walking towards you. You reach out to him as he begins to pass you and shove him into a storage room.

“What the fuck Snow?” He snarled. He didn’t even use your real name. This lit a fire inside of you that no one could extinguish. You’d been fucking him for months, and all this man could say was your code name?

“What the fuck?” You scream back at him, “You’re asking me what the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t said a single word to me since I pulled you from that tank. I saved you Phillip and you can’t even look me in the eye or even say my goddamn name!” Your voice getting higher and higher as you continue to let out every morsel of anger that had been consuming you. “I thought you DIED!” You finish, choking on the last word.

“I did” he spat back at you, eyes finally reaching yours. They were devoid of all life. The sparkle that once thrived inside them had been killed. He wasn’t your Phillip anymore. He was Graves.

His words stung. You couldn’t help the tears that began to swell and push past the dam of your eyelids. They streamed down your face like a waterfall in the early spring.

“No. I saved you. I got you out of that tank and back home. I brought you back to me!” You wailed in a feeble attempt to get Phillip back. You punched him like a child throwing a temper tantrum, but he didn’t even flinch. Your punched bouncing off of him like they were nothing. He grabbed your wrists “Enough” he commanded.

You stare at him for a moment, searching his eyes for answers but found none. Wrenching your hands free from his grasp you spun on your heels and reached for the door. Before you were able to touch the handle a pair of hands grabbed your waist and spun you around, forcing your back against the wall. His lips crashed onto yours, hungry, feral and almost animalistic. This kiss was nothing like the sweet kisses you had shared countless nights in his room. Regardless your body melted into his just the same as it did on all those shared evenings. You kissed him back, thankful that you had even a sliver of him back.

You break away first, gasping for breath. “Phillip you can’t just not speak to me for months and then try to fuck me in a supply room” you whisper, trying to focus. His kiss momentarily erasing all anger that you had within you. The familiar scent of sandalwood and musk washing over you like a warm blanket. Pushing him away you see it, flicker on his eyes for a millisecond, but you see him again. He's in there somewhere. "Phillip, please. What is going on?" you blink back tears again.

"I can't. I just can't" he chokes out after what seems like an eternity of silence. His shoulders go limp as he looks down at the floor, "I can't hurt you again. This has to end" he whispers, so quietly you have to pause. "What?" your voice cracks. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment and he pushes past you and leaves you alone with just your demons.

It had been several weeks since that day in the supply room, and you had thought about what he said every waking moment of every day. Waking up every morning only to remember the man you loved said it was over was like being stabbed. No, being stabbed hurt less than this. The mundane days blended, wake up, feel like you're being stabbed, see him, work, cry yourself to sleep, rinse and repeat. Every time you saw him it felt like you stepped on a land mine, all your bones shattered, you could feel your blood pumping. All you could think about was him saying "I can't hurt you again". What could he mean by that? He's hurting you day in and day out by ignoring you. No matter what happened, you would always love him.

Things had gone back to him speaking to you for work related things, just like how he was when you first joined Shadow Company. When he treated you just the same as every piece of dirt. It took almost a year to crack past Graves to Phillip, and the fear of having to do it all over again was almost too much. But today was different, you saw that spark return to Graves while watching him command a fresh group of Shadows. It was a different spark, one fueled by the need for revenge. At least he was alive again. He was harsher with the new recruits, more than likely because of the sting of losing so many. He was harsher on you too.

"Snow! Shoulders back" he barked, one day during range shooting. You knew your stance was fine, he knew your stance was fine. "Fuck off" you shouted back at him. The whole range went silent. Fear creeped up into your chest, you've spoken to him like this hundreds of times and never had a fear like this. Every set of eyes in the shooting range bore into your body, shredding into as if they were shooting you with their guns. "My office, NOW" he roared, before turning and storming in the direction of his office. You stood there, stunned. He had never used this tone on you before.

You followed after him, like a puppy who chewed up the mail and was about to be reprimanded, tail between your legs. Once you arrived at the door to his office you paused, a million and one thoughts passing through your mind. What if he kicked you from the Shadows? Where would you go? You were already in hiding because of his actions. Would he turn you over to the authorities? No. He wouldn't do that, you took a deep sigh and knocked on his door.

"Come in" came his muffled voice. You slowly opened the door to find him sitting at this desk, hands rubbing his temples. "Sit down" he commanded, gesturing to the plus chair that sat across from his desk. You silently did as he asked, sinking as deep into the chair as physically possible. "You can't talk to me like that Snow." he sighed, as he looked up at you. "Why? What has changed so much that I can't even speak to you?" you whimpered, desperate to fly across the desk and shove your face into his chest like you used to. "Everything has changed, Y/N. Like you said, I almost died. I can't let that happen again. I will not be weak, and that's what you make me" his voice was measured, and restrained.

"I don't make you weak Phillip, I make you human" you pleaded. "Stop being Graves and be Phillip for one goddamn minute." You searched his eyes for the flicker again, but all you could see was Graves. Your mind was swimming with how you could get him back, get back to what you were. Before you registered what you were doing, you leaped over the desk and into his lap. He stiffened at your touch. Placing your hands on his cheeks you forced him to look at you, "Please." you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him.

It took a moment, but he finally returned your kiss. It was the same as the one you shared in that supply room, hungry and feral. Crazed even. His hands began exploring your body, setting fire everywhere he touched. It felt so good to be touched by him again. Every neuron in your body was firing, every sense was filled with him. His tongue pressed against your lips, demanding to be let in, so you parted your lips. You involuntarily bucked your hips into him, and let out a small moan. You had missed this, missed him.

In one swift movement he lifted you off his lap and onto your knees. You looked up at him puzzled. He simply looked down at you and began to unbuckle his belt, and it became clear. A surge of excitement ran through you, this was different. Normally when you had sex it was soft, loving almost fairytale like. This was pure lust, and it sent a thrill down your spine. Your hands reached up to help undo his zipper and release him from those tight black cargo pants. His cock sprung out of its cage and slapped against his stomach. He was huge, you had almost forgotten how big it really was. You took no time in eagerly grabbing the shaft and running your tongue up it, all while looking through your eyelashes at him. A guttural groan escaped his mouth as he threw his head back. You popped the head in your mouth and swirled your tongue around it, lapping up the precum. He grabbed a fistful of hair and began to guide your head, shoving himself deeper and deeper into your throat.

You gagged and tears welled in your eyes as he hit the back of your throat. The sound only sent him into overdrive, as he began to forcefully bob your head onto his cock. The combination of saliva and precum began to drip down your chin as you worked him inside your hollowed cheeks. Finally you pushed back on him to come up for a breath.

"Fuck, I've missed you doll" he breathes, eyes on yours. He hoists you up and onto the desk where he makes quick work of your pants. Throwing them into the corner of the room his attention turned towards the lace panties that barely covered you. You smiled up at him as he took you in, "You vixen" he smirks as he grabs the waistband and shimmies them down your legs. Once you're free of all barriers, he shoves your legs apart and drops to his knees and in-between your thighs. The warmth of his tongue against your folds causes a gasp of pleasure to erupt from you. You desperately grab onto the edges of the desk to ground yourself. He felt like heaven between your legs, the way he lapped up every ounce of you. His tongue sliding in and out of you, before sliding two fingers in. A moan of pleasure escapes from your lips as he picks up his pace, using his thumb to rub your clit. He hadn't forgotten how to please you. You were putty in his hand, literally. Your body turned to Jell-O as you began to feel your orgasm creep up on you. Your soft moans were music to Grave's ears, as he continued to rub your clit and relentlessly fuck you with his fingers. "Fuck, mm- don't stop Phillip. M' gunna cum" you mewl.

All at once you feel his fingers slide out of you, and you tense at the loss of your orgasm. You snap open your eyes and open your mouth to protest but before the words escape your mouth his lips are on you. He flips your body around so your chest is now on the desk and your pretty ass is in the air.

"God, what a sight." he muses, "what would the company think if they saw you on your Commanders desk, begging for it". You simply wag your ass and whisper "please". You hear his pants fall to the floor and feel him pressed up against you. His breath hot on your ear as he lines himself up and thrusts himself into you. A yelp escapes your lips at how hard and fast he entered you, filling you up to the brim. "Fuccck" he drawls into your ear, "You feel so fucking good".

He doesn't give you a moment to get used to his size before he takes a fistful of your hair and places his other hand on your lower back before he starts a relentless pace. Your eyes roll back into your head as you become fuck dumb on his cock. The moans escaping your mouth coupled with the slick sound of his cock pounding your pussy are absolutely filthy. A string of curses leave your lips as he takes his hand off your back and slips it back to your clit, rubbing unforgiving circles. His touch sends shockwaves through your body, and the familiar feeling of your orgasm slowly begins to return.

"Cum for me" he commands you, "Cum for your Commander." The gruffness of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge of euphoria. A mess of his name and every curse word in the world fall from your lips as he fucks you through your orgasm. "Mmmm, you listen so well here" he whispers in your ear. All you can do is gasp and nod your head, too cock dumb to form a proper sentence. His thrust start to become sloppy, knowing he was close you tighten your core, causing your walls to flutter on his cock. The grip on your hair tightens in response and grunt leaves his lips as he twitches inside you, his cum filling you up, and leaking out dripping onto the floor. His breath is heavy against you as he leans down, forehead on the back of your skull.

You both take a moment to catch your breath before you turn around to face him. You had never had sex with him like this. It was always something out of those silly movies where the guy treats the girl like a princess. It was all southern charm and honey. This was down and dirty, sex on his goddamn desk. You look over him, wondering what happened to that but also secretly loving this new side. He smiled softly at you, placing a kiss gently on your forehead before zipping up his pants and retrieving yours. It was him again, for a few moments you got Phillip. After you had redressed he allowed you to hold him for just a few precious minutes before he gently removed your arms from him. Just like you used to, every time you'd both finish you would sit there arms wrapped lazily around each other, simply basking in the others presence. Slowly you looked up at him, a smile on your face.

But the man who looked back at you was not your Phillip anymore, it was Graves.

[rdiowx]

FRANKENSTEIN FRANK IERO

Now posted on my ao3: Cndlewax

Frankenstein frank iero x gn! Reader

Ik i said this would be longer but I’ve been working on this for days and i actually dont know what i was going to do with it lmk if i should go on with the series

Now i when was trying to figure out which Frank era would fit Frankenstein i was thinking revenge so thats what i went with and is described here. However now that i think about it, Leathermouth and danger days wouldve been viable options (WHY DIDNT I DO DANGER DAYS IM LITERALLY SOBBING)

Reader is technically Frankenstein and Frank is Frankensteins monster, its like 1930s id like to think because of the 1931 Frankenstein movie, Reader is a mad scientist, Reader is lowkey kinda insane im not gonna lie (because who thinks of this kinda thing), Mikey shows up i just feel like he’s Frankensteins assistant Material, kind of detailed mention of limbs being sewn and stapled together, i mean technically Frank is put in an electric chair…, usage of Y/n,(i do plan on making this a series however if i do id probably move it to ao3 and it would be random chapters of teaching frank random things).

The village ‘mad scientist’ also known as Y/n, You had been rumored to be working on something for years, and you have. Today it should finally be done. You were currently hunched over your project, a man covered in staples, stitches and all sorts of other things. You make sure each limb is sturdy, sewing or stapling multiple times if you have to. When he comes to life —and you will make sure he will— you wouldnt want him to fall over. You need to make sure he can hold his body weight up. you are pulled out of your focus when you hear the lab door open, “I’ve brought good news.” Mikey exclaimed, holding a larger than average beaker in his hands.

You broke out into an extremely unsettling smile, Mikey only smiles back, used to your behavior having been friends with you since you were kids. “Did you get it Mikey?” You asked, at the edge of your seat, He only nods in response. You laugh and spin in your chair towards him, you grab and kiss his face enthusiastically. He playfully gags and wipes his face, having set the beaker down at your work table.

“What would i ever do without you Michael?” You exclaimed, Taking the beaker and quickly making your way to your experiment. Using your lab table to set him at a 90 degree angle you took the top of his head off, you needed to connect his brain stems. You needed to detach multiple places in order to do it, luckily you thought ahead and thought not to stitch these places before hand. Mikey made sure you had enough light to complete this task, holding a simple flashlight above your work area.

After attaching everything correctly you stapled and sewed, it would be a shame if all your hard work went to waste due to some poor patch job. You had been working on this for years, and finally you could finish it. You had done this once before, not anything near as big as this project, but on a salamander when you and Mikey were 16. The day you revived that salamander was the day you earned the ‘mad scientist’ title. “We’ve waited years for this Mikey, i dont think i possibly couldve gotten this done without you.” You said, wheeling over the machine that was going to bring your experiment to life. Mikey smiles proudly as you looked his way, quickly moving to your side as you waved your hand for him to come to you.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Mikey teased, smiling your way before putting his metal goggles —which you made to fit his glasses perscription because he complained about not being able to see every time— on for protection and stepping away from the now powered up machine. You only smile in response, putting your metal welding headgear on before pulling the last lever. The light from the electricity filled the room, you were sure any nosy civilian would be curious if they were outside right now. Turning off the machine you lift your headgear off before checking your experiment. Seeing his fingers twitch filled you with hope, a quiet groan filled your ears looking over, Mikey had a smug look on his face. You looked back towards the now living thing, His hazel eyes looking straight forward. “I feel like he needs a name, what are you thinking?” Michael asked, tilting his head before taking his goggles all the way off and setting them aside.

“Frank.” You replied simply, taking in the mans appearance.

He had a slight green discoloration, covered from head to toe in stitches and staples. you could see the stitches make indents and stretch his skin as well as with the staples, you were lucky he didnt have pain receptors or this would be a lot harder to pull off. A simple screw on the side of his head it was a decently sized one but not huge, maybe as big or slightly bigger than your hand. It was a screw that required a Phillips screw driver even though it was turnable by hand, his eyes had bags and his hair was greasy. His hair was nothing you had seen before, the sides were a light blonde and he seemed to have a mohawk but it was slicked down by the sheer amount of grease that had built up over the years and the front of his hair sat in the middle of his face. He was wearing an old suit you found in your closet, you dont know who it belonged to but you didn’t exactly care all that much. He looked to have had piercings from were you stapled his face, But it kinda fit him after all you could always fix it later. After a while you realized you would have to teach him how to do things again, he’s not what he once was. “Alright (Y/n), i have to go. Gerard is waiting for me to get back home and its getting dark.” Michael informed, hanging his lab coat on his designated hook by the door. “Be safe Michael, wouldnt want to lose my favorite lab partner.” You laughed, Michael rolled his eyes on the way out but not before shouting “im your only lab partner!” You could swear you could hear him mumble a quiet “Im your only friend at that.” Making you roll your eyes, you couldn’t be mad if he was right.

Now you were sat in your lab with your own creation staring back at you. ‘Lets see what you can still do.’ You thought to yourself before walking around to the still seated man. You lifted his arm to see if he could hold it up, He turned his head to face you and surprisingly he could, these are great signs. you sat in your spin chair and rolled your way to your clipboard that was on your desk. You needed to write stuff for your experiment down, right now you were the happiest you had been in years. You couldn’t suppress the slight smile on your face as you tested the staple covered man. After finishing your tests you wanted to move on to his speech, since you were the one who put him together you knew he was capable of doing so.

The only problem was you didnt know how, sure you knew how to talk but you didnt really know how to hold a conversation, if it wasn’t for Mikey you dont think you would talk at all if it wasn’t to yourself. Being the village scientist meant you were always in the lab, you hadn’t talked to anyone but Mikey or sometimes his older brother Gerard in years. You dont even remeber the last time you even left the lab, it was your house and Mikey did all of your errands. You supposed you could start with the basics, ‘hello’ or your name maybe even his. If you started with hello you’d have to explain what a greeting is, if you started with your or his name you might have to explain what a name even is and how to use it. You hadn’t noticed the man move from his spot, you were so busy staring off into space you didnt notice the prominent frown on your face as you stared at the wall. When you finally snapped out of it you panicked as you watched the man touch stuff on your lab table, almost spilling a tube of something before catching it and looking at you with guilt ridden face.

You quickly made your way to him, taking the tube out of his hand and putting it in its correct place. “Um, okay don’t- don’t touch anything on this table..got it?” You spoke, gently steering the man by his hand to sit at your desk chair. You pushed him into said chair maybe a bit rougher than you meant to, however he didnt seem to mind. “Okay.. your name is- can you talk?” You asked, you couldve maybe put in a little more effort but this was your first time doing anything like this. You only got a head tilt in response, it was like he could understand you but he couldn’t answer. You furrowed your eyebrows, Your reaction caused him to frown a little. “‘My name is Frank’ Can you say that?” You questioned, he could only get out ‘Frank’. It wasnt much but you could work with it after all you weren’t sure of what he was capable of, Sure he had human parts but he wasnt fully functional right now.

“Frank, frank is you.” You stated, pointing a finger towards him. “You?” He questioned, his index finger now pointing towards himself. You smiled before shaking your head, This caused Frank to smile as well however he looked sort of confused. You tried again pointing your finger towards him, “when i stick my finger out towards you it means ‘you’, when you stick your finger towards yourself it means ‘me’.” You stated, a look of realization crossed his face before he pointed to himself again. “Frank is me?” He asked, letting out a noise of what seemed to be happiness after you confirmed it. He was going to be trouble but you knew it was worth it, after all, you wanted this.

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 17 - Girls Just Want to Have Fun

IN THIS CHAPTER: A short roadtrip, blackmailing a jock, and Lady Di sends a signal [7.7k]

WARNINGS: andy the bully makes an appearance but nothing serious happens! lots of foreshadowing tho lol

A/N: shout out to my beloved @justahappycloud for vibechecking andy and dot's conversation for me! you're absolutely wonderful and i honest to god cannot believe i'm gonna hug you in a couple of days. i love you so so much, and i can't wait to tell you that in person. having said that, i'm gonna take a break from posting because i'm going on holiday! i'll still be around if you want to talk and i might leave... a couple of extras for you... you'll have to see! regular updates will return on friday, june 30th!

masterlist - prev - next | main playlist - chapter playlist

Oh, daddy dear, you know you're still number one But girls, they wanna have fun

Friday, May 23rd - 1986

Dorothy Burke couldn’t remember being this fucking angry in her entire goddamn life. She was pretty sure that if she were a cartoon character, steam would have been coming out of her ears the minute she heard Andy fucking Humphrey brag about getting an A in his latest AP Spanish pop quiz. She’d been watching him all week, eyes always stuck to his back during class, ears perking up when she heard his obnoxious cackle in the cafeteria, hands turning into fists when he’d “accidentally” tripped a quiet sophomore on his way to the bathroom. So when Mr. Lorenzo returned last week’s pop quizzes to them on Wednesday and praised him for “finally deciding to take his studies seriously” after she saw him cheat on the entire test, Dottie began plotting for revenge. Not because of the test, she didn’t give two shits about that and, of course, snitches get stitches. No, this one was for Gareth, and Dustin, and Donny, and Jeff, and any of the times he thought being Hawkins High royalty absolved him from sin. She’d make him pay. Not right now, but eventually he’d get what was coming to him. And it all began that Friday before finals week.

Her last class on Fridays was, thankfully, AP Spanish. Dottie planned everything to perfection, tested her escape route on Wednesday in case she needed a quick getaway, and asked her friends to wait until her Dad came to pick her up so she wouldn’t be caught alone in the parking lot if everything went to shit. Hellfire had been canceled because the boys had tickets to see Poltergeist II: The Other Side at 6 pm, but the props room they used as headquarters was unlocked in case she needed a place to hide for a bit. When the final bell of the day rang, she hurried to get her things in her bag and approached Andy’s desk with a sweet smile and shy act that she’d successfully tried on Fred earlier that week. Nancy had, of course, asked her what that had been about, but Dottie had simply told her that the less she knew, the better. The blue eyed girl had grinned with a weird sense of pride and left her to her devices without any more questions.

“Hi! Andy, right?” Dottie asked, carefully crafted honey dripping from her tongue.

“Who’s asking?” he said without looking up, still gathering his things.

“We’re in this class together, I sit over there,” she said, waiting until his eyes landed on her to point to her desk. She could feel his confused eyes scanning her: cute little dress, frilly socks, no Hellfire shirt, pearls in her ears. He has no idea who I am.

“Yeah, of course! I’ve seen you around,” he said, trying to hide the fact that he actually did not know who the fuck Dottie was. Sadly for him, it wasn’t working.

“I saw you did really well on the last pop quiz and I was wondering if you could help me out,” she widened her eyes a little bit to look more innocent and saw the corner of his mouth lift into a half smirk. God, men are so easy, she thought, remembering how Fred had rapidly blinked three times in a row when she pulled that move on him. “Can I see your answers, please?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” Andy stammered, extremely confused but not about to complain if a pretty girl was making goo-goo eyes at him. Dottie wasn’t the type he usually went for; he liked them better skinny, tall and tanned, but there was a certain kind of charm to the girl-next-door type. “I could, y’know- I could help you study for the final, if you want.”

“Really? Wow, you’re so nice,” she pretended to fawn over him until he got the test out of his binder and gave it to her. The classroom was empty now. “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you about…”

“Go on,” he said, sitting on his desk to flirt back with her. “Ask me whatever you want, babe.”

Babe. Oh, he was gonna get it now. She had him right where she wanted, and all she had to do was reel him in. Channeling her inner devil, she came up to where he was sitting to stand between his open legs, hand resting on his knee.

“Anything I want?” she smiled, and he nodded. “Well, how about… you leave my friends alone for the rest of the year and I don’t tell Mr. Lorenzo you cheated on this?” she waved the test in the air.

“What?”

“See, you might not know who I am, but I know you, Andy,” she dropped the sweet act instantly, hard eyes on his. He looked so confused. “And last Wednesday, you made the mistake of letting me see you cheat. You even smiled at me while you did it. I gotta admit, it was the first time I saw someone write down the answers on the inside of a water bottle sticker, that shit was clever.”

“Who put you up to this?” he asked, rage beginning to catch up to his bewilderment. She had to get out of there, fast.

“I know you egged Gareth Coleman on Thursday after class. It would be a shame if Mr. Lorenzo found out about your little water bottle trick, don’t you think? You really need this A if you’re gonna keep that Division II scholarship you got to, where was it? Indiana Central?”

“You’re a fucking bitch,” he got up from his desk, getting in her face. He was barely an inch shorter than Eddie, and while the metalhead’s height had always been comforting for her, Andy’s was downright intimidating.

“And you’re a lousy cheater,” she retorted, grabbing the strap of her bag, ready to bolt out into the packed hallway.

“You have no proof.”

“Don’t I?” she said, pressing on her backpack where she’d tucked in an empty plastic bottle. It wasn’t even the correct brand, but he didn’t know that, and his eyes burned when he heard the crackling noise. “Stay away from the boys in the Hellfire Club. This is your only warning.”

And with that, she bolted straight to the girls’ bathroom at the end of the hallway before he could even think about reacting. This particular bathroom had two exits, and she took advantage of that knowledge to sprint across to the other door, past the labs, turning the corner to the Art room and out into the parking lot, where she immediately clocked her friends hanging out between Eddie’s van and Donny’s car, Dustin and Mike leaning onto their bikes while they talked. All the way across the parking lot, was Jason Carver’s car, where its owner and his friends were clearly waiting for one Andy Humphrey to arrive.

“Eddie!” she yelled through gritted teeth, trying to get his attention. “For the love of God, Eddie!”

“Hey, what’s- woah!” she threw herself on him and stuck her hand in his front jean pocket, getting his keys out and opening the van’s back doors before jumping inside with the haste of a madwoman. “Dot, what’s wrong?”

“I fucked up- close the fucking doors! If Andy sees me, we’re all dead!”

“Wait, what? What did Andy do now?” Donny asked, climbing into the back of the van behind her. The rest of the boys looked at each other before they too got in and closed the doors, separating themselves from the rest of the student body.

“He didn’t do anything, I just- I threatened to tell a teacher that he cheated on a test if he bothered you guys again.”

“You did what?!” Eddie asked, eyebrows raising to his hairline.

“I know! I know I fucked up, I was just so fucking angry! He thinks he’s untouchable and it’s about time someone showed him he’s not!”

“Okay, back up. What exactly did you do?” Dustin asked.

Dottie took a deep breath and began retelling the week’s events to the six boys that were surrounding her in the back of the van. The parking lot began to empty and only a few cars remained by the time she had finished but her Dad was still nowhere to be found. An uncomfortable silence settled between them while they took in the situation at hand.

“She can’t be alone anymore,” Mike said, looking at Eddie for guidance.

“You really think he’s gonna hit her?” Gareth asked with worried eyes.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Dustin said. “Do you think he’s gonna tell the rest of the team?”

“I didn’t tell him my name,” Dottie remembered. “They might not even know who I am, I mean, he didn’t and we’ve been in the same class for months.”

“You told him to leave Hellfire alone, it doesn’t matter if they don’t know you. They know us.”

“Shit, do you think we’re all gonna be targets now?” Jeff looked scared.

“You say that like we weren’t before,” Mike argued.

“We have to move in groups, we can’t let them catch us alone,” Donny said.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Eddie raised his voice, cutting the chatter short. “You good, darling?”

“I didn’t mean to make them come after you,” she put her head in her hands. She’d been so angry that she didn’t stop to think how she might be making things worse with her well-intentioned actions. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re so not an idiot, come here,” he tucked her under his arm, squeezing her protectively. “You meant well but that’s not how these guys work. They are meatheads, you can’t reason with them.”

“So what do we do?” Jeff asked him.

“Donny’s right, we move in groups from now on. No one goes anywhere alone for the rest of the school year. We’ve got three more weeks and we’re done. Avoid the basketball team, keep your heads down,” Eddie turned to Mike and Dustin. “If anyone does anything to you, you come to me. You think Sinclair can help you two out?”

“We haven’t talked to Lucas in months,” Dustin admitted, looking a little ashamed.

“We don’t need him,” Mike dismissed his friend quickly. “We’ll stick with you guys.”

“Carver’s car is gone,” Gareth announced, peeking through a side window.

“Get home now, take the backroads,” Eddie opened the doors and heaved Dustin’s bike up from the concrete for him. “We’ll figure out pairs on Monday.”

“I’m sorry,” Dottie tried apologizing again, but Dustin went in for a hug.

“It’s okay. We’ve been through worse, I promise,” the younger boy smiled reassuringly.

“Besides, this means you’re officially one of the freaks now,” Mike said, successfully getting a low snort from her.

They said their goodbyes and Dustin and Mike climbed onto their bikes, speeding off the parking lot with impressive alacrity. Donny and Jeff sat themselves on the back of Eddie’s van, surveying the area. Only a couple of cars remained, mostly belonging to teachers. Gareth’s bus had already left, and Eddie offered to give him a ride before turning to Dottie.

“You sure your Dad’s coming?”

“Yeah, he said he was gonna get off early so we could go to Indy. Maybe he got held up at the office?”

“What are you going to Indy for?” Jeff asked.

“Prom’s in two weeks and I still don’t have a dress so hopefully I’ll find something there today or else I’m going naked.”

“Auditioning for Playboy at prom? That’s bold,” Gareth joked, and she immediately kicked his leg.

“Don’t get cute with me, Gareth, I know where you keep your porn.”

“We all know,” Donny said, leaning back on his arms. “He’s not very good at hiding it.”

“I bet his Mom knows too, she just pretends she hasn’t seen it,” Eddie snickered.

“Shut up!” Gareth jumped on Eddie, trying to wrestle him down to the dirty floor.

“Hey, whose car is that?” Jeff asked Donny and Dottie, completely ignoring the other boys yelping while play fighting between their rides. “It’s been there for like twenty minutes.”

“Must be a teacher’s,” Donny guessed. “I saw a pregnant lady come out of it earlier.”

“There aren’t any pregnant teachers.”

“Yeah? Then who’s that?” Donny pointed to the school doors where there was, indeed, a pregnant woman waddling towards the mystery car, another lady behind her searching through her big purse, probably trying to find her car keys.

Nothing could have prepared Dottie for what she was about to see when she turned, because never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she’d see two of her aunts casually strolling through the Hawkins High School parking lot towards a car neither of them owned, as evidenced by its Indiana “Wander” license plate. What on Earth-

“Auntie Rachel?” Dottie raised her voice, and the woman going through her purse looked up instantly, keys finally in her hand.

“Hey, there you are! We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” the woman now known as Rachel said, quickly changing paths and power walking towards them, heels clicking on the concrete. “Your Dad said you get off at two!”

“I do, I just got held up,” Dottie hurried to wrap her arms around her Auntie. “What are you doing here?”

“Your Dad called for backup and we honestly needed a girly weekend,” the pregnant woman said, one hand resting on her belly and the other one at her back, her flowy floral dress swishing around her ankles as she waddled closer to them.

“It’s the last time Mary Elizabeth’s gonna be able to get on a plane until Rose arrives so we spent all my miles and we’re taking you to Indianapolis for a shopping trip.”

“You came all the way to Hawkins to help me buy a prom dress?” Dottie said, disbelief painted all over her face.

“It’s your senior prom, baby,” Mary Elizabeth said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you really think we were gonna miss it?”

“Are these your friends?” Rachel asked, directing her attention to the gaggle of boys that were staring up at them.

Gareth still had Eddie in a loose headlock, both letting go of each other instantly when the women approached with curious smiles and mischievous eyes on their faces. Auntie Rachel was a tall severe looking woman with thick rimmed glasses and a classy bob. Her lips were painted a deep burgundy, and she wore stylish pants and low heels - she looked as sophisticated as she was independent and open-minded. She was an accountant and many of her clients included investors that dabbled in the theater sphere, making her the one responsible for Dottie’s intense love of Broadway and musicals. She’d gone through a messy divorce around a year ago, had two boys (Nicky and Peter, ages 14 and 10), and had recently realized that maybe all those times Dottie had begged her to go see Rocky Horror together had been more enlightening than she had assumed they had been at the time.

Aunt Mary Elizabeth - not Mary, not Elizabeth, Mary Elizabeth - on other hand was the poster child for the 70’s hippie movement. What Rachel gave off in casual formality, Mary Elizabeth matched in cozy comfort with her sleeveless prairie style dress and sandals, baby bump proudly on display under the soft flowery pattern. She was married to Uncle Johnny, the same Uncle that Dottie had gone to for advice regarding Eddie’s moldy ceiling, and Rose, who was currently softly kicking her, was their first baby. She hadn’t been born yet but was very much expected and hard fought for.

“This is Hellfire! Guys, these are my Aunts: Rachel and Mary Elizabeth. Plus Rosie,” Dottie said, excited as always whenever her worlds collided.

“Which one of you is giving my niece latkes with applesauce?” Rachel asked, looking at them over the rim of her glasses.

“Uh, that- that’d be me. I’m Gareth,” the curly haired boy said, nervously.

“You’re my fave kid,” Rachel declared, nodding once.

“She’s Jewish,” Dottie said, like that explained everything and to Gareth, it did. “She’s never cooked for me though.”

“You know I can’t cook, my kids don’t even let me make toast,” she laughed, and the boys smiled. So Rachel is the fun aunt.

“Okay, then who is the one that makes those great mixtapes you were talking about the other day?” Mary Elizabeth wondered.

“I guess that’s me?” Donny chuckled, the tips of his ears red. “I’m Donny. Congrats on the baby!”

“Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart,” she said. “He’s my fave.”

“Which one’s yours then, bug?” Rachel joked.

“Definitely Jeff,” Dottie said and the boy beamed.

“Hey! I’m right here!” Eddie complained dramatically.

“You’re Eddie, right?” Mary Elizabeth said; he nodded. “I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, you’re my husband’s favorite.”

“I am?”

“Yes! My husband was our DM, he thinks you’re very creative.”

“She’s married to Uncle Johnny,” Dottie told him. “The one that was in the bathroom picture from when I was a baby?”

“Ah, yes! Your Dad’s brother from a different father!” Eddie clapped once, knowing he got it right. “He knows about me?”

“Dorothy tells him about all your sessions,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Half of our friends don’t live in New York anymore so we haven’t played as much lately, he’s living vicariously through you guys at this point.”

“It’s great to meet you boys, but we should get going. We’re never gonna get to the shops in time if we keep dilly dallying,” Rachel said, ushering the girls towards the car.

“Okay, let me say goodbye first, damn,” Dottie got away from her insistent palms and headed straight into Donny’s arms. “I’m sorry about today.”

“Stop worrying about it. We’ll take care of each other.”

“You’re one of us, Dot. We got you,” Jeff said, joining the hug too. Gareth and Eddie looked at each other, shrugged once, and joined too.

“Go get your princess dress,” Eddie said, pulling away, not wanting to be clingy in front of her Aunts.

“Call when you get back?” Gareth asked as she walked away. “I wanna know what you got to see if we match!”

“When are you gonna be home?”

“Uhhh, around 8:30 maybe?”

“Gotcha. I’ll call around that time. Have fun, guys!”

“We’re still on for tomorrow, right?” Eddie wondered.

“Of course! Final stretch, Ed, you got this!”

Dottie got into the backseat of her Aunts’ rented car and waved to her friends as they sped away, Pat Benatar’s Invincible filling the air with girlish excitement. Andy fucking Humphrey didn’t matter anymore, not when Mary Elizabeth was singing along to the radio without a single care in the world and Rachel laughed like they were in their 20s again heading down to the beach in her brother’s old Jeep. All that was left, was to find the perfect dress and Dottie could finally convince herself that despite her major fuck up, everything would turn out fine.

They could not, in fact, find the perfect dress. They couldn't find any dress, actually, because if they were the right color, the size was wrong, and if the size was right, then it didn't come in Hellfire colors. Auntie Rachel had announced she was paying for the dress, and Aunt Mary Elizabeth and Uncle Johnny were paying for the shoes. But without the dress, there were no shoes, and without dress and shoes, Dottie couldn't spend the money her Dad had given her on accessories, and every minute that ticked on, she was closer and closer to auditioning for a Playboy centerfold at prom like Gareth had joked about.

Everyone was aware that prom was a sensitive topic for Dottie, and there wasn’t a single reason as to why it was that way. Past bad experiences coupled with the knowledge of yet another milestone she wasn’t sharing with her mother were bound to make anyone’s heart feel tender, so after Rachel noticed the decline in her niece's mood, she declared that they were taking a break from the prom-related shopping and instead let Dottie pick any shop in the immediate commercial area to explore. This wasn't an unusual activity for the girls; they had spent many afternoons browsing weird stores and open air markets, gathering silly little trinkets and handmade goods to bring back to their homes with tired feet and satisfied smiles. Dottie looked around mildly interested and clocked a big thrift shop with what looked like a comfy red couch in the middle of the store to her right, deciding to go in so Mary Elizabeth could rest her swollen ankles for a bit.

The shop was quirky, to say the least. Dottie loved thrift shops, having spent most of her early childhood browsing through rows and rows of clothes picking new tops and bottoms for the school year. Mary Elizabeth knew how to sew, and she'd taught Dottie basic skills like how to hem pants or how to tighten up the waistband on a too-big-skirt - a thrift shop was a treasure trove for creative and resourceful eyes. Rachel was distracted showing Mary Elizabeth baby clothes while the latter rubbed her growing belly on the couch when Dottie saw it. Red glittering chiffon, sweetheart neckline with delicate ruffles at the top and the bottom, and a full skirt that looked straight out of a fairytale.

A few years ago, back in 1982 when she was barely a freshman in high school, Dottie had seen in one of her Auntie Rachel's magazines a picture of one of the prettiest women she had ever laid eyes on. The woman was Lady Diana Spencer, Princess of Wales, and the magazine had run a full issue about her style and fashion choices, calling her an icon and praising her usage of patterns and bold colors. She remembered that in one of the pictures, Lady Diana had been wearing a red Bellville Sassoon dress during a night out at Covent Garden, and that she'd found it so beautiful she'd asked Rachel if she could keep the magazine because she wanted to wear a dress like that one day. That same dress, or one that looked very much like it, was currently staring back at Dottie from the very back of a rack full of poofier and tackier formal dresses.

"Found something you like, bug?" Rachel asked, coming to stand behind her with her hands on her niece's shoulders.

"I think... I think Lady Di is sending me a signal," she muttered breathlessly.

"What?"

Dottie walked up to the rack, almost scared to touch the dress in case it disappeared, but when her fingers buried themselves into fine chiffon, she pulled the dress off the hanger and pressed it to her body in awe.

"It's the dress, Auntie Rach. Remember? The Lady Di Covent Garden gown! With the black cape and silver shoes!"

"I can't say I remember, bug, but you like this one? Do you want to try it on?"

"I can't see a tag," Dottie said, frowning. "I don't know if it's my size."

"Go try it on anyway, we'll find an employee," Mary Elizabeth said, getting excited at the prospect of having found a miracle dress.

It was mere minutes later when both Aunts and an older lady that worked at the store wearing khaki pants and a name tag that said Cynthia heard a soft "holy shit" coming from behind one of the changing booth's curtains. It opened to reveal a dumbfounded Dottie, looking like a princess herself in the floor-length glittery gown.

"How does it fit, sweetie?" asked Cynthia.

"It's... it's perfect? The skirt is a little bit long but everything else is... yeah, it's perfect."

"Never mind the skirt, I can hem that for you in a couple of hours. And it's red, just how you wanted, right?" Mary Elizabeth said.

"Yeah, it's the shade of red I wanted," Dottie said. The dress was the exact same shade of Eddie's tie. "How much is it?"

"I don't think we put a price on this one yet," Cynthia said. "It came in late yesterday and I haven't gotten around to it. This woman came in and dropped three boxes full of stuff on us, said she was moving away and couldn't take everything with her. You’re a really lucky girl!”

“I think I am,” Dottie mumbled, looking at herself in the mirror while she lifted the skirt up to fit her better.

“Okay, how about we go see if there’s anything else you like while Rachel gets this sorted out for you, huh? Maybe we can find some cute shoes to go with it!” said Mary Elizabeth, staring pointedly at Rachel with a clear message: Get her the dress before she can overthink it and convince herself she doesn’t deserve it because the price isn’t right.

With the help of Mary Elizabeth (and Rosie, who was being very active today), a full outfit was put together rather quickly. A gold round sparkly handbag was added to the pile, along with gold kitten heels and a dainty gold necklace with a single white glittery stone. Dottie knew exactly what other pieces from her own jewelry box she was gonna wear: her Mom’s wedding ring and earrings, simple, classy, and meaningful. A way to keep Margaret close on a very special moment. Also on their checkout pile were a handful of baby clothes for Rosie, a Spider-Man backpack for Rachel’s youngest son, a couple of 70s loose dresses for Mary Elizabeth’s growing belly, and a pair of jean shorts and two new shirts for Dottie. She saved a bit of the money James had given her to buy more yarn for the blanket she was knitting for Rose, and after all that shopping, the three girls were hungry and desperately in need of a place to sit down. Rachel pointed to a nearby pub that looked fairly empty, and they made their way towards the building with happy hearts and spirits thoroughly lifted.

While Dottie was on her girls’ day out, Eddie was fidgeting in his theater seat. He knew that he was gonna have to share her with her Aunts all weekend, and he was scared about what they’d think of him constantly invading her personal space. They looked nice enough, and he was aware that Rachel herself was a bit of a freak - she had, after all, seen Rocky Horror live as many times as Dottie herself had -  but there was still some part of him that kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things were going entirely too well for him, and he wasn’t used to that.

During the week, he’d tested out a few more theories he had about Dot and was now more certain than ever that he had an opening with her. It had been rainy and cold on Monday, and he’d slipped the flannel he had tied around his hip on her shoulders before second period began; she’d worn it all day and he’d caught her burrowing into it during lunch while she waited for him to get his tray. On Tuesday, she’d brought Wayne homemade banana bread, and on Thursday, she’d asked Eddie to hang out in their spot at Lover’s Lake for a bit before bringing her home, saying she needed to clear her head. They’d sat side by side with legs dangling off the back of his van, and he’d tried teaching her to skip stones to no success. She’d snorted every time the rock sank into the water, and leaned into him when he stepped behind her and grabbed her hand to guide her through the correct motions. He would have kissed her right there and then, but he was convinced she deserved more than a lousy confession in a deserted clearing in the middle of the woods. So Eddie waited, knowing that graduation was only three Fridays away, and he was gonna sweep her off her feet while they wore their ugly black and green gowns and make her feel like the princess he thought he was.

Truth be told, he shouldn’t have been so worried, not when 45 minutes away Dottie sat in that Indianapolis pub, eyes glued to the small menu in her hands but mind in Hawkins, wondering what Eddie was gonna wear for prom besides the gorgeous tie Chrissy had gifted him. She was comparing pros and cons of him wearing a white or a black shirt when Rachel tapped the top of the laminated paper and brought her attention back to the table.

“Can’t decide?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Dottie said, sheepishly. “Which one do you think is better, the cheeseburger with bacon or the chicken stripes with BBQ sauce?”

“The cheeseburger sounds good. I’m getting the buffalo wings,” Mary Elizabeth said, rubbing her stomach. “Believe it or not, this girlie likes spicy things.”

“She’s gonna run circles around all of us,” Rachel said fondly. “I’m gonna get the Reuben. And a glass of wine.”

“Okay, I’ll go order then. Lemonade?” Dottie asked Mary Elizabeth, getting up to head into the bar area.

“Oooh, please!”

Dottie left her Aunts at the table with their shopping bags, and got in line at the register behind a middle aged man while she glanced around the pub. It was a good size, probably even a bit bigger than The Hideaway where she’d gone to play pool with her Dad and Uncles Rob and Joe while they were in town for her birthday. There was a jukebox near the entrance, and a low small stage to the right with a lone mic and stool. A tired looking young man was putting up a poster advertising the weekend’s shows near the bar area. It was a cozy place, probably a cheap hangout spot for college students to relax at after a long week of studying and working. Behind the bar counter was an attractive young woman with wild, crimped raven hair and bold makeup.

“What can I get for you?”

“Hi! Can I get a cheeseburger with bacon, a Reuben, buffalo wings, two lemonades and a glass of wine? Red, please.”

“Uh, you’re not over 21, are you?”

“No, I’m 18, but it’s not for me. It’s for my Aunt, we’re sitting over there,” Dottie pointed at the two older women.

“Good. I’ll get a server to bring you your order when it’s done. Normally I wouldn’t care about the age thing, but it’s still kinda early, y’know?” the girl said, punching a few buttons on the till. “Gotta wait until the sun goes down to start ignoring IDs.”

“I imagine most college kids around here are grateful for that, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, it gets busy after 8. You don’t go to IUPUI?”

“No, I’m not from Indy. I’m going to Michigan next year.”

“State?”

“UMich. You?”

“Final year at Purdue. Forensic science,” she shrugged. “You look like an English major.”

“That was my second choice, actually. Decided on being an elementary school teacher.”

“Yikes. Good luck with that,” the girl laughed. “I’m the oldest of six so kids… not my jam.”

“I’m an only child so, kids? Totally my jam.”

“Figures. I’m Jessie,” the girl said, putting out her hand for a shake. Her dark apron moved revealing half of a logo on the front of her shirt Dottie would recognize anywhere: Metallica.

“I’m Dottie. I’ve got a question for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Shoot.”

“How do I get a really cool band up on that stage?”

“You in a band, teach?” Jessie grinned.

“No, my friends are. They’ve got a regular gig in our town, I think you might like them.”

“Yeah? What’s their name?”

“Corroded Coffin. They play metal covers mostly, but they’ve got a few originals too.”

“You their manager or something?”

“Maybe,” Dottie smiled. “I know next week’s setlist if that helps convince you.”

“Go for it.”

Dottie began ratting off the list she’d heard them put together on Wednesday, which included Black Sabbath, Mötorhead, Judas Priest, Dio, and the lone Anthrax song Gareth had insisted on for ten minutes before they relented and said yes. She mentioned how they also played Metallica and Iron Maiden regularly, and were known to crank out a Mötley Crüe song or two upon request without admitting that she was the one doing the requesting, much to Eddie’s chagrin. Jessie listened, nodding approvingly with her arms crossed. She had a snake tattooed around her left upper arm peeking out from her black t-shirt, and Dottie thought it might be the coolest tattoo she’d seen in her entire life.

“Okay, teach. I’m convinced. Let me see when we’ve got an opening.”

Jessie grabbed a battered notebook from under the counter and pulled a pen out of her apron, quietly muttering to herself as she flicked pages. Dottie turned to her Aunts who were eyeing her with interest. The Dorothy they knew didn’t talk to strangers, at least not willingly. She hated small talk, only engaging in it if an old lady started it in order to not come across as rude, but had developed the ability to quickly direct the conversation to non-personal topics like the weather or the price of the bag of oranges the old lady was purchasing. Seeing their niece chit chatting like it was something common she did all the time was downright strange, even if it was a welcome sight. How much had living in Hawkins truly changed her? Did it have anything to do with the boys hanging out with her in the school’s parking lot?

“Earliest spot we’ve got is at the end of June,” Jessie said, grimacing.

“Oh, that’s perfect! That’s after graduation, we’re totally free during June.”

“Friday, June 27th is okay then?”

“Absolutely, yes!”

“We can pay $25 per performer and you can have free drinks all night, but we’ll cut you off if anyone gets too drunk. How many are there in the band?” she asked, writing Corroded Coffin under the aforementioned date.

“Just four. Two guitarists, one drummer, one bassist. We have to bring our own equipment, right?”

“Yeah, all that’s on you. Are you all under 21?”

“Yes, lead guitar is the oldest and he’s 20.”

“They’ve got one hour divided into two chunks with a ten minute break in the middle, shows start at 9:30 usually. You’re coming with them? We can pay you after the set’s done, I’ll keep a free table for you guys at the front. You can watch them from there, we don’t have a green room.”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you, Jessie.”

“Here,” Jessie gave her a napkin with the bar’s info. “Call that number if you need to cancel or reschedule. If they tell you I’m not around, ask for Mark, he’s the day shift manager.”

“Okay, I will. See you in a month then! They won’t disappoint you, I promise!”

“I’m counting on it, teach!”

She came back to the table with an unprecedented giddiness, or at least, nothing her Aunts had ever seen in a long time. Dottie explained her conversation with Jessie the night shift manager while they waited for their food, and when it had arrived, her Aunts grilled her for more information about her friends and their band. She explained what each of them did within Corroded Coffin, taking the time to praise them separately for their skills, mentioning Eddie’s recent songwriting knack and Gareth’s future career as a trained percussionist. She told them in confidence that Jeff was thinking of joining a choral ensemble in West Virginia, excited about the prospect of traveling to perform around the States. Her Aunts let her talk as much as she wanted until the sun had gone down, the college students started showing up, and after a quick bathroom visit, it was finally time for them to leave. They were walking back to the car when Dottie spotted a payphone and began rummaging through her backpack.

“Hold on, let me- I gotta make a phone call!” she told her Aunts, speeding away towards the cabin with her coin purse in her hand.

“Do you get the feeling someone exchanged our Dorothy for a new one?” Rachel asked, following her niece at a much slower pace.

“She’s happy here,” Mary Elizabeth simply said.

“Did you ever notice she was that unhappy back in New York? What was going on under our noses? How couldn’t we tell?”

“That doesn’t matter now. Let her have this. She deserves it.”

“Hello, Mrs. Coleman? It’s Dottie!” the teen said into the phone, both Aunts trying to eavesdrop from outside the cabin. “I know Gareth is still at The Hawk, but could you tell him to come to my house as soon as he arrives? Everything’s okay, I just have good news I want to share with him. Yes, thank you! And could you please tell him to bring the guys around too? I think I’ll be home at around 9 probably, so- okay. Okay, thank you! Sorry to have bothered you at this hour, have a good night!”

“Your friends are coming over?” Rachel asked when she hung up.

“Yeah,” Dottie grinned, and for a brief second, they could have sworn it wasn’t her but Margaret the one who was smiling at them.

A girl’s road trip was never complete without gossiping, and Rachel was showing an incredible amount of restraint when she waited until they had passed the "Leaving Indianapolis - Come Again Soon" sign to lower the radio's volume; Mary Elizabeth looked at her with confusion in her eyes when Madonna’s Angel was cut short halfway into the song.

"So. We've got 45 minutes until we’re back in Hawkins. Gonna tell us what's going on with that Gareth kid or what?"

"Rachel!" Mary Elizabeth chastised.

"There's literally nothing going on. I don't know why you're even asking."

"You called last week to tell me all about the little sleepover you two had and you expect me to not be curious? You’ve been talking about him all day, bug."

"As you know, because I told you about it, we worked on a science project during that sleepover, which we got an A+ on. That's it, I don't see him like that," Dottie said. "Besides, we'd kill each other if we decided to date. He made me see The Exorcist last weekend, I would have murdered him if I didn’t fear prison."

"Hey, that's a good movie!" Mary Elizabeth said, and Rachel looked at her like she was insane. "What? Okay, yes, it's disturbing, but it's a good movie. It's well done."

"You worry me sometimes," Rachel told her before looking at Dottie through the rearview mirror. "You two had a movie night and he picked a horror flick?"

"It wasn't just us. Everyone else was there too, it was Eddie's birthday."

"Aw, that sounds fun. Did you have a good time?" Mary Elizabeth asked, turning in her seat to watch her niece's face.

"Yeah! I mean, the movie sucked and I think I had a panic attack for two hours straight, but we had ice cream later and saw Rocky Horror. That part was good,” she had a wistful look on her face as she looked out the window, remembering Eddie’s birthday.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Actually, everything's been really nice," Dottie laughed. "I just… I didn't know having friends was supposed to make you feel this good."

"Oh, baby," Mary Elizabeth reached out to grab her hand. "You really love those boys, don't you?"

"I do. And I really think they love me too. I don't feel lonely anymore when I’m with them."

"That's good, baby. I'm so happy for you. We were so scared after what happened last year, that awful girl was just-"

"It doesn't matter anymore,” Dottie shook her head. “I don't want to talk about that."

"So nothing's going on?" Rachel asked, but this time her tone was much more soft. “With any of them?”

"They are my friends. Best ones I've ever had," Dottie smiled. “I’d tell you if something was happening with Gareth, but there’s nothing there. I promise.”

“If you say so, bug,” Rachel said. “Johnny was once Mary Elizabeth’s best friend too, you know.”

“Oh, drop it, you nosy old lady,” Mary Elizabeth poked her.

“Who are you calling old?! We’re the same age, flower power!”

During the short trip back to Hawkins, somewhere between being grilled about one of her best friends and Rachel missing the correct exit, Dottie had dozed off in the back of the car while Sade’s Smooth Operator played in the background. Mary Elizabeth had taken off her sandals and propped her feet up on the dashboard, looking out at the quaint little houses and quiet downtown area, wondering if Rosie would like growing up in a place like this instead in the busy city she was so fond of. Rachel pulled into Dottie’s street and saw a familiar old van parked outside her home, four boys hanging out in the front lawn and James leaning onto the front door frame, all engaged in friendly conversation.

“Baby?” Mary Elizabeth called, rousing Dottie. “Your friends are here.”

Dottie opened her eyes, expression caught between drowsiness and excitement when they parked outside the house, all five men turning to look at them when they got out.

“Shopping went well, I see,” James smiled, looking at their bags dangling from their arms.

“Told you to leave it to us, Jamie-boy,” Rachel said, coming to hug her old friend.

“Everything okay?” Gareth asked, anxious. “My Mom didn’t tell me what was going on, just that you called from Indy.”

“Everything’s fine, something really cool happened and I didn’t want to wait until Monday to tell you about it,” Dottie yawned, locking arms with him and Donny. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you.”

The boys walked in behind her towards the living room where she motioned for them to sit. The adults headed towards the kitchen for a nightcap, keeping an eye and an ear on the kids. James had no idea what was going on, but Rachel had simply shaken her head when he lifted his eyebrow in inquiry and pointed at the teens. Mary Elizabeth busied herself making coffee for her two friends and tea for herself, smiling in anticipation.

“Okay, so. We went to this pub to get dinner,” Dottie began, taking the napkin Jessie had given her out of her pocket and giving it to Jeff. “It’s a really cool place, not too big, but I really liked it and the food was great.”

“What did you have?”

“Cheeseburger with bacon. They cut their own fries and leave the skin on them.”

“Sick,” Jeff nodded.

“I was thinking we should all go together soon. Maybe on Friday, June 27th.”

“Why?” said Gareth suspiciously. “What’s happening on Friday, June 27th?”

“There’s this awesome band that’s gonna play there. You might have heard of it, it’s called Corroded Coffin.”

The room was filled with an awkward silence for a few seconds while they processed what they just heard before all of them erupted in questions and screams at the same time. Dottie laughed, and held up her palms trying to contain the situation, but the cat was out of the bag and she was all too happy to share all the details with her friends.

“You got us a gig?” Donny asked, coming up to her in disbelief.

“I got you a gig!” she confirmed, and Gareth began hollering. “You’ve got an hour-long set, divided in two chunks. Drinks are free the whole night but you can’t drunk, and they’re gonna pay you guys $25 each-”

“They are paying us?!” Jeff asked while Gareth shook him. “They never pay us at The Hideout!”

“You’re the fucking best!” Donny declared, lifting Dottie up and swinging her in the air, making her laugh.

“That’s so cool,” James said in the kitchen, browsing his pantry for sugar to add to his coffee. “I’m happy for them, they are good kids.”

Rachel and Mary Elizabeth didn’t reply; they were locked onto the scene in front of them. When Donny put Dottie down, Jeff and Gareth immediately came to hug her too, each on one side. They all began talking at the same time, shouting songs they wanted to include in the set, things they needed to do before the big day arrived, planning how they were gonna go, who was gonna drive, how much money they needed to pool to pay for the gas. None of that was as interesting as what happened when it was Eddie’s turn to hug their niece.

He was so quiet as he came up to her, it almost looked like he was choking back tears. Without words exchanged, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her towards his chest where she instantly tucked her head into, her own hands ghosting upwards from his waist to the middle of his back where she clung to his shirt. This wasn’t an excited, celebratory hug. This was so much more, and yet none of the boys paid them any attention, like this was common enough for it to not be something to look at anymore. Eddie’s hand came up to cradle her head, and they pulled away for a few seconds, staring into each other’s eyes with matching elated smiles pulling at the corners of their mouths. For a single heartbeat, Dottie’s Aunts thought Eddie was going to pull her into a kiss but his lips collided with her forehead instead and stayed there like it was their rightful place. Dottie exhaled, melting into the rugged boy’s arms, their eyes closed, both of them savoring the moment. His hand moved from the back of her head to the side of her jaw, foreheads coming together and they saw her hand wrap around his wrist before the boy mouthed a quiet “thank you”.

Like nothing had happened, they unentangled themselves from each other and joined the festivities, him excitedly patting Donny’s back before they embraced with boyish roughness, her plopping onto the same armchair Jeff was sitting on to help brainstorm the setlist. Rachel turned to Mary Elizabeth only to find her friend already staring at her.

“Oh,” Mary Elizabeth said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Oh, indeed,” said Rachel, and they both silently agreed to not speak of it in front of James until they’d gotten their chance to debrief later that night.

taglist (comment below or shoot me a dm if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean

[sharkface-daydreams]

alrighty, AU time. some of these are partially posted. some are partially written. some of them will never see the light of day and/or are only half formed ideas shaped by delirious whimsy. but i think they're fun.

tagging @autisdicksimmons bc this is your fault (affectionate)

Thread Gulch Chronicles - the 4th wall touching cross stitch au. still haven't decided if i want to do anything related to framing

Andy the bomb but turn him into a ship ai and give him a crush on a dirty little shisno au - partially posted as of rn but the guy who works on this isn't out very much so it's in limbo kinda

Tripartite "villains in love" au (i know the name is stupid, bite me) - all take place in the same universe. stassney lives and ends up Stockholm syndromed with Felix who he rescues from dying at the bottom of the tower, locus realizes Doyle's romantic notions of soldiers are actually what's correct and either they fuck off together and Doyle fakes his death or locus surrenders idk haven't decided, and sharkface and price say fuck all this shit and fuck off into the aether for a happy ever after. there's some bits posted as the Unfettered [WIP snips] on ao3

Afterburner - Hargrove recovers Sigma and Sigma is given to sharkface to assist in killing freelancers (underdeveloped, that's literally all i have written lmao)

Double Triple - the triplets and the trio trying to make the best of their ice planet abandonment with hijinks and nonsense and dwindling supplies

Foxtrot Echoes - the honeypot au: version 1 contains no actual York ai but it's completely contrived and hinges on sharkface being a good enough actor to fool Carolina, wash and epsilon in order to get closer enough to kill them. bro fails step 1 tho and falls for Carolina and has to come clean thereby destroying the whole reason he'd confessed. angst!!! version 2 contains actual York ai but he's an early attempt by freelancer to acquire another ai so he's not technically a smart ai but he's still an ai and his and shark's psyches bleed into each other a bit

Heartstrings au - I only have Gravity posted bc tbr the rest of this is completely self indulgent Locington schmoop but I'm always a sucker for a good betrayal plotline

Shark mechanic au! the feds n news scoop up a fishy enemy and as they need all hands on deck he helps them as a mechanic and bonds a bit with the ducklings

modern band au - shark in a band with wash, south, pills and sleeves, all sorts of drama. not very well developed but lots of Sharklina angst

Xmas sharcus bit - this might get written eventually. modern au where the mercs gang gathers at Locus' for the holiday and during an argument with Felix, shark breaks an ornament that's really important to his bf locus… then works really hard to fix it but it's like glass u know so it's a huge pita. idk. Christmas schmoop, i was miserable on antivirals when i did this lol

the Sharklix "get worse together" enemies who fuck to kinda friends who fuck and also get revenge together au. unlikely to be posted, it's a little too self indulgent lol

games of the heart - au where Sharkface realizes he can't beat the freelancers physically so he suckers wash into falling for him so he can turn around and shred his heart to pieces. underdeveloped, self indulgent

get your kicks - the long haul trucker/greasy spoon waiter lolix au featuring unhappily married locus and licherally dying of boredom working for tips along the desert freeway Felix (thanks Ross for the line i took and ran with 💖) also the road is route 66 and modeled after the old route 66 on earth for novelty reasons

Lazarus - locus does his good guy shtick and returns often to help a sangheili colony and winds up with an alien baby. someone activates a temple of regeneration on chorus, and now alive Felix goes hunting for revenge. parts of this posted in scribbles n bits but it's not a full thing in the first place

the Locnut farm family rivalry au with donut and his two moms next door to locus and his two dads who are in a Midwestern rivalry but the two of them are getting along much too well

MaceFace! Mason and Sharkface run into each other at physical therapy and get chummy and eventually set out together for revenge since Lolix and the freelancers are both on Chorus

The Outriders AU - an enormous crossover undertaking with characters in the Outriders game universe… this will probably never be done but i got great plans for it. the mercs and a few others get freaky superpowers, there's an epic quest for info to secure survival, and Dr Church is trying to reverse engineer the superpowers unethically and causing problems so what else is new

MetaNut meet-cute/horny au where donut doesn't get shot bc Meta gets attached and also yanks donut over the cliff with him during the fight but they both survive and work their way back up to civilization while everyone else assumes them dead. plural meta au ✌️ also they have a little cottage with a garden and bees

the "no-PFL" SharkPrice AU where Price is hired at the same Charon building untoasted Sharkface is working security for and also Price and Dr Church are bitter exes and Church thinks Price is cradle-robbing when he sees them together

red Team Shark AU where Boose and Shark are friends and bond over losing your friends

Tear The Throat - also known as the SharKey AU (the one that comic is about) where Sharkface gets the key because he grabs it and tosses it to Felix not knowing it bonds to one person. This is a Chorus-loses AU bc they can just turn the key on the purge and call it a day and cash in.

WashFace au where Wash and Terrence were together before whatever shit happened that got Wash almost court martialed and sent to PFL, and Wash doesn't shoot when Sharkface makes his little "as long as I'm alive" speech bc he recognizes him when he takes off his helmet. and shark is like wtf you're supposed to be DEAD and gdi he can't kill wash now this is fucking unfair

extremely underdeveloped Dragon Age au with Sharkface as an apostate fire mage but like that's literally all there is to it lmao … shape shifter with dragon form could be fucking cool tho

fucking hell i forgot the Yurch au, that shit just started sprawling. yellow church gets stuck in cabooses head after church's time travel shenanigans in s3? and then yoinked out into a spare Android body and now there's a new guy on Blue team but he's church but he's not. blue church gets sent to rats nest with the others instead of isolated and they rescue all the fragments. EL/NOD AU. this is also what i made my freelancer OCS for but only Rhode island is actually in the story until they get to chorus. few variations on that one

[amber-lucca44]

Album tier list (top 25 favorite artists) ❤️

S ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

(These are all my favorites!)

Casually Dressed & Deep In Conversation

Cry Baby

Dear Love: A Beautiful Discord

Disgusting

From Under The Cork Tree

K-12

On Frail Wings Of Wax And Vanity

Reach

Speak Now

Stand Up And Scream

Steady Damage

Take This To Your Grave

They're Only Chasing Safety

Too Bad You're Beautiful

We Stitch These Wounds

A ⭐⭐⭐⭐

(Not quite my favorites, but almost!)

1989

Abandon Your Friends

The Act

Aggressive

All We Know Is Falling

All We Know Of Heaven, All We Need Of Hell

The Black

Black Veil Brides

Brand New Eyes

Broken Frames

The Changing Of Times

Christ Illusion

Confessions

DAMN.

Define The Great Line

Disease

Downtown Battle Mountain

The Downward Spiral

Dying Is Your Latest Fashion

Erase Me

Escape The Fate

evermore

Eyes Set To Kill

Fearless

The Fiction We Live

Folie Á Deux

folklore

Freak Machine

God Hates Us All

Good Kid, m.A.A.d City

Hesitation Marks

Hours

I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love

If There Is Light, It Will Find You

Infamous

Infinity On High

Let It Enfold You

Masks

Midnights

Mongrel

Mothership

Nuclear. Sad. Nuclear

Plagues

Put On Your Rosey Red Glasses

Reckless & Relentless

Red

Reign In Blood

RIOT!

Set The World On Fire

Still Searching

Suicide Season

That's The Spirit

This War Is Ours

Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge

To Pimp A Butterfly

Ungrateful

Use Me

White Lotus

White Noise

Wild Gods

With Roots Above And Branches Below

With Teeth

B ⭐⭐⭐

(I like them, just not as much as others)

After Laughter

Afterburner

Artificial Selection

Asking Alexandria

The Black Parade

Color Decay

Conduit

Count Your Blessings

Creatures

Dance Gavin Dance

Diabolus In Musica

Disguise

Downtown Battle Mountain II

The Emptiness

The Fragile

From Death To Destiny

Graveyard Shift

Hurt Me

Life Is Not A Waiting Room

Memory And Humanity

Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers

Ø (Disambiguation)

The Phantom Tomorrow

A Place Where The Sun Is Silent

Portals

Post Human: Survival Horror

Reincarnate

Repentless

Reputation

Scoring The End Of The World

Seasons In The Abyss

See What's On The Inside

So Much (For) Stardust

Tales Don't Tell Themselves

There Is A Hell, Believe Me I've Seen It. There Is A Heaven, Let's Keep It A Secret

Vale

Welcome Home Armaggedon

Where Myth Fades To Legend

The World Outside

World Painted Blood

Year Zero

C ⭐⭐

(Definitely not my faves / Haven't paid much attention to them)

8:18

Acceptance Speech

Act Of Depression

amo

Bad Witch

Below

Chapter And Verse

Chemical Warfare

Cries Of The Past

Danger Days: The True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys

Dead Throne

Divine Intervention

The Fire

Ghosts V: Together

Ghosts VI: Locusts

Happiness

Hell Awaits

Hell Is In Your Head

Holding A Wolf By The Ears

I Am Human

Instant Gratification

Jackpot Juicer

Like A House On Fire

Lost In The Sound Of Separation

Lover

M A N I A

Paramore

Pretty Hate Machine

Pull The Thorns From Your Heart

Renacer

Save Rock And Roll

Section.80

Sempiternal

Show No Mercy

The Slip

South Of Heaven

Taylor Swift

This Is Why

Transit Blues

Voyeurist

Worse Than Alone

Wretched And Divine: The Story Of The Wild Ones

D ⭐

(Don't really like)

American Beauty / American Psycho

Ghosts I-IV

Undisputed Attitude

[b4rredteeth]

TASK #2

PESOR SAMIR

I : THE LOVERS' MASK

A TALE CALLED THE MOON'S ANGUISH THAT HAS CIRCULATED ANCHORAGE FOR THE PAST SEVERAL DECADES HAS PROMPTED SOME YOUNG LOVERS TO EXCHANGE MASKS AS A PROMISE OF DEVOTION. WHAT DESIGN WOULD MUSE THEORETICALLY THINK FITS THEM ( LOOK BACK TO REVENGE OF KRAMPUS FOR REFERENCE, #ANCHORTASK01 ON OUR SERVER ) ?

This

SOME MIGHT CONSIDER THEM LEADING A DOUBLE LIFE IF THEY KNEW ABOUT ... 

Why Pesor’s mother took them away and why they are on the run. 

WHAT WOULD BE THEIR OWN DEAL BREAKER IN A RELATIONSHIP ? 

Distrust. Pesor would never lie.

WOULD THEY DIE FOR LOVE OR KILL FOR MONEY ?

Die for love, never kill for money or for any other reason. But to save a loved-one, they wouldn’t think twice, though they’d rather die than take a life. 

THEY ONLY HAVE ENOUGH CHANGE FOR ONE CALL AT THE PHONEBOOTH, & SOMEONE WITH GLARING RED EYES & A SPATULA IS STANDING ACROSS THE STREET. WHO WILL THEY CALL ?

They’d try to call their mom. 

II : THE ZEIGEIST OF THE '90S

THEIR FAVORITE SLASHER FILM IS ( IF APPLICABLE ) …

None, they don’t like slashers.

IN THEIR FREE TIME, THEY ENJOY GOING OUT AND ... 

Talking to people at random. 

A FASHION FAD OF THE TIMES THEY ADORE THAT THEIR FRIENDS WOULD DESPISE IS …

Fashion? Ha. Pesor just wears what's cheapest, not necessarily what they want to wear.

HOW OFTEN DO THEY ORDER DELIVERY FROM PEPPY'S PIZZERIA ? HAVE THEY EVER SEEN THE WALLS OOZE GREEN SLIME IN THE PIZZERIA OR THE ANIMATRONICS MOVE ON THEIR OWN DURING THEIR TIME IN ANCHORAGE ?

Once, but Pesor didn’t notice the walls ooze.

WHEN THEY BELIEVED IN CHRISTMAS, WERE THEY TOLD KRAMPUS WOULD PAY THEM A VISIT FOR BEING ON THE NAUGHTY LIST ? ( WRITE N/A IF NOT APPLICABLE TO THEIR RELIGION OR LIFESTYLE )

N/A

WHAT TALL TALE OR SUPERSTITION WERE THEY TOLD AS A CHILD THAT STILL GIVES THEM THE HEEBIE JEEBIES ?

Pesor was always told by their mom that places where people didn’t want to go existed because it housed harmful spirits. If they saw an empty dark alley or an abandoned building, she’d tell them to stay away. If they ever felt a cold rush in their bones when entering a quiet place, she’d tell them those were the good spirits warning them to turn back. 

III : THE CURSE OF THE SPIDER

ARE THERE FAMILY SECRETS OR SO-CALLED CURSES THAT HAUNT THEM ? ONES THAT ARE KNOWN PUBLICLY OR FOLLOW THEM FIGURATIVELY ?

Aside from their mother, Pesor doesn’t know any other family they have, and is thus unaware of any curses. 

WHICH OF THE SEVEN SINS WOULD CORRUPT THEIR MORALS ?

Sloth.

THE WORLD REMAINS THE SAME FOR DECADES NOW. IS IGNORANCE BLISS ? OR IS THERE THE SHAKY SENSE SOMETHING IS AMISS THAT CAN'T BE IGNORED ? 

Ignorance is bliss.

DREAMS ARE OFTEN INFLUENCED BY THE SUBCONSCIOUS & SOMETIMES DISTORTED. IN THEIR DEEPEST, DARKEST NIGHTMARES, HOW DO THEY VIEW THEMSELVES ?

As a useless and scared boy who nobody can count on, who is lost and abandoned, and will only disappoint. 

IV : THE CROOKED FRAME

WHAT IS THEIR DEATH WISH ? MIROIRS ONLY ( BASTARDS GANG INCLUDED ) : THE PERFECT CRIME WAS CONSTRUCTED & SOMEONE ELSE TOOK THEIR PLACE. HOW DID THEY ORIGINALLY DIE ?

To die surrounded by loved ones. 

MUSE COULDN'T BE THE ONE BEHIND THE TUNNEL OF LOVE OUTAGE BECAUSE WHEN THE POWER WENT OUT, THEY WERE ... 

On their way home, soon to become lost.

WHAT WOULD THEY CONSIDER THEIR CALLING CARD ( I.E. WHAT SYMBOLS, PERSONAL MEMENTOS, ETC. DO THEY PERCEIVE AS REPRESENTATIVE OF THEMSELVES ) ? 

Their backpack, it looks small but it’s of great design with many pockets and possibilities to hang things from, it was expensive, but it has been with them for years, worn but still capable of being stitched together. They have several pins on it and patches where they had to stitch it back together. 

THOSE WITH INTERMEDIATE TECHNICAL SKILLS HAVE USED CRACKS & VPNS TO IMPROVE THE INTERNET CONNECTION, BUT ANYTHING POST-DATING THE 1990S IS ONLY ACCESSIBLE THROUGH THE DARK WEB. HAS MUSE EVER ACCESSED THE DARK WEB ? HAVE THEY USED IT FOR ANY NEFARIOUS MEANS OR TO PURCHASE SERVICES ?

No.

[amphibifish]

Dude if youve got norse facts (like actual yknow not shows or whatever but yknow historical myth as we know it) to share,

S P I L L T H E B E A N S 🔫

HELLOOO I DO HAVE PLENTY !!!!! i'm not sure exactly what you're looking for so i'm gonna try and do some general ones but i do consider myself most knowledgeable on the vanir + loki (but mostly the vanir, and heimdallr). these are just a few facts because trying to create a post with all of norse mythology knowledge would be. A Lot. , so please lmk if you want some more ! (+ i saw your other ask, so some iðunn bragi facts soon ! i just omitted them from this ask for that one >_•)

- one of the depictions we have of loki is the snaptun stone ! it's a carving on a hearthstone that seems to lend to the idea loki has some sort of connection to fire without being an actual fire deity. the stitches on the mouth also connect him to the myth in which he retrieves several treasures for the gods yet loses a bet which results in his mouth being sewn. he also has a cool moustache in that one.

- freyja and frigg are often synchronized due to their many similarities, such as being said to have falcon cloaks, both practicing seiðr, and both having traveling husbands with incredibly similar names, odr and odin (+ more probably but i just woke up like 5 mins ago so forgive me lol) whether they are actually the same deity is a debate

- while freyr has gullinbursti, freyja has a less famous boar named hlidisvini, who's actually the mortal man ottar, who iirc is one of freyja's lovers.

- iirc one of only old norse poems we have narrated by an elf is völundarkviða, a story about volundr the smith. in it, he is enslaved by a king then escapes and enacts revenge.

- heimdallr's moms is a debated topic as well (many things are in this field to be honest LOL) as while one theory believes that heimdallr's mothers are the nine waves, daughters of ægir and rán, voluspa en skamma vaguely alludes to him and lists the name of his mothers, though they do not match the names of the waves. the one thing linking the two sets of nine mothers is that within each of them, they are all sisters, so they both follow that portion of what we know of heimdallr's mothers at least !

[loversys-x3]

There's something so intimate about exploring each other's scars. There's always some kind of story to tell. There's always a time and place to take a moment and show it the care it deserves. Fresh scars that haven't quite healed? Bust out the medical kit and the finest bandages. Whisper delicate words of affirmation of how strong your love has been. Old scars that have sealed and left a mark? Perfect enough to kiss and carefully trace over.

[watchmegetobsessed]

MONSTER

A/N: this is my first ever frank fic and i just had to write something about him after spending the past few days watching daredevil and the punisher... now i expect about zero engagement on this but i just HAD TO write it and it feels nice to post it😩

PAIRING: Frank Castle X Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

SUMMARY: Frank shows up at your place again but this time you'll not let him belittle your feelings for him.

MASTERLIST

Frank doesn’t even wince when you start stitching the wound above his left eyebrow, just stares down at his bloody hands. Dirty gauze and tissues are littered across the floor of your tiny bathroom and you start to think you might need to paint the tiles red so his blood that ends up on it quite often doesn’t stand out that much.

He hasn’t said a word other than a raspy “hello sweetheart” when he showed up at your window on your fire escape about twenty minutes ago. You weren’t even surprised to see the wanted man again, in fact, you’ve been dreading to have him back in your home, though you wish it was under different circumstances.

The pain he is trying to hide from you and all the secrets he is carrying are weighing down on the both of you without being said out loud and it’s got wrapped around your throat, threatening to suffocate you if you don’t break it somehow.

“I think this is my prettiest work so far. I watched some tutorials, you know?”

The sound of your voice is like medicine to him, he needs no painkillers if he can just hear you talk without an end, about anything and everything.

“You did?” he asks, the tiniest of smile hiding in the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah. There are great YouTube videos on how to stitch a big bulky guy who keeps showing up at your doorstep every other week because he is seeking revenge on the bad guys in the city.”

You say it light and easy and it’s meant to be a joke, Frank knows that, but he can’t ignore the terror that’s under it all. What he does, how he lives, it will always haunt him no matter what.

“That’s pretty specific,” he mumbles as you finish with the stitches and grab a wet cloth to clean his face from the blood. It doesn’t even faze you at this point, the crimson color has become part of your everydays just like Frank did. You prefer one over the other but you also understand that they come hand in hand.

He’s got such a pretty face under all that blood and the scary frown that seems to be permanently graved into his expression. Every time you see it you don’t know if you want to kiss it or punch him for being so reckless and hot headed.

“Do you want to take a shower?” you offer and he just nods quietly. “I’ll get you a towel.”

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

You swallow your bitter feelings and thoughts back as you grab the trash from the floor and make your way out of the bathroom. Throwing it all away you grab him a clean towel and a shirt with a pair of pants for him from the stuff your brother left there so he doesn’t have to put his bloody and ruined clothes back on.

When you return you find him leant onto the sink, the water running as he is staring at his reflection in the mirror, his shirt gone and his pants are unbuttoned. His body is covered in bruises and scars, some of them were stitched by you, his past is written all over him, but it flies over your head the moment you see the pain in his eyes as he looks at himself.

He is the biggest judge over himself, that you know well enough. There are people who want him dead, who despise him and want him to suffer for what he did, not even bothering to look behind his actions and see the people he killed as the real devils they were, threats to society.

Placing the towel and the clothes to the closed lid of the toilet you step closer to him and he clears his throat as he pushes himself away from the sink.

“Frank, don’t do this to yourself,” you ask him softly, your fingers tingling with the urge to touch him, to feel his hot skin under your palm.

“Do what, Sweetheart?” he asks, pretending to be oblivious.

“Treat yourself as a monster.”

“But I am a monster,” his answer comes quick as his eyes snap at you. Any sane person would be terrified to be facing this man, but not you. You don’t have an ounce of fear in you when it comes to Frank, except for his safety.

“No, you’re not. Not to me,” you tell him and you truly mean your words.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shakes his head, turning away from you to get the water running in the shower, but you reach for his hand and pull him back, making him face you again.

You’re standing almost toe to toe, if you drew a deep breath your chest would be pressed against his and you wonder what it would feel like to have yourself pushed up against him naked, your skin on his skin, no barriers, no morals, just the two of you, hidden away from the rest of the world.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about. I know what you did, what you do, I know who you are and yet…” Your voice dies down and your breathing becomes shaky as your emotions take over you, tears filling your eyes with anger and sadness and so much love for this man who thinks he deserves none.

Frank thinks he is not worthy of love, let alone yours. He is having a hard time believing that such a special creature like you could feel anything for him except disgust. He’s been fighting with himself to stay away from you for your sake, but he just can’t. He ends up crawling back to you every time, no matter how much his conscience is screaming at him that you’re better off without him.

And seeing you so broken and upset hurts way more than any punch he’s gotten.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I’m not worth your tears, I—“

“Would you just stop?” you gasp, your chest heaving and your outburst surprises him. “Stop putting yourself down and stop telling me how I should feel and think of you! It’s not your place to decide! I get to feel however I want to and you have to accept that, because it’s not gonna change! No matter how many times you tell me I need to forget about you!”

Frank stands there, watching you load out everything you’ve been carrying on your chest, drinking up your words. You run a hand through your messy hair before wiping your salty tears off of your heated cheeks.

“It’s insane that you tell me not to care about you and don’t let you affect my life, but yet you keep coming back to me too! How do you expect me to forget about you when you always come back? And I’m not saying this to make you stop coming. I don’t want that. I want you here, with me and I think that’s also what you want, you just keep pushing me away thinking that’s the best for me, but it’s not! I want to be with you because I love you and I need you to let me!”

Frank can’t believe you said those words. He could feel them hanging in the air every time he came back to you, but he never thought you’d even tell him. But now that you did, he knows there’s no going back.

Reaching up he cups your face in his palm, his harsh, calloused skin feels so strange yet comforting against your softness. You’re everything he thought he would never have, but now he can see the smallest light in the dark ditch he’s been feeling himself trapped in.

You melt into his touch and push yourself closer to him, your hand coming up to his waist and he lets out a soft groan feeling your palms on his skin. He rests his forehead against yours, fighting one last battle with himself before allowing himself to fall into something that could get him killed in the worst way possible, but he would be glad to go knowing he had you.

When he finally makes his mind up he finally lets his walls down and his lips find yours. A tiny gasp emits from your mouth when you realize what he just did, but you’re quick to kiss him back and show him just how much love you have for him. He is sweet and tender, full of unsaid promises, the most important one is to protect you at all cost. Your hands move up his chest and cup the back of his head as his arms wrap tight around you. For the time being, there are no threats, no one is trying to kill him and you’re not worried about him, you’re wrapped up in a cocoon that keeps you invisible and untouchable, it’s just you and him, nothing else.

He pulls back slowly, pecking your lips softly a few more times before leaning back to look at you. He can see you glowing and the smile that slowly stretches across your face is worth anything to him.

“Alright… take that shower, you’re stinky,” you chuckle and it makes him laugh too.

“Not holding back on me, right, Sweetheart?” he smirks as he finally starts the water.

“Never,” you smile before leaving him alone in the bathroom.

You lie in bed as you listen to the running water on the other side of the wall. Frank doesn’t take too long in there and when he walks into your bedroom he smells like your strawberry shower gel. He doesn’t think twice before getting into bed with you, pulling the covers over the both of you before he pulls you into his arms and you gladly melt into his embrace.

There are so many unsaid things, but they are outside of the bedroom door, waiting to be talked about at another time, maybe in the morning, maybe later, but not now.

Now is for the comfort of the love you share for each other.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs softly, kissing your forehead. “I promise I’ll be here in the morning.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[hwalovs]

A Smuggler and A Jedi 5/?

CHAPTER FIVE: SHU TORUN

Pairing; Luke Skywalker, Reader Warning; we love a slow-burn, more kind of fluff/kind of angst. Off screen stuff that gets mentioned. more denial of feeling. miscommunication. still no kiss- you’ll get one i promise.  Word Count; 10.2k

ONE  TWO  THREE  FOUR  SIX

Summary; Queen Trios of Shu-Torun’s betrayal allowed the evil Galactic Empire to launch a surprise attack against the Rebel Alliance’s fleet, scattering the rebels and nearly crushing their heroic cause once and for all. Princess Leia Organa, Jedi-in-training Luke Skywalker, and smuggling duo (Y/n) (L/n) and Han Solo narrowly escaped the assault and reunited with the Alliance thanks to the aid of new allies. Now, Leia has a score to settle with the Empire- and with Queen Trios...

THIS IS NOT EDITED

oh my god?? the last comic-centered chapter?? we’re almost to the endgame now kids, and I CANNOT wait for this to pick up with the remaining chapters. Sorry for the long wait on this one! I had a busy July and August, but hopefully I’m back on my monthly post update :>> also this is probably one of the hardest to write for me. Empire Strikes Back here we gOoOooOo

While Meorti continued to fix the minor problems still present on the Falcon’s outer shell, Leia dragged your group into the main hold with furrowed eyebrows and stern eyes. Her hair was kept in a bun at the top of her head, but two smaller braids hung down from it. She wore a tight grey jumpsuit, a hood stitched into the top with her holster snuggly secured to her waist and upper hip.

You sat on the curved couch, legs thrown over Hans’ lap while picking slowly at the skin around your nails. Han had perched his legs on top of the game console, slowly pressing the tips of his fingers together while looking at Leia with raised eyebrows and thinned lips. Chewie separated you and Han from the others. Luke, who was sitting on the other edge of the couch, a tan jacket zipped up fully while his leg bounced. The two droids, never being apart from one another recently, were talking animatedly to each other. 

In front of Leia was a bright red hologram of a planet. You’d made a whisper to Han about how it looked like a vegetable, but he could only spare a small, tight-lipped smile.

“This is Shu-Torun. It’s one of the primary Imperial resource sites in the whole galaxy,” she gestures to the red planet, “I think we can take it all down.”

Chewie barks out a response, and Luke shuffles in his seat, rolling his shoulders. 

“It’s about time, after everything Queen Trios is responsible for.”

R2 spins his head, a series of whistles and beeps following, “what Artoo?” Threepio asks, “‘I never trusted her?’ this is a little late in the day to disown her, you-”

“This is a strategic attack! This is about hurting Imperial production. This is us seizing an opportunity that Trios didn’t realize she was giving us,” Leia’s glaring at the two droids, sighing as she looks back over the group once more, calming herself. 

You smirk, rubbing your forehead, “and giving some much-needed payback for destroying most of the fleet, right?”

“This isn’t a revenge mission,” she emphasizes, “Or, not just a revenge mission.”

She raises her hands in surrender, rubbing her cheeks before turning back to the hologram, “At Mako-ta, when we sliced her ship’s computer, we gained access to much more than they realized. I have the full plans of Shu-Torun’s infrastructure. It’s a strange, intricate and fascinating system by which they colonized an entire hostile world-”

“Like those weird hill bugs on Kashyyyk,” Han jokes, elbowing your side. 

“But it is also uniquely vulnerable It only takes a little push in the right place, and the whole system will come crashing down.”

“But safely?” Luke says, raising his hand with furrowed eyebrows. Leia doesn’t say anything, and Han slowly pushes your legs off of his lap, leaning to place his elbows on his knees.

“Kid’s got a point,” he smiles back at Leia. “Hey, princess, you haven’t gone full Darth Vader on us, have ya?”    

She just waves her hand, rubbing at her eyes gently, “It’s not that kind of disaster. The population won't be hurt. Its perfect, we just need a handful of the right people.”

Luke stands from his place on the sofa, stretching his arms up to expose a small sliver of his stomach. “Great,” he says, “when can we begin?”

Leia frowns, shaking her head lightly, “No. I said we need the right people, a few more hands, and a couple of specialists.”

“Like who,” Han strains, resting his elbows on his knees. Turning back to the hologram, Leia points, “First, we need a shape-changer.”

Groaning, you let your head fall back, “Oh great.”

Han slaps your knee, pushing himself up from the couch, “what did Tunga say he was going to do next?”

Gralack was one of the outer planets you would rather not go back to if it was your choice. It was dark and most of the alleyways were slimy and the worst creatures lurked in the bars and clubs. 

Being a dark and slimy planet, it was easy to land the Falcon and sneak into the back of a theatre. Since the show was going on, almost nobody was backstage. Crates and large bins of costumes and props littered the area, doors leading into changing rooms. You can faintly hear the show, Han walking closer to the side stage to watch what was going on. 

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbles, hands placed on his hips. Walking to his side, you have to slap a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. 

It was a show about you guys. Humans dressed as Mon Calamari, and the others dressed as your group. You could pick out Tunga, though. Since it looked like Luke was the actor on stage. 

“Oh, Luc Swordswinger!” an actor cries. You can’t help yourself, you let your laughter bubble past as you slap Han’s shoulder, hiding your face in his shirt. Tunga didn’t even have a lightsaber, it was a long light that illuminated a bright blue. 

“Luc Swordswinger?” Han chuckles, watching the show play out. 

You didn’t know where the others were, and when glancing back, you can see Luke and Leia peeking into other, empty, dressing rooms. 

Han suddenly grabs your arm, pushing you towards stacked crates while whisper shouting to the others, waving his hands frantically. 

“Troops are here! Hide!” is all he manages to say. Screams erupted in the main showroom, and background actors rushed to the back and out the only available door outside.

Luke, with furrowed eyebrows and worried eyes, tries to make his way over to you, but Leia grabs his arm to hide behind another stack of crates. You don’t look his way, but you can feel his eyes on you. 

Tunga and the other actors run backstage, hiding behind anything that would conceal their bodies. Tunga, having dropped the visual of your Luke, rushes past and almost falls when sharply turning to hide.

“Everyone down on the floor,” a trooper yells, “you’re under arrest-”

You don't see it, but Leia tries to grab Luke’s arm as he stands, grabbing his saber from his belt and standing in the trooper’s way. Peering around the crate, you can count multiple beginning to the crowd.

“Back off and leave them alone.”

The main trooper, sighing as he relaxes his shoulders, steps closer to him, “C’mon, Tunga. We get it. You’re a famous actor, but you’re not going to intimidate us with a prop.”

Luke’s shoulders tense, and he frowns, igniting his lightsaber and immediately cutting down the group. 

Standing, you grip your blaster and stand by his side, hearing the troopers from outside yelling to each other, “so,” you hum, sideglancing at the blonde, “you couldn’t play along?”

Scoffing, he rolls his shoulders, more troopers coming into view, “you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would, yeah!” You scoff, shooting a trooper, “it won't kill you to relax for a second!”

He slices through another trooper, pushing him away with his boot, “we were relaxing for a whole month on that maker-forsaken planet, doing absolutely nothing!”

“Luke! (Y/n)! Let's go!” Leia yells, waving the both of you to the hallway that leads outside. Tunga waits for you, a smile on his face, “Your timing is as perfect as always, how did you find me?”

Leia pulls her hood back on, gesturing to the large poster on the wall, “You advertised the show.”

Han was leading the group, reading over the poster with squinted eyes. Lukes's hand pressed lightly to your lower back, and you fight the urge to slap him away.

“Luc Swordswinger? Really?”

Tunga only shrugs, “My agent recommended the name changes for tedious reasons involving contracts.”

“But Ham Nogo?!” Han stands, hand on his hip as he glares at the clawdite. Laughing, you push past Han to read over the name, slapping his back, “oh that's amazing!”

“Names are never my strong suit. And he’s a classically trained actor!” Tunga tries to defend himself, but its heard by deaf ears.

“It’s not like yours is any better,”: Han hisses, elbowing your side, “I mean come on-”

“We don’t have time for this,” Leia yells, grabbing Tunga’s arm to drag him towards the alley, “Tunga, we need your talents.”

Passing by the others, you’re still snickering with Han about the names and even the storyline of the play. While Leia explained a bit of the mission, you continued to tease Han, and he continued to elbow your side and try to defend his honor. 

“To be honest, there are fewer credits in the rebel-hailing entertainment market than I was hoping,” Tunga sighs, “a new role a long way away from here, is most appealing.”

It would've been an understatement to say Chewie didn’t take the news of not being in the play well. He had his fuzzy paws wrapped around Tunga’s throat, lifting him a foot above the ground, shaking him violently. He was yelling, voice animated as he continued to shake the Clawdite. 

“I’m sorry!” He cries, gripping Chewie’s fur, “There were simply too many parts! Someone had to be cut! And you never really felt like a speaking role, I-”

Wincing, you lay back on the couch, briefly covering your eyes when Chewie throws the other to the ground, throwing his hands up to yell more.

Han tries to step in, holding his hands in surrender, “Hey, look on the bright side, Chewie. If I’m Ham Nogo, you don't want to know what he’d have done to you.”

“Yeah, Chewie,” you speak up, smiling at the Wookiee, “mine was horrendous, you wouldn’t wanna be in the play anyways- it would taint your image.”

“Oh, (Y/n)!” Tunga cries from his spot on the floor, “you don’t mean that! My story was crafted with the utmost care and love!”

You wave him off, going back to picking at the skin around your nails, “uh-huh, sure Tunga.”

“So,” Han draws in a breath, “we have our shape-changer. Next stop?”

He drops down into his seat in front of the engineering station, spinning the chair around. Leia rubs her arms, crossing them as she leans against the hull, “normal rebel troops won’t be enough. We need people used to fighting in a hell world.”

Groaning, you let your head fall back, “But that planet is worse than Tatooine!”

Luke falls down onto the couch next to you, far enough away from you, crossing his arms, “so, back to Jedha.”

You hated Jedha more than you hated Tatooine. The planet always seemed to be in a dust storm and paired with constant lightning strikes, it made getting around extremely difficult. Instead of going with Han and Luke to the Temple on the other side of the planet, you went with Leia. 

With your hood up as far as it could go, a cloak covering your chest and draping down your shoulders and back, you stood with your arms crossed, waiting for Benthic to arrive back from dealing with the remnants of the Empire. 

“I hate this planet,” you grumble, squinting your eyes to try and keep the sharp sand out, but it failed. 

She gives you a sympathetic smile, tilting her head, “its only for a while, you’ll survive.”

“Of course, I’ll survive,” you rub the sand from your cheeks, “doesn’t make staying here less terrible.”

Thankfully, Tognath was one of the languages you had learned through your years, working closely with a fellow smuggler for a year or two. It made listening in on Tognath conversations easy, grabbing information about a top-secret job or a product drop-off location.

“I thought we would have seen the last of the great rebel princess and her smuggler counterpart,” Benthic hisses, voice pitched higher and more robotic. You shivered when seeing him again, the insectoid-mammalian mix kind of freaked you out. There was a faint hiss when he breathed, and the metal weapons lined across his back and sides clanged against each other when he shifted. 

“I presume you have more to ask of us.”

Leia pushed her hood off, turning to look him over for a moment, standing beside you closely, “Yes, I need the partisans elsewhere.”

Benthic tilts his head, beady eyes flickering over the others before settling on you for a moment, his breathing slow and steady, and his eyes flicker back to Leia. 

“Our work is not yet finished. The Imperials still defile Jedha.”

More sand billows around, and you scrunch your face to avoid getting it into your eyes and nose.

“From what I understand, the Imperials are making a few last speculative mining missions.”

His hand extends towards her, head tilting, “After what they did to Jedha? So many dead? They can’t have this world.”

Scoffing, you push off your hood, “So its ego, then? Here I thought the partisans were the practical ones, not the romantics.”

Benthic’s hand moves to his belt, sliding a thick knife from one of its holsters, “Insulting us, also not practical.”

Leia’s eyebrows pinch, glaring at him while lightly grabbing your wrist.

“You stay here, and you deny the Emporer trinkets. You come with me, and you deny them the riches of a whole world.”

There's a pause, the knife slowly lowering until he slides it back into its holder, humming as he nods his head. “You make a compelling argument, we will prepare to evacuate.” He glances behind you both for a moment, “where are your other companions?”

Leia sighs, “Luke, had other business here.”

“Han’s joining him.”

Benthic doesn't say anything, only looks between you both before turning to begin evacuation. You finally let your chest settle, shaking out your hands while walking back out of the small camp they made in a ravine. Leia follows closely, her hand brushing yours until you both have to pull your hoods back up, stopping just before the ongoing storm. 

“Trinkets and the whole world, eh?” You ask, glancing at Leia. She sighs, shoulders tensing slightly.

“What else should I have said?” her voice was low, just breaking over the thunder, “I persuaded them, that’s what matters.”

You both continue to wait in silence, occasionally brushing off the sand from your cheeks or from your eyes or lips. You can already feel it embedding under your nails, slipping up under your tunic and pants and into your shoes. 

Finally, you suck in a breath and cross your arms, “I’m sorry about what happened on Hubin,” you clear your throat, shifting your feet, “with Han and everything.”

“I should’ve told you guys about the transmission and the planning, so its my fault too,” she smiles softly, leaning over to bump your shoulder, “I’m also sorry about Luke.”

Your heart pangs, but you brush it off. 

“He was happy with her, she seemed to be happy too.”

“But you weren't happy, were you? Me and Han- whatever we were doing. And they,” she pauses, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows, “I’ve never seen you so quiet.”

“I was fine,” you pan, “Luke can be with whoever he wants.”

She steps closer, sighing, “but were you happy?”

You let your silence be the answer. Your throat hurts, your tongue pushing your cheek while looking into the sky to find the Falcon flying closer. You wanted to leave, you wanted to go back to Home One to relax before going to Shu-Torun.

Back on Home One, you sit on top of a crate of supplies waiting to be put into the Falcons storage bays. Meorti continued to work on the outer hull, testing wires and reworking some that didn’t work. 

Luke kicked at a small piece of broken metal, crossing his arms, “I wish Sana didn’t have to make that run to the other side of the rim, but this is a great team. We’ve got nearly everyone we need.”

Leia settles her hands on her hips, “nearly isn’t good enough. We need a slicer. A good slicer.”

“I’m going to pretend to not be offended,” you tease, glaring over at her.

Scoffing, Han slaps your knee lightly, “the last time you tried to slice something, you overheated the entire system ad caused a lockdown.”

“Does anyone have any ideas?” Leia asks, rubbing her forehead.”

“That's always hard,” Meorti cuts in, talking over her shoulder. “At least half of them are criminals, and half the ones left are ex-criminals. I think there was a good one of the geist. People ask me why I got into engineering, and I tell them stories about slicers, they are awful people,” she rants, continuing her work on more wiring. Leia smiles, turning around to face the other woman. 

“Meorti,” she hums, “are you a slicer?”

Meorti shrugs, turning in her spot, “well, I used to be. I kept up with the field and,” she catches herself ranting again, “why do you ask?”

“So, you’re finishing up with the Falcon. Looking for a new assignment?”

“What do you have in mind?”

You almost fall off the crates when jumping off to follow after Leia, who grabbed Meortis's hand and dragged her inside of the ship. You manage to push past the partisans and sit next to Tunga, who was sitting on the curved couch. Han stands beside you, and Luke next to him. 

“This is not what I had in mind,” Meorti groans softly, standing between two partisans.

“Thanks, everyone, for joining us. I’m sorry about the secrecy, but its necessary. The rebellion has had patchy security recently,” Leia says, gathering everyone's attention. 

“Together, we’re going to take down Shu-Torun.”

Benthic moves to stand in front of his group, humming, “hmm. The world of the queen who betrayed the rebellion. “ He reaches back down to grab his knife once more, spinning it in his grip, “The queen with blood on her hands. The queen who must be made an example of,” he moves to stand beside Leia, gesturing to her with the tip of his blade. 

“I see why you came to us partisans.”

Leia is quick to correct him, “No, Benthic. This isn’t about that. Yes, that Trios will be deposed is an advantage. But this isn't about punishment. This is an economic strike. This is showing we’re better than them. And no one who doesn’t deserve it is going to be hurt.”

 You keep trying to tell yourself that the flight to Shu-Torun isn’t hot or unbearable when sitting next to Tunga, across from Benthic and Luke. When the Flacon finally touches down, you’re the first to exit out off the ramp, breathing in the hot, humid, air. Leia and Luke aren’t far behind, Han pulling in the rear as he grumbles under his breath about how hot the planet was.

“How’s anyone supposed to live here?” you ask, “let alone thrive.”

Leia shrugs, pulling up her hood as she stands on the edge of a drop-off. Peeking over the side, you feel weak in the knees at the sheer drop down to the ocean of lava. Up ahead, stood the spike you were supposed to infiltrate and take down. Around it, jagged rocks and lava fall made it seem like an evil lair. Bright orange lightning crackled between the building and the stones, the ground under your feet vibrating lightly. 

The heat and humidity were one thing, but the wind made it all worse. Ash and tiny rocks smacked your cheeks with the wind, your eyes watering. You wondered how the queen found this place appealing, was it perhaps the river of lava? Or the black, molten, rock you were standing on?

“It’s almost incomprehensible,” Leia says, in awe of the building. Ash sticks to her gray suit, and you refrain from reaching out to brush it off. 

“We’re going to take down that, and Shu-Torun with it.”

Kissing your teeth, you narrow your eyes at her, watching her tense shoulders and tight-lipped look. 

“Don’t say you’re getting cold feet already.”

Han grabs your wrist lightly, pulling you back towards the Falcon. Meorti stands by the ramp, squinting to protect her eyes from the wind. 

“It’s not too late to back out and do something less suicidal instead,” Han says, letting go of your wrist as you board the ship once more. 

“Suicidal?!” Meorti squeaks, eyebrows furrowing. Luke shrugs his shoulders, downplaying it all. “It’s not. Han just likes to be dramatic. It's a good plan.” 

You turn your head towards Luke, smirking, “a good plan can be suicidal too, you know.”

He only raises his eyebrows, leaning in close, “I’m trying to lighten the mood-”

“Sometimes, moods don’t need to be lightened.”

He huffs, moving around you to go deeper in the Falcon. Benthic waited by the ramp, leaning against a side wall with one of his blades in hand. 

“Death is a small thing,” he hums, the pads of his fingers lightly touching the metal. Tunga looked star-eyed, almost like he was about to start drooling, “Oh my! All this posturing!”

Leia pushes down her hood once the ramp begins to close, squeezing past you and Han. 

“I thought I was a great actor, but you, my tube-faced friend, are incredible.”

You shake your head, “here we go.”

“The spike runs through the core of the planet. It fuels all the energy shields. They keep an area habitable, then are repositioned when they need to exploit another area, like dams on a water world.” Leia places her hands on her hips, shrugging her tense shoulders as she looks around the main hold. “If we knew exactly which engines to blow up, the energies would tear themselves apart. If we do it right, victory will come with an absolute minimum of casualties. But we’d need the plans to know that.”

Han raises an arm, letting R2 roll forwards, already displaying the inner workings of the spike, “and would you look at that!” he muses, faux surprise lacing his voice, “plans!”

Leia ignores him, standing close to the plans to point out specific parts, “We hit our targets and no more spike. No more spike? No more energy shields. They run on its storage reservoir. One by one its systems fail, with plenty of time to evacuate.”

With her eyebrows scrunched, she turns back and glances over the small crowd of people, “Shu-Torun turns from one of the marvels of the galaxy into a standard mining world.”

“Even I know the spike’s one of the most heavily defended places imaginable.” Tunga crosses his arms, sternly looking at Leia. “The energy shields alone are one thing, but I daresay it has quite the number of aggressive fellows with blaster guns.”

“Oh my,” Threepio sighs, looking down at R2, and then to you, “I was so happy with my limbs all back as well. I knew it couldn’t last long.”

You finally let yourself begin to relax, slowly piecing together what the full plan is and how you’ll make it out alive once more. 

“I won’t lie, it won’t be easy.” You look back up at Leia, already seeing her smiling softly, “We’re not going to be fighting all of them. The problem with Shu-Torun is that it has a top-down system of government and is highly technological. This wonderful infrastructure is controlled from on high-”

Luke can see the confusion written on everyone's faces the more Leia speaks, so he huffs, standing beside her, “You remember at Mako-ta when they locked down all our ships? If we can get access to the master security controls, we can do the same for them. Every single door we don’t want open will be sealed.”

“The path is so obvious, why are we still sitting here?”

Benthic spoke like he was the only one understanding everything Leia was saying. Sometimes, you wanted to smack Benthic, but the multiple holsters of guns and knives stopped you. 

“The controls are in the Imperial retreat. Only Queen Trios can activate them. We have the access codes in the data we stole from her ship, but there's an eye scan.”

“Why does this keep getting more and more intricate?” You grumble, leaning against Han as you rub your eyes. He laughs softly, lightly patting your head, “too many big words for you?”

Slapping his shoulder, you send him a glare, “no, you womp-rat. I just want to get this over with, the more time we waste, the more time is shredded off my life.”

“Surly we can’t just kidnap her? She’s a Queen. People tend to be somewhat protective of their heads of state, in my experience.” Tunga points at himself, “admittedly, my experience is more marital than martial, but I'm sure the point remains-”

“She’s holding a party for the ore dukes tonight,” Leia shouts. “We kidnap an ore duke, impersonate him and use it as an excuse to get close enough to Trios to get a good scan of her eye.”

“So let me get this straight,” Meorti rubs her forehead, “We go right into the heart of her stronghold, at risk of being discovered at any moment, just to get a scan of her eye.”

“Then, before they realize, we go to this other stronghold, get in, and I use all the above to slice their systems and lock down this whole society? And Finally, before they manage to break out, we go and infiltrate the enormous spike system and blow it up according to a bunch of stolen plans?”

“Sounds like a death wish when you put it like that,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

Leia chuckles nervously, squinting her eyes slightly, “uh, yes? Though we’ll have two teams. We’ll go to the retreat. Luke, (Y/n), and Benthic will go to the Spike.”

At the mention of your name, you listen back in and catch the very end of what she was saying, your shoulders tensing at the thought of being alone with Luke and Benthic. Han tries to conceal his humor, his shoulder jolting with laughter at the thought.

“Shut up,” you hiss, roughly jabbing your elbow in his side. He yelps lightly but doesn't drop his teasing smile.  

“I see no problem with the plan,” Benthic muses, standing at Meorti’s side, “do you have a problem, engineer?”

Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn’t step away, “no, I guess. So how are we going to capture an ore duke?” She nods her head over her shoulder, “is it something to do with that speeder in the hold?”

Leia finally smiles, “It does. In fact, we need to be on our way if we want to make the drop on an Ore Duke. Han, Threepio, Tunga, you, and I will be going in the speeder while the rest of you stay back and wait for our signal on the jump to the spike.”

“I can’t just leave the Falcon!” Han whines, standing from the couch while positioning his hands on his hips. He may have been complaining, but he was following the others into the back of the ship towards the speeder. 

“I’ll take good care of her, Han!” You tease, laughing at the glare he tosses over his shoulder. Chewie walks to stand beside you, ruffling your hair to get your attention as the others begin the undocking process. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you hum, following Chewie back into the cockpit, taking a seat in Hans’ chair. It was in better condition than Chewie’s, but the leather was still cracking and worn, faded from the constant brush of his hands and clothes. 

“Are you fit to fly?” Benthic hums from the doorway, hands gripping his belt. You scoff, flicking switches and monitoring the statistics coming from the main drive. 

“I know a lot more than you think, Benthic.”

“I find a lack of enthusiasm in your tone, do you not want to participate in this mission?”

You turn your head, giving him a forced smile. Chewie does the same, your heads almost touching in the middle, “and I find your lack of minding your own business quite disturbing, Benthic. Why don’t you go and study the plans more, eh? “

Not hearing a reply, only the fading sounds of boots, you let your shoulders relax and turn your focus back onto the control panel, making sure the coms were on, and that the deflector shields were working properly. 

When you double-check everything was ready for the departure to the Spike, you lean back in Han’s chair and close your eyes. Chewie was growling and huffing under his breath, and you could slowly piece together some words. You were getting better, but still nowhere near Han when it came to understanding Chewie. 

“Chewie, can you make sure they don't break anything? Han will have my head if he finds so much as a dent,” you mumble, hearing him stand from his chair. He departs but makes sure to ruffle your hair. When you’re alone in the cock pit, you finally let your body slouch into the seat. Watching the large spike across the lava ocean, ash and pebbles hitting the windshield. 

The speeder left a little while ago, and now it was just a waiting game for when they would contact you about any updates. You just hoped they were safe, the last thing you needed was a bloody and bruised Han whining all day. 

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” Luke muses. He gives a lopsided smile while sitting in Chewie's chair, and you almost jump out of your skin. 

“I don’t think I’d be of use out there, you’re better around others,” you reply, sitting back up. Clearing your throat, you try and look at anything but him. The radar was clear, and so was the surrounding perimeter. 

“That’s not true,” he chuckles, “you’re always saving deals with Han and I can barely haggle down the price of anything.”

You chuckle, remembering the flustered look Luke wore as he continued to try and haggle for the first time. Cheeks red and eyebrows furrowed in frustration. 

“Well,” you tilt your head, “smuggling is different than normal haggling, Blondie.”

  It was nice talking to Luke like this again, it was so easy to tease him. You let your eyebrows relax, and your shoulders relax while in his presence again. If you tried hard enough, you can ignore the thought of the Partisans and Chewie walking in. 

“I haven’t heard that in a while.”

“What, blondie?” 

“Yeah,” he hums, turning his head to smile softly, “I haven’t heard that since before Hubin.”

Just like that, he had to go and remind you of the worst two months you’ve had in a long time. You clear your throat, shift in your seat, and scoff. 

“I just haven’t found a reason to, yeah?” You don't look at him, but you can imagine the hurt look in his eyes. His head turns back to the control panel, and his lips thin as he nods. 

“We have a job to do, and I’d rather not talk about that.”

You thank the Maker when Chewie comes back in, he looks between you both before gesturing for Luke to move from his seat. He sits back down, glancing over the controls before leaning back and closing his eyes. 

It felt like the air had gotten thick and heavy after you and Luke spoke. Your throat hurt from thinking about the secluded planet you were trapped on. Sure, it brought Han and Leia together, but all it did for you and Luke was drive a stake in your tight-knit relationship. You refused to talk about it, scared of tears that might cloud your vision. What would Han think of you after you spill your guts about your feelings towards the Jedi? 

“Chewie?” Leia’s voice cracks over the intercom, “We’re heading to the abyssal rooms, we’ll get Trios’ data, and then get to the castle to slice. Ready?”

You knew that Luke would never leave the cockpit when Leia started talking, he leaned in between you and Chewie, blonde hair almost reaching his lashes. 

“We’re ready when you are.”

“Just make sure none of Benthic’s guys mess with the Flacon and- oh, just look after her,” Han insisted. 

“Don’t worry Han, nothing will happen to your baby,” you joke, smiling lightly. 

The com went silent after that, and you shifted in your seat at the lack of response on his end. Han is either really nervous, or really really nervous about leaving the Falcon with a bunch of Partisans in the main hold. 

When your shoulders finally started to relax, and your head resting against the seat with your eyes closed, you actually almost began to doze off. You blame it on Chewie, his presence is always the best on the Falcon when it comes to these kinds of missions. 

“Luke, (Y/n), we’ve got everything we need for the slice, are you ready to storm the Spike and set the explosives when we take control?” Leia’s voice chimed in over the com. You sit back up, groaning softly as you start up the Falcon once more. The engine rumbles under your feet, and you can hear the hissing of the vents and different systems. 

“Just launching now,” you grip the joystick, rolling your shoulders, “we’ll wait on your signal.”

“Benthic,” Luke stated, turning to look at the spying hunter, who was hunched against the doorway.

“Get the rest of the Partisans ready for deployment, we’ll be going in fast.”

Chuckling, you flip more switches, the Falcon beginning to ascend, “fast doesn't really do my flying justice.”

Chewie barks, the com making jerking noises until Han’s stern voice cuts in once more, “Just take good care of the Falcon. Don’t let any of those fanatics do something dumb with her-” Chewie has to interrupt him to stop him from saying anything else more incriminating with the Partisans, “What do you mean Benthic’s there? Now he’ll- Is he still there?” He didn’t wait for Chewie to respond, “Benthic! I was joking! Joking!”

You steer the Falcon away from the ledge, beginning to speed towards the Spike, “Relax you bantha! The biggest worry for the Falcon? You not getting the shields down in time.”

With the Falcon ready for acceleration, you make sure to settle your heart rate, they would get it done in time. They always do. Staring down the Spike, you can faintly see the glow of its shield, and internally, you note to get yourself a Port In a Storm when this is all over. 

Benthic and Luke sit in the seats behind yours, waiting for the signal. 

“(Y/n), we’ve done it. You can make your run.”

“Understood,” you jerk your head over your shoulder, keeping your eyes ahead, “you guys might wanna hold on.”

You can just imagine Luke’s confusion as you accelerate the Falcon, your body jerking back into your seat. Chewie barks and growls, but you only throw him a smile as the ship continues to gain in speed. 

“At last.” Benthic hums, unfazed, “I want to make it look just like Jedha.”

Laughing sarcastically, you narrow your eyes, “at least wait until we’re off the Spike, yeah? I have no plans on joining the afterlife.”

“Let’s see if Leia’s opened up access,” Luke interjects, leaning in-between you and Chewie. 

As the shield comes closer, you’re internally freaking out. Your palms are slick against the leather joystick, and your knees can’t stop from bouncing.

When you make contact with the light blue wall, it doesn't stop the Falcon, but opens to allow you through. The Spike is gigantic when you’re so close, and you wonder how long it’ll actually take you to rig it up with the explosives. Benthic and Luke both get up from their seats, leaving the cockpit in rushed footsteps as you set the Falcon down gently on one of the small docking bays that clung to the side of the Spike. 

Shutting down the Falcon, you stand from the seat and ensure your blaster is still holstered securely to your side, your few knifes still strapped to your calves and thigh. Chewie waited for you in the doorway, crossbow in hand. Nodding, you follow him out and onto the tarmac. Luke lead the group, saber hilt in hand as R2 followed him closely. The partisans followed Benthic, who was following you and Chewie.

Grumbling, Chewie jogs beside Luke, who chuckles once, “Yeah, its strange. We land on a hostel base, and we expect everything to be exploding and them charging us.”

“The other times they knew we were coming, did they not?” You interject, standing beside Luke as you approach the hanger door. Light purple lights boarder the metal, and Luke ignited his lightsaber, talking softly down at his droid. 

“This time we have control of everything. Artoo? When you’re ready.”

As R2 begins disarming the doors, you grab your blaster, checking the rounds and making sure it was working properly. You can feel Lukes’ eyes on you, and when you look at him, you try not to stare at the way the light blue glow of his saber made his eyes twinkle. 

He licks his lips, looking nervous, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” you smile, raising an eyebrow,” couldn’t let you boys have all the fun, right?”

R2 whistles, cutting Luke off from saying anything else, rolling away from the doors to let Chewie and Luke stand in front. The doors hiss open, and Chewie roars, already charging in at the unexpecting guards. Charging in, you rush to the nearest guard, smashing the hilt of your blaster into their neck, right between the plates of their armor. Her goes down with a yelp, and you shoot his leg to ensure he couldn’t follow. 

It wasn’t long before each guard was down, some groaning and others lying still. Luke stands by the closed inner door, R2 at his side.

“We’re finished here. Secure the prisoners and-”

Benthic doesn’t hesitate when he kills the remaining guards, standing tall over them as he shoots them.

“Benthic!” You shout, glaring at him. He doesn’t look at you, but continues surveying the small tunnel, “You asked the partisans to join you. Do not be surprised when they act like Partisans.”

“And besides, we cannot risk leaving anyone to our rear.”

“You-”

“Just don't push it,” Luke interjects, shaking his head lightly at you, “we have all the advantages here.”

Benthic finally turns around to look at the blonde, and when he does, Luke stands a little taller, “Only we can open doors, we make our way to each of the cores, blow them up and bring the Spike down,” he points to the doors R2 was disarming, “this way!”

Placing a hand on Benthic’s shoulder, Luke tilts his head slightly, “all we have to do is stick together.”

You want to stand next to Chewie, waiting for Luke to join your small group instead of talking to Benthic. 

Luke finally turn back when the doors slide open, standing in-between you and Chewie.

“Chewie, get back to the ship and keep contact with the princess,” he says, giving the Wookiee a soft smile when he begins whining. 

“You’re the only one Han really trusts, Chewie,” you pipe up, shrugging your shoulders. Luke smiles softly, waiting until Chewie walks out, albeit grumbling the whole way, to start walking. 

“You think Han doesn’t trust you?” He asks, glancing back at the Partisans. Shaking your head, you wave your hand, “last time I was left in charge of the Falcon alone, I ditched him on a planet for a few days before coming back with a new paint job.”

The hallway was short when coming up to the first core, the light sound of talking guards on the other side. Your blaster was heavy in your hand, but it was one you were familiar with when shifting it around. With your back pressed up against the wall, you wait for R2 to open the doors. Your blaster wasn’t set to stun, which made it somewhat better to aim for you. 

Benthic was at your side, Luke on the other side of the doorway. The partisan was going over his daggers and blasters, mechanical breathing making your shoulders tense. 

When the doors open, you crouch when rushing into the room. It took a moment for the guards to notice your group, but when they did, shouting commands spread quickly while blaster bolts began raining your way. You throw yourself up against one of the storage tanks, peeking around and taking shots when you can. Once or twice, a bolt whizzed right past your head, almost burning off your hair. 

“Be careful!” Luke shouts, running past you to make his way towards Benthic, who was reloading his blaster. 

“Says you!”

Finally making it to Benthic, breathing heavily as you look between the two, you groan at the glint in the blondes eye. 

“You’re going to rush them, aren’t you?”

“We were waiting for your assistance of cover,” Benthic responds, looking over his shoulder. 

“Ready?”

Luke breathes a chuckle, rolling his shoulders, “not really, Benthic. But that never seems to matter.”

Lending cover fire was easier with a Partisan at your side, he was a great shot, not missing any of his targets as he shoots down the guards closest to Luke. 

Luke, always one to accidentally show off, was spinning his ignited lightsaber as he shot down a guard, jumping over the control panel, and then the last one went down, and it was silent.

“If this is how its going to be for every room, I regret not going with Chewie,” you grumble, holstering your blaster and standing beside R2, who had rolled in casually when there was no more blaster fire.

“Room clear. Set it to explode, Artoo.”

The others were already leaving the room to head to the other core, but you stayed back with Luke and R2.

Whistling, R2 hooks up to the core, his head spinning back and forth. 

Luke scoffs, leaning his weight onto one foot, “that’s right, now! Let’s go!”

When R2 was finished, you all had to run out before you were blown up with the core. Then came the others, with four cores down, you only had one more before the mission from your end was completed. 

“Okay,” Luke said breathlessly, running beside you, “that’s four down, one more to go and we can get back to the Falcon.”

He shifts his head to look at R2, “still no contact?” whistling and beeping in return. 

“They might have their hands full, Luke. Give them time.”

“I wouldn’t expect any,” Benthic chimes, “We’re just too deep. We’re on our own.”

His other men were paused in the final doorway, eyes flickering from you, to Luke, to Benthic. One man lowered his gaze when you narrowed your eyes, and a thick feeling began to bubble in your chest. 

“Then let’s make this quick and get back!”

Much like the other rooms, the guards weren’t aware of your presence, being overtaken in little to no time. Just to be sure, you kicked away their blasters, tapping their helmets with the tip of your shoe while wincing.

“Room secure!” You call back, hearing R2 chime before entering the room. Turning, you go to the doorway, ready to make your escape back to the safety of the Falcon. Benthic stood by the main control panel, his rifle still in hand. 

“Last charge to set, then out.” Luke pointed over his shoulder, “Artoo? Get to work.”

“And i thought Han was mean to droids,” you lean against the doorway, tilting your head at the blonde who only shrugs his shoulders. 

“If you could understand him, you would be a little mean too.”

“I’m good, gives me a reason to not listen too much.”

You can see the beginning of a smile, but it falls when the core begins to brighten. The once quiet humming grew louder, the machine seeming to work overtime.

“Benthic? We’re supposed to blow it up,” you holler, pushing away from the door frame. Luke fully turns, his hand gripping his blaster as he strides towards the group, “what are you doing?”

“It is none of your concern.”

Luke scoffs, “It is. Artoo, stop. No more.”

“You have fought alongside the Partisans. You know what we are.”

You can see the other’s stepping closer to Benthic, and it makes you step closer to Luke. Tensions were rising, and you were cautious when taking a breath.

“We do not hurt our enemies when we can kill them. If we do this, we won’t just hurt the Imperial bookkeepers’ ledgers. We can tear this world apart. We can make it Jedha’s twin.” His laugh is mechanical, “Just, is it not?”

“No. it’s not just. Its not fair.”

Benthic sighs, raising a finger, “we disagree.”

The other Partisans raise their blasters, some pointed at you, others at Luke. You knew that you couldn’t go against them, so you raised your hands, mirroring Luke. 

“I see,” he tsk’s. Face relaxed as he raises his hands in surrender. He glances at you, eyes soft, before looking down at R2. 

“Artoo. I guess we have no other choice, right?”

You almost laugh, you’ve had enough of these two. He was beginning to sound like Han, always having a trick up his sleeve to get out of a tight spot. 

With a trill, R2 opens six canisters and begins dispensing thick white smoke. It spreads immediately, and Luke grabs your hand while diving out of the line of fire. He doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re racing down the halls, dodging blaster fire with R2 on your trail. 

“They’ve gone crazy,” you say, ducking your head when a bullet flies over your head. Luke huffs, turning sharply down a different hallway. 

“You’re telling me?!”

“I knew this was a bad idea! Nobody listens to me!”

“Now’s not the time for this!” Luke frowns, “there has to be a way to stop them.”

“If they’re on such a schedule, why don't we give them every second we can.”

“Good idea,” Luke breathes, smirking lightly as he holsters his blaster and unsheathes his saber, igniting the blue blade. When you get through one of the blast doors, he all but throws you in while slicing the control panel, the large doors closing with a crash behind you. 

“This will slow them down.”

“For now,” you grumble, trying to catch your breath. “I didn’t come here to fight Rebels, Artoo, but we only came here to destroy this machine, not the whole planet!” He looks down at his droid, saber clutched in his hand while he runs a hand through his hair, “but if we keep you out of Benthic’s hands, they can’t blow up the whole world.”

The metal door jolts, multiple pairs of feet underneath. “Well, slow down isn’t stop.”

Luke steps towards you, grabbing your hand to drag you closer to R2, “you two hide, I’ll lead them away-”

“What? Hide? Are you crazy?”

“You have to stay safe!”

“And so do you! Artoo can hide, I’m coming with you.”

R2 whistles as he rolls into a small opening within the wall, and the door begins rising with a groan. Luke glares, grumbling under his breath, but doesn’t stop you from following after him as he runs down the hallway. 

“After them!”

You took not one, but two turns before you came to a dead end. The partisans were on your tail, and there was no where else for you to go. Turning, you aim your blaster, but that wouldn’t last the long. And Luke had his saber, but you were heavily out numbered. 

“No way through,” Luke grumbled, stepping closer. 

“So, it will be this. Slicing down fellow Rebels in a fight you can’t win? What are you, Luke?”

“What are you, Benthic? Capturing us doesn’t make a difference anyway, you need Artoo.”

“Bring them.”

The core was no longer overheating, back to its original color now that R2 wasn’t controlling it. The room still had the fallen guards, weapons still kicked away. The barrel of a blaster was digging into your back, and you tried not to turn around and snatch the blaster away. 

“Broadcast me.”

Benthic steps off to the side, resting his hands on his hips. You’re forced towards the core, standing beside Luke.

“Yes, Benthic, channel open.”

“Droid! You can hear this. You come here, or we kill your master.”

“He’s not going to listen to you,” you comment, Benthic only moves his head slightly in your direction. 

“He’s a stubborn little thing, doesn’t listen at all-”

There he was., the little droid, stubborn R2-D2 unit that made your life a living hell when accompanied by Threepio. He was rolling into the room, quickly, on his own mission to save Luke. 

“Seems you’re wrong, smuggler. Overload the system, droid.”

Luke is just as surprised as you, “No! My life doesn’t matter compared to this! I order you-” but he’s already rolling past, not even acknowledging him. Luke walking along side him, but gets stopped by a Partisan. This time, he sounds desperate, “please, Artoo- you don’t have to do this, you-”

R2 hooks back up to the core, the machine beginning to overheat slowly. 

“Benthic! Stop! You’re going to kill everyone on this planet!”

Luke was right. If the core was overheated, it would drive the planet down the middle. Effectively destroying anything and everyone on its surface. 

“Yes. Including us. Anything to ensure this Hellish planet dies.”

“You’re insane!” You yell, ready to charge at him, but another grabs your arm. You try to push back, but you feel the barrel digging into your back again. 

“Set perimeter, they’ll come now. We must be willing to defend the dream. And tie those two up. They’re proving a distraction.”

The barrel is removed from your back, and you refrain from struggling too much as they wrap a cord around your wrists and elbows, connecting that to your waist so there was no way to move your arms. 

As the core continued overheating, it began lighting up with electricity. Large bolts crawled up the side as the core ran to its limit. Stormtroopers began to flood into the room, and for once you were hoping they would be able to aim and take down the Partisans. Maybe they would set you free in time to escape the meltdown. But it was unlikely. 

“I’d never thought I’d be hoping stormtroopers would beat the rebels,” Luke says softly, watching the onslaught from beside you. Chuckling, you let your head fall back against the control panel, “I never thought I would die next to a stubborn droid and a blonde Jedi-in-training.”

“We’re not going to die here.”

“Face the facts Luke, Benthic isn’t going to crack under our pressure, he barely trusts you, let alone a smuggler like me.”

For once, you were envious of Luke’s determination at making it out of dire situations.

“Just let me think-”

“At least you got to kiss a pretty lady before you die, I never got that-”

“Stop talking like that!” he hisses, narrowing his eyes. With pink cheeks, he shakes his head, “I’m not going to let either of us die here.”

“If you say so, blondie.”

“Benthic! You can’t do this-”

Towering over the pair of you, Benthic watches the core struggle to keep going, “Nothing can stop us now.”

“Benthic!” you hear from the entrance, “What are you-”

You almost smile when you see Leia and Han, but they’re rained on with blaster fire, disappearing around the door. There's a brief pause, Benthic waiting patiently until Leia reappears, her arms raised high in surrender. 

“Benthic, please- just listen to me.”

She inches forwards, the Partisans all aiming their blasters at her and she walks closer to Benthic, who meets her somewhat in the middle. 

“Princess,” his voice is almost cocky, “this is logical. Alderaan and Jedha, sisters in pain, the Shu-Torun are all complicit. Their death will warn others what will happen to them is they follow the Empires path.”

Leia lowers her hands, eyebrow knit tightly together, “I’ve heard that plan before. Planetary annihilation to keep dissenters in line, Tarkin and his Death Star.”

“The dream of overthrowing them. They’ve taken everything from us.”

By now they were standing close, talking like two friends debating which cantina is better. 

“They haven’t. If you do this,” she gestures to the core, “then they take everything. If you do this, even if we win, they win. Because they’re them. Yes, Shu-Torun dies if you do this- but your dream dies too.”

The others seemed to freeze, the only sound filtering around was the buzzing of the core, and the snapping of lightning from the excess power. 

“Return to the Princess’ plan, release the prisoners,” Benthic said sternly, his voice barely heard from where you and Luke were sitting, “let us leave this place of errors behind.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you let the Partisans untie you before helping them untie Luke, pulling him from the ground and rushing out of the room. Han grabbed your hand, glaring at you as he led the group, “I can’t leave you alone at all, can I?”

“Clearly not, everything goes wrong without you.”

You dont throw yourself in Chewie’s arms when you see him, he was waiting in the cockpit for everyone to return, the Falcon already ready for take-off. 

Han all but throws himself into his seat, Luke and Leia taking their’s behind the two. You wee left to stand, but you didn’t mind. You liked to be inbetween Han and Chewie, gripping onto the backs of their chairs, you bend down onto one knee. The cockpit door slid shut, Threepio talking to R2 as the Falcon quickly starts to ascend. 

“Where’s Tunga?” You ask, looking around for the small green shapechanger that you’ve grown fond of. Han shakes his head, telling you what you needed to know. You just hope he went out in a blaze of glory, he was dramatic like that, he would want everyone to remember him.

You dont know when the Empire arried, but there was already multiple Tie’s after you, shooting down from above.

The radar began beeping erratically, and when you bend down to read it, you whistle. Han shifts his gaze to look as well, and he scoffs lightly. 

“So they’ve got an orbital blockade and a sky full of ties, and we’ve got no chance of blasting our way out. Two options for you, Princess.”

You groan, already hating where this was going. 

“Do we surrender, or do I try something extreme?”

“No surrender!” Luke interjects, leaning over the arm of his chair to see out the front, Leia nodding lightly, “and they’d kill us anyways.”

Smirking, Han grips onto the joystick, “Well, if you put it like that-”

“Han, please,” you plead, gripping onto the seats like that was going to help you. Han was reckless when given the option. 

He pulls on the joystick, the Falcon spinning up and around the Ties, the force makes you yelp, the force pushing you back. Luke and Leia both grab your arms to stop you from flying into the cockpit door, stifling their laughter at your constant cursing. 

“Han?” Leia calls, almost falling out of her seat to hold onto you, “where are we going?”

“Han! I’m going to kill you!” You yell. The Falcon heading straight back towards the collapsing Spike.

“You’re flying us into the remains of the Spike?!”

Han shrugs, furrowing his eyebrows, “you got it. It went right through Shu-Torun, that tunnel is still collapsing. Maybe we can make it to the other side. Maybe.”

While flying into the Spike, he levels out the Falcon, allowing you to sit on the floor without fear of lying into the wall. The Tie’s find nothing wrong with this, following right after the Falcon. Out the front, you can see the fiery inside of the planet, which was collapsing quickly. Multiple small lights on the control panel began to blink, a high pitched alarm sounding.

“Keep the shields up!’ Han calls.

“I am!” Meorti’s voice is stern when sounding through the com, her breathing heavy as the alarms sounded around her as well, “But shields aren’t meant to hold against the temperature of a planet core! We’ve got seconds!”

Pushing yourself up from the floor, you kneel in-between the two pilots and scan the radar, the Tie’s were exploding from the temperature, but not before trying to shoot you down.

“How long do we have? Can we make it?” You ask, looking at Han. 

“I already told you,” he hisses, the exit coming closer, “Maybe!” 

Right as you fly out, the entire Spike collapses, an explosion of fire and lava following you out into space. You can finally breathe a sigh of relief, sinking down onto the floor as Han jumps into hyperspace. Leia and Luke both cheer, leaning over the small space to hug each other.

“I’m never doing anything with you guys again.”

“So, same time next rotation?” Han jokes, standing from his seat and stretching. 

“Great flying, Han. that was incredible.”

From the back of the cockpit, you can hear R2 and Threepio, “Really, Artoo? I never thought you’d be a mystic.”

Luke turns in his seat, raising an eyebrow, “what did he say? He made the same noises earlier. 

“‘Trust the Force’, master Luke. ‘Trust the Force’”

Back in the main hold, Benthic waited with the other Partisans, still holding their weapons. 

“What do we do with this ship full of traitors?” Luke asks, tilting his head while crossing his arms. 

“Be careful, boy,” Benthic hisses, “We still outnumber you.”

“We drop them off. Benthic and his troops go back to their fight, whatever that means now, and we all learn from this,” Leia answers, stepping closer to Han, who raises his eyebrow, “where you going? Back to Jedha?”

Benthic looks down, shaking his head lightly, “Not Jedha. Somewhere else, something else for the Partisans.”

This leads you to stop by Salobea, a forested planet covered in thick fog and disgusting humidity that made your tunic stick to your body right as you stepped off the Falcon to say your final goodbyes. Luke stood by your side while Leia and Han talked to Benthic, the blonde shifting his weight on his feet before finally turning to you.

“Did you mean it? What you say when we were tied up?”

You raise an eyebrow, “what? That you got to kiss a pretty girl? And I didn't?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, scratching his head as he looks back to the others. 

“I did, Tula was a keeper, and you seemed happy with her,” you can feel your chest squeeze, your stomach turning.

“Well,” Luke hums, keeping his voice down as Leia begins her walk back to the Falcon, Han on her trail, “I would’ve rather been with someone else.”

Freezing, you turn to look at him, but he’s already smiling at Leia. 

You should’ve known, the signs were all there and still, you were naïve. 

Piling back into the Falcon, you sit in your usual seat in the cockpit and close your eyes, trying to find rest while you made your way bank to Home One, then you can finally get your hands on a drink. 

“She’s so beautiful. I never thought I’d see her again,” Meorti sighs, standing between you and Leia as the Falcon begins docking. 

“Do you didn’t get a taste for being out there?” Luke asks, placing a hand onto her shoulder. 

She scoffs, shaking her head, “No! Give me a reactor about to go critical any day. I can handle being in a nice big ship being shot at, but don't shoot me directly! And I keep on thinking, poor Tunga!”

When the Falcon docks, you all stride off and greet the docking crew, who begin refueling and checking the Falcon for anything major, and Han shoo’s them away. 

“Don’t worry master Meorti. I’m sure he’s in a better place,” Threepio comforts, but she's already striding away, “that makes two of us. It’s been interesting-” she’s out of ear shot before she finishes talking. You stretch your arms, leaning against the Falcons landing ramp pistons, groaning. 

“Thanks again for the repairs!” Threepio calls, “they were splendid! They- oh. She’s gone.”

R2 trills, Threepio turning back to nod down at him, “yes, Artoo, she is walking very fast.”

Placing his hands on his hips, Han walks closer to Leia, “so, princess. What next for your people?”

“Mon Mothma has requested us fro a job. A little recon.”

Groaning, you push away from the landing gear and furrow your eyebrows, looking over her shoulder at the tablet she was holding, different requests and data blinking on the screen. 

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Jan Dodonna was always planning for the future,” she says, smiling at you, “he had preliminary scans for possible new rebel bases.”

“Gimme a look at that,” Han grumbled, snatching the tablet from her, and scrolling down the list.

“Atanu, Jabone IV, Lonania Prime, Hoth, Mupin XII?” He scoffs, handing the tablet back to her, “Mupin XII? Really? Did he make that one up? What are these places?”

Luke smirks, throwing an arm around Leia’s shoulder, “one of them? It’s our new home.”

“Can I at least get something to drink first?” you say, rubbing your eyes as han throws an arm around your shoulder, shaking you lightly.

“Where we’re going to be going, you won't need a drink!”

“With you guys? I always need a drink.”

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[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Angsty thought After seeing the Puppy crush Jerry headcanon,a few hours before William killed Chill Kid Y/N and for a experiment(??) stuffed the organs and blood into a Plushie. Jerry after he gets murdered and stuffed in Bonnie was shocked and sad that his Crush was also killed.thankfully at least Now Plush Y/N follow him around and tries comforts him,proceeding to be also cuddled and hugged by him so he can calm down a tiny bit! Also Y/N trying to tell Boss Boseman about the murder of his kids but fails.

Ohhhh this is so brutal I'm sorry Jerry 😭💔

........

Pre-Death

On his hospital bed, William was already plotting his revenge against those Boseman brats.

Jerry, especially, the snot-nosed bloke who nearly killed him. He didn’t have any right to cry and act all mushy about what happened.

He's lucky he couldn't talk or else he'd be screaming his head off.

When Will's back at the pizzeria, he finds you consoling Jerry, who’s sobbing into your sweater.

This gave him a brilliant idea. 

He deserves to suffer the most. And he knew just how to do that.

So one day when you're asleep, hugging a jumbo Bonnie plushie and using it as a pillow, William wonders what he should do with you.

Then he had a thought: Fritz and Susie were excellent remnant deposits as animatronics.

But what if that deposit could be a plushie?

He had to experiment.

So he discards his crutches and makes some chloroform, using it to ensure you stayed unconscious before taking you and the Bonnie plush to the saferoom.

Your death is quick, but by far the messiest one he’s ever had to clean up.

The next day Jerry wonders where you’ve gone, feeling a bit sad though his siblings decide to prank William to cheer him up.

He’s hesitant to hurt him but goes along with it anyway.

And they all go to the saferoom, where William locks them in and decides how he should deal with them all.

Instead of killing Jerry first, he goes for Gabriel and Cassidy before turning to him with a grin.

“Hey Jerry...do you wanna see [y/n] again?” He taunts.

Then he brings out the jumbo Bonnie plush and throws it at the already traumatized boy. He catches it but the weight nearly crushes him to death.

He hears disgusting wet sounds coming from within the plush and-

Its eye is loose and leaking blood. And just beneath it, he sees a...human eye.

One with the same colored iris as yours.

Jerry’s death is swift after that, as he was one second away from screaming and vomiting. He was stuffed into Bonnie, with you--the mangled plushie--laying at his feet.

Post-Death

When you both awaken, you recognize each other almost instantly.

Bonnie/Jerry clutches you tightly. Fortunately you’re not heavy for him at all to lift, so he carries you around a lot.

Fredbear/Cassidy wonders why her brother is lugging around a stuffed toy, though she goes quiet as Charlie explains she sensed your soul inside of it.

Freddy/Gabriel’s just as horrified.

But Jerry seems happy to be with you again. And isn't totally freaking out.

Even so, you aren’t content with this. Nobody who was alive (aside from William) knew what happened to you all.

Only Philip found out the truth but was forced to clean the bodies and never spoke of this to anyone.

Of course, cleaning you would’ve had him retching all day and night. He literally couldn’t. So he only cleaned the blood on the outside and patched up any loose stitches, covering you with a thick layer of felt and turning you into an "improved" Bonnie plush.

One night you decide to seek out help, though it’s hard to move given your “body” was never removed and remained heavy.

And you find Mr. Boseman, depressed and drinking at one of the tables and holding a photograph of his kids.

Since you can’t speak, you try jumping up and down, waving your plush paws, but nothing works.

He doesn’t see you and just leaves the pizzeria after having one last sip.

You hear footsteps and see Jerry come out, having seen your attempt to reach his dad. And he’s crying oil.

You go over to comfort him, letting him pick you up again.

The others often forget things, but he’s never forgotten you nor the friendship you two shared in life..

That now continued even in death.

[lorna-d-m]

Chapter Eight: Vows

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Fem!OC

Summary: Captain Zemo roams the high seas thirsting for revenge, and instead, he stumbles upon the shipwrecked and left for dead Mary Spencer. As the sole survivor, Captain Zemo takes her aboard his ship, the Bloody Baron. Engaged to an English Admiral, Mary Spencer wants nothing more than to return home and live the life she was born for. That is, of course, until she realizes what life can be aboard the Bloody Baron with the Captain himself.

Word Count: 8,731

W: language, violence, drinking, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), vaginal penetration. No stated use of birth control but wrap it before you tap it folks.

A/N: Little announcement, I will be going on a trip later this month, so there may be a delay for chapter nine. I do, however, have a one shot I can post if it takes too long. I have also decided on a modern au for Laszlo Kreizler as my next fic.

Once again, note that I’ve moved Sokovia’s location and made it a Germanic language. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or fill out the form on my pinned masterpost. Thank you so much!

previous chapter

Mary woke at sunrise when Helmut kissed her forehead. He did not think she would wake, but when he pulled away she blinked at him, still half asleep. She beamed, relishing the affection he showed her.

“What are you doing up so early?” She rolled on her stomach to his side of the bed when he got up. It was still warm and smelled like him. 

“I’m always an early riser,” he remarked, “You’ve simply never seen me in the morning.” 

Mary contemplated that while he excused himself. It was usually Helmut waking her up with breakfast or a meal and checking in on her. She had never woken up with him, but she liked it. Hopefully, every morning would start with a kiss. Lightly, Mary ran her finger over her lips, jealous he did not kiss her there. But, she thought, it was sweet of him to kiss her forehead.

Helmut returned and drew back the heavy red curtains. Bright morning light spilled in, and Mary blinked a few times as she adjusted. He stayed a moment at the window to gauge the weather and the waves before humming in satisfaction. She watched Helmut saunter about the room to get dressed, pulling clothes from trunks and setting them aside. His gold chain, nestled amongst his chest hair, glinted in the light and caught her attention. He started to dress in a light tea-colored shirt, but he frowned when he discovered a hole under his arm. It was large enough to stick his hand through, so he found another shirt. 

“I could fix that for you,” Mary offered from their bed. She wore several of his shirts, and she knew most of them had small holes or tears in them. If there was some way she could help him, she was glad to do so.

“Would you? I have sewing supplies somewhere here…” Helmut trailed off as he rifled through his desk. 

“Of course,” She smiled coyly. “I did not spend so many afternoons in a drawing room, sipping tea and practicing my stitching, not to utilize it.” 

He handed her the bundle of thread, patchwork cloth, and pincushion filled with needles. Mary was about to ask him for the clothes to mend when there was a hesitant knock at the door.

“Come in,” Helmut directed. He had yet to slip on his new shirt, but he made no move to do so. Zemo was not ashamed of his body, and he saw no need to rush to conceal himself from his crew.

Mary quickly covered herself with a sheet despite nothing being exposed. He bit back a snicker seeing her scramble, knowing modesty was ingrained into her head and despite nothing occurring, lying in his bed while he dressed did not appear chaste. Although the sheet could not hide her, it made her feel better. 

Billy entered balancing a breakfast tray in one hand and keeping his eyes cast down. He spoke in a rush as he set down the tray; Helmut wondered if the boy even took a breath. “Sorry, sir, some of the crew said you might not wan’ to be disturbed in the morning, but others said you would wan’ breakfast, so I figured I would knock…”

Mary blushed and wished to disappear, but Helmut smiled goodnaturedly. He would hate for Billy to enter some morning and find them in a state of undress and disarray, so it was best to dismiss him from some of his duties. “Thank you for the breakfast, but I think in the future it will not be necessary.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Billy still avoided Helmut’s eye and nodded before leaving.

“Is he gone yet?” Mary asked from under her sheet. 

Helmut facetiously pulled the linen away from her and chuckled. “Yes, and tell me, Sternchen, what will you do when there is an emergency and someone comes into my cabin to find you in a less demure state?”

“Hmm,” she dramatized her thinking to amuse him, “I will send my soon-to-be husband, while I stay in the privacy of our bed.” Mary tugged the sheet back over her.

“Oh, is that your plan?” Helmut leaned in, placed a quick kiss on her cheek, and stayed exhilaratingly close to her. He practically purred in her ear, “Of course, I should have known.”

Mary’s heart skipped a beat, and she barely restrained a gasp. With a small smirk, he withdrew. Helmut finished dressing, securing his belt over his black linen pants and lacing up his boots. Then he handed her a neatly folded stack of clothes to darn before sitting at the table. Mary left their bed to join him, eager to eat breakfast.

“Is there somewhere on deck I can sit?” He glanced up at her while pouring his morning tea, so she continued. “I thought it would be nice to sit outside in the sun and the breeze for a bit.” Being cooped up in the Governor’s house and spending all of the previous day in their cabin made her long for some fresh air.

“I am not sure if there is one that will suit you, but it can be arranged.” The morning was far more temperate. By afternoon she would need shade and protection, perhaps even venturing below deck. Amongst his many arrangements for the day, Helmut wanted to be sure she would be comfortable. 

After breakfast, Helmut paid a visit to the galley. If he was to plan a pirate wedding, he wanted it to be a proper celebration for everyone aboard. That would mean plenty of food, freely flowing drinks, and a massive amount of work for the cook to prepare for the night. 

“It’s possible…” Anthony the cook stirred something in a large pot before returning to Zemo, “If you get me more fresh fish.” He cracked a grin, “How am I supposed to make a feast fit for a baron with only salted meats and preserves?”

Zemo returned Anthony’s grin with an acknowledging smile. It was rare for his previous title to be mentioned to his face, but he knew in this instance Anthony meant no harm. It was lighthearted ribbing, meant to make the Captain laugh. 

“I am sure some of the crew can be convinced to cast lines and nets rather than their usual chores.” Besides, if he would rather eat a fresh fish stew than a sad, salted, unrecognizable piece of meat, so would they.

Anthony sprinkled several spices into the pot and gave it a taste. Smacking his lips, he returned to the Captain. “Then you will have the finest food any pirate has ever known, sir.”

Helmut did not doubt that, so he began his search for Oeznik. He needed his first mate to officiate the wedding, and he knew his old friend would be pleased for him. Oeznik was an early morning riser, and given the mid-morning time, he suspected he would find him patrolling the deck or inspecting work. He left the galley and passed through the berth deck.

Mary sat in the shade where the quarter-deck hung over the main deck. She happily showed him her work so far, and her stitches were smooth and clean as he knew they would be. He was thankful to have some of his shirts repaired and in rotation again since she enjoyed wearing them. Helmut did not mind sharing with her, he rather enjoyed the sight of her in his clothes, but he knew they both would appreciate clothes without holes or tears in them. 

“What’s this?” He picked up a shirt to the left of her, yet to be mended, with several tears and holes in it. Helmut did not recognize it as his. 

“Oh!” Mary smiled with pride, “Some of the crew brought me clothes to patch up.” He eyed the stack next to her which looked like more than some, and he arched an eyebrow. “They noticed me sitting here sewing things for you, and they asked if I would mend their clothes. I agreed, so three of them brought me a few pieces.”

“Awfully helpful of you.” He remembered her net fixing exploits and knew she liked to stay busy. Too much idle time and she would grow bored and restless. It was one of the traits he admired about her. “I am sure they will appreciate it.”

“Yes,” she glanced up from her stitching to look at him. “I examined one of the shirts and found several rough, zig-zagging repairs. I rather think mine will be an improvement.”

Helmut refolded the shirt and returned it to the pile. “With certainty.”  He spotted Oeznik at the bow of the ship, so he politely excused himself. Mary urged him on knowing he had a busy day.

Zemo noticed the two men scrubbing the deck within listening distance as he approached, so he greeted his old friend in their native tongue. It would give them privacy since little the crew understood. Those who did were not near.

Oeznik followed his Captain’s lead when he spoke. “I see Ms. Spencer has decided to stay on the ship.” He always spoke of her as Ms. Spencer, never the less formal Mary.

Grinning slyly, Helmut pressed his palms against the railing of the ship. He leaned over a touch to see the waves cresting against the keel. “Ms. Mary Eleanor Spencer has,” after her panic last night of course he needed to say her full name with a smirk, “and we have chosen to wed. I need my first mate to officiate.”

“When, sir?”

“Tonight, at sunset.” He turned away from the water. “She did not wish to wait any longer.” Neither did he, but it had been her idea. Helmut would make it happen for her.

His first mate laughed quietly, and he almost did too from sheer joy. Never in his wildest dreams did he think Mary would grow fond of him, let alone want to marry him. Helmut spent so many nights dreading when she would leave him, how she would loathe him when she knew the truth, and yet Mary did not. She loved him.

“Hm,” Oeznik never forgot a conversation, and although Mary was important to Zemo, so, too, were Heike and Carl. Eight years of heartache and anger were not easy to forget. “You have reconciled your desire for revenge?” 

Helmut’s eyes flashed toward Oeznik for a moment, burning at the memories, and then he sighed. “She was aware of her intended’s behaviors well before I told her.” Oeznik’s eyes widened as he continued. “Mary was only bound to him through duty and finance, not any form of love or devotion. She feels no loyalty to him.” 

Oeznik smiled and clasped him on the shoulder. “Then it would be my honor to marry you.” Zemo leaned into the old man and hugged him. Oeznik chortled in surprise but supported his Captain as best he could. 

In the evening, before the sun began to set, the couple prepared for their ceremony. Nervous butterflies fluttered in Mary’s stomach, but she was excited to see what he prepared for her. Helmut spent almost all day discussing and arranging with the crew, trying to keep some element of surprise for her. 

Before he returned to their room, Mary changed into the sleek white negligee. She studied herself in the mirror and tried to remember all of her fantasies from two nights ago. Would Helmut find her breathtaking and charming as she dreamed, or would he not like what he saw as she feared? 

You’re being ridiculous… Mary remembered the way he kissed her. Surely he would not touch her, tease her, thrill her, if he did not desire her. Helmut was respectful of her boundaries, never crossing the line, but edging close enough to tantalize her. Part of her wanted to know what would happen when he finally crossed that line. 

Mary slipped the light blue day dress over the nightgown. She knew the cut of the gown would cover the delicate fabric, and she thought it would be a nice surprise for their night. He would unlace her dress, let it fall from her shoulders, then take in her form in the negligee. Perhaps he would kiss her first, pulling the pins from her hair as he did, and then— 

—Helmut entered their room, startling Mary’s fantasies, and she sighed in relief when she realized it was him. He apologized, ever the gentleman, and she asked him to lace up her gown.

“In a moment,” he requested, “Allow me to clean up. I would hate to accidentally ruin your fine dress.” 

Blushing as she held the top over her chest, and barely kept it from slipping off her shoulders, she waited for him to return. He did, and Mary felt his strong but nimble fingers at the base of her spine. His breath was warm on her neck, and his voice a whisper in her ear as he confessed. “Unlacing is more of my specialty, but I have experience and patience. A man can do anything if he has those.”

Mary leaned into his touch, and he chuckled against her. He was not even undressing her, he was lacing up her dress, and yet she found herself drawn to him. His every touch and word thrilled her. 

“Have patience, Sternchen, not yet,” Helmut murmured. His mouth drew near the pulse point of her neck, and she wanted him to kiss it as he did before, but he withdrew with a pinch to her waist. He was finished with her dress, and he needed to tend to himself.

Playfully annoyed, she picked up his hand mirror and looked for somewhere to prop it up. Styling hair with one hand was difficult, so Mary found a spot on the nightstand where she could set the mirror and still see her reflection. Smartly, she kept all her hairpins from the Governor’s so she could recreate a seemingly delicate hairstyle. 

Mary peeked at Helmut in the mirror. If Helmut could look at her undressing, could she not observe him dressing? He ferreted through several chests and trunks before humming excitedly and tapping his fingers against the wood. Mary watched with keen interest as he laid aside several dress shirts, coats, pants, and vests reminiscent of a Baron. 

Meeting his inquisitive eye in the mirror, she gave her opinion. “I like the purple one.” Helmut smiled and held it up for her further inspection. It was a dark vest, the color of full-bodied wine, with gold buttons down the front. Sitting on the bed, Mary could not see the details, but she knew it was finely tailored. He would buy nothing less. She nodded approvingly at him. 

“Then I shall wear it,” Helmut promised. He set it aside to create an outfit.  

Mary returned her attention to her hair, wondering how her maidservants and her ladies ever fashioned her tresses. It was unruly and outright uncooperative no matter how many pins she placed, and she grew frustrated with it. 

Helmut noticed her trying to pin a piece in place, and he watched as it fell again. She sighed in annoyance and started to try again. “Leave it down if it is bothering you,” he gently advised as he crossed the room.

She protested weakly, knowing it was a losing battle. “But I won’t look pretty if my hair isn’t up.” Admittedly, her hair did not look as she imagined with half the pins falling out, but she had been raised to believe a formal event meant her hair needed to be tamed and styled.  

“This is a pirate wedding, Sternchen, not a society ball.” Helmut kissed her cheek and turned her face away from the mirror. “Besides, I think you are lovely, ethereal even, with your hair down,” he assured her in a low voice. 

Taking his advice, Mary set about removing all the gold and pearl hairpins. Helmut dressed behind her, choosing a starched white shirt with ruffles near the wrist and collar. She took in a deep, steadying breath before picking up two pins and fastening her dark hair away from her face. On a ship, the wind was liable to blow in any direction. Mary at least wanted to be prepared.

“Handsome,” she turned over her shoulder and complimented him, “but I think you’re overdressed for a pirate wedding.” Helmut resembled a Baron. His white shirt was tucked into the black linen pants, and his purple vest was done up. Closer now, she could see the fine gold and silver embroidery. 

Helmut demurred, “Really? And what, pray tell, should a pirate wear?” He stepped closer to her, sitting on the bed, trapping her against it. Stuck between his legs and broad frame, Mary’s heart began to race. However, she held her ground. 

“A pirate’s shirt should be loose,” she reached for the top buttons of his vest and undid them. “Now everyone can see your strong chest and gold necklace.” So she could see it, more like. 

Helmut laughed briefly, knowing she was doing this for her amusement. But, then again, so was he. Teasing her and pleasing her brought him joy, and he wanted to see where she would go with this ruse. 

Mary pushed a lock of hair off his forehead and back, almost out of reach for her in this position. “A proper pirate should have a hat, the kind with a feather that flops in front of his face.” He stilled at her touch, his eyes reverent as her hand strayed to cup his cheek. “And jewelry,” she said definitively, “a pirate needs to be dripping in regalia.”

He took her hand cradling his cheek and kissed her knuckles. His lips were soft against her as he promised to follow her every word. Mary giggled on the bed, waiting to see what he would do. Helmut picked up the small chest of jewelry she stole from the Governor’s and handed it to her before picking up a similar container on another shelf. 

“Reminiscent of your own words,” he quipped, “if you are to wed a pirate, then you ought to look like a pirate.”

She slipped on the rings and the bracelets with a grin, but she hesitated with the necklaces. The clasps were tricky, she remembered how difficult they were to secure, so she asked for his help. Clad in his heavy gold rings and necklaces, Helmut obliged. 

“Now you look like a pirate,” he rasped in her ear. Mary held her hair out of his way, and his hands lingered. Her heart skipped a beat, and she feared he could feel it at the pulse point of her neck. His lips pressed against her, tender at first, then more insistent as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed down the smooth line of her neck and nipped near her collarbone.

A knock at the door broke them apart, and Mary anxiously pulled away from Helmut. Much like the sheet in the morning, she did not like the idea of being seen in a more intimate moment. As a delicate lady, she was not accustomed to the idea. Helmut, she quickly learned, did not shy away from public displays of affection.

“Captain!” She recognized Billy’s voice on the other side of the door. “Are you ready? It’s almost time!”

“Yes!” Helmut called back, “We will be there in a moment.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Are you ready?”

Mary checked her dress and her hair again, ensuring nothing was out of place, before nodding at him. “I believe I am,” she answered confidently.

He reached for his hat and sword belt on his desk. After all, he needed them to be an authentic pirate. “You look stunning, Sternchen,” Helmut complimented as he offered his arm to her.

She took it and reached for his steady hand. When she found it, calluses and all, she gripped it tight. He gave her a light squeeze before leading her to the deck. Mary looked to him for reassurance before stepping out, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a smile.

Outside, the crew of the Bloody Baron waited for them. Some sat on makeshift tables and chairs made of crates and barrels, and others stood. Candles lit the deck, but the sky was brighter. The sunset in the western sky was an array of pale pink, dark purple, and burning orange. It was endless and breathtaking. 

“Go on.” Helmut nudged her toward the curved staircase on the left. Mary was reluctant to leave his side, but he squeezed her hand to give her courage. 

She walked up the left staircase, mindful of every step, while Helmut ascended the right. Both were elegant in the vestments of their rank. They met in the middle of the quarterdeck where Oeznik waited for them. He smiled and greeted them in a low voice before clearing his throat to begin the ceremony. 

“You may know this man as your Captain, but I have known him since he went by a name nearly forgotten now.” Helmut bowed his head in acknowledgement as he knew where Oeznik’s speech was going. Amongst the crew and many others in the new world, Helmut’s past was spoken in whispers and rumors, never confirmed. “Before he was ever Captain Zemo of the Bloody Baron, he was Baron Zemo of Sokovia. So when he found Lady Mary Eleanor Spencer in the wreckage of her ship, he could not leave her there.” 

Mary’s cheeks flushed. Helmut must have told him her full name. She did not mind, it was fitting for their wedding, but how Helmut learned mortified her. 

“It was only natural they should form a strong bond, greater than any of their ties to their past, so they may start a new future.” He looked expectantly at Helmut. “Would you like to say a few words?”

She admired the way his lips parted in thought and how the sun shone on all of his freckles. He radiated adoration like he wished to worship her.

“I would, danke freund.” Helmut stood a little straighter, bristling with pride. He wet his lips before speaking, and his voice was quiet, meant for her ears only. “For years, I was lost in darkness. There was no bright moon or glittering stars in the sky. But Sternchen, the light reappeared when I met you. ” His eyes, typically discerning and harsh when he stood on the deck, were warm and wide, softened with love when he spoke to her. “You, my little star, lit the way. You guided me to purpose and to hope.” 

Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes, but she tried to blink them away. One started to roll down her cheek, and she sniffled as she wiped it away. Helmut took her hand before it could return to her side and held it.

“Mary, I vow to treasure you above all else.” He gave her hand a comforting squeeze before speaking loud enough for the crew to hear. “I will love you, respect you, and protect you, and if I ever fail to do so you can cast me into the sea or desert me on an island.” 

Some of the crew laughed at the idea of their Captain being marooned for being a bad husband, but Mary knew he meant every word. Helmut would never lie to her. 

“Mary, would you like to say a few words as well?” 

She nodded first, unsure if her voice would squeak or crack when she spoke. “I would, thank you, Oeznik.” Her voice did not fail her, so she continued. “Helmut,” Mary paused, wanting to find the right words, “were it not for you, I would be in a loveless marriage. I would be an ornament to my husband rather than an equal.” He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “You taught me to be brave, to go after what I want, to be my own person. I can never thank you enough for that.”

“Courage was always in you. I merely encouraged it,” he added, smiling indulgently.

“I promise to love you in every way I can. If I do not know how, then I promise to learn.” She was unashamed to admit there was much she did not know about love and relationships, but she desperately wanted to understand. Admitting her inexperience was the first step of learning, so perhaps that was another form of bravery. 

“Helmut, do you have the rings?” 

Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out two simple gold bands. Helmut, already holding Mary’s hand, slipped the ring on her finger. She plucked the other ring from his open palm and placed it on the corresponding finger. Their hands were already decorated with rings — gold and silver, rubies and sapphires, emeralds and diamonds — but these simple gold bands were far more meaningful and valuable than the rest combined. 

“By the power vested in me as first mate, I pronounce you husband and wife.” Oeznik lowered his voice again, “You may now kiss your bride.” 

Cheers went up from the crew when Helmut leaned in. His kiss was chaste but sweet. On his lips was the unspoken, bewitching promise for more.

They descended the stairs with entwined arms. As they passed, members of the crew clapped them on the shoulders and congratulated them. The sun hung low in the sky, the final golden rays reflecting across the water, and soon the candles and stars would be the only source of light. Helmut led her to a table and chairs set aside for them and pulled back Mary’s seat for her.  

“Everyone,” at Sam’s encouragement they raised their mismatched cups of beer, wine, rum, or whatever suited their fancy, “a toast to the groom with a bride so fair, and to a bride with a groom so rare.” 

Congratulations came in a mix of “here here”s, clapping, and stomping against the floor. Helmut and Mary thanked them profusely, raising their glasses of wine. He insisted on one of his fine, aged bottles for the night. Anthony laid all the food out on a table, and the crew waited for their captain to eat before they gorged themselves.

Helmut lifted his glass, his other hand holding hers, and smiled. He had a captain and baron’s innate ability to announce without unduly yelling, letting his voice carry instead. “Please, eat and enjoy. This is a night to celebrate!”

The music picked up, lively strings and drums, and they crowded around the dinner table. Helmut leaned close to Mary, his leg brushing against hers, as he rubbed smooth circles into the back of her hand. Ever the watchful Captain, he surveyed the scene on the deck.

“After all the re-routing and diversions, they deserve to have some fun for one night.” He joked, “It’s an apology for less fighting and raiding.” 

Mary laughed, but she was curious too. “When will you return to business?” 

He returned his attention to her and studied her expression. She knew he looked for fear or worry, signs that perhaps despite her desires she was afraid of a pirate’s life, but he found none. Smiling, he answered her.

“In a matter of days.” Helmut held his wineglass by the stem but did not drink from it, “We are going south now to pursue a lead, and I will sell what we have collected at port.” He shrugged lightly, “From there, I could not say.”

“That’s part of the fun, is it not? You can sail anywhere you want, whenever you want?” She thought of all the outlandish trinkets on his bookshelves and the places they must have come from. Perhaps she, too, could collect mementos from every outlandish location.

“Anywhere, as long as it is with you,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Sternchen, allow me to bring you a plate. You should not be hungry at your own wedding.”

Helmut returned moments later, and as they ate Mary observed her wedding. People ate, drank, and were merry. The music was lively and rustic, the card games high spirited, and she knew the party would run well into the night. Every so often a crew member approached them, sometimes in a group, and congratulated them. Mary greeted each one by name and sincerely thanked them. 

For once Helmut looked nervous, tilting his head and not a trace of a smile as he pressed his lips together. “I must confess,” he once again leaned close to her to be heard over the festivities, “I know it is not the wedding you dreamed of, but I hope it pleases you.” 

“Oh Helmut,” Mary set down her fork and turned to face him. “It may not be the sophisticated church and lush gardens I always imagined, but I have something far better.” He perked up as she continued, puffing his chest, “I have a husband who loves me, which is more than I could have ever hoped for.”

“You can wish for whatever you desire, Stenchen, and I will grant it for you.” He drew closer, his face inches from hers, and his thigh pressing against hers. Mary wanted to ask him to kiss her again, as he had in the morning or before their wedding, but she did not. This was not the time nor the place.

Instead, Mary tipped her gaze up toward the stars and chose the brightest one. She did not know its name, but she knew Helmut would teach her if she wanted. “I wish to dance, husband.” 

“Then we shall dance,” Helmut purred. His eyes were dark in the flickering candlelight as his pupils threatened to overtake the warm brown. 

Helmut guided her by the hand to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the deck. Without asking, a space was cleared for them. She placed one hand on his shoulder, and he rested his on her waist. Mary held her open palm against his, but Helmut curled his fingers and linked them with hers. At the prompting of the band, Helmut made the first step and Mary followed his lead. She would follow him to the ends of the earth, but at the moment a dance was enough.

He was a gifted dancer, another facet of being raised a Baron, and they were graceful as they swept across the deck. Their gold and silvery jewelry glinted in the light, dazzling anyone nearby. Although Mary danced with at least a dozen men in London, none of them compared to Helmut Zemo. None could thrill her as him with light touches to her waist, his fingers holding her to him, his dark piercing eyes peering into hers, and the murmured words in her ear. 

A folk dance followed the waltz, much more upbeat and uptempo, and Helmut’s hand slid steadily from her waist to the curve of her bottom as he pulled her closer to him. He glanced at her to see if she wanted the space between them again, but by her mischievous smile, he knew she did not. Even if she did not know how to verbalize her wishes, Helmut still knew to grant them. 

After several songs, Mary leaned her head on his shoulder. She panted lightly against him, livened by the vigorous dancing, and he held her close. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear so he could whisper to her.

“Would you like to retire to our room?” Mary did not think she had ever been so close to him in such a state, she could feel his heartbeat near hers, and she craved more. She nodded against him, affirming his question. 

“Go ahead. I will join you in a few moments,” he instructed. Helmut would exchange a few pleasantries and farewells before leaving for the night. Mary untangled herself from him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before leaving. 

Mary returned to their room, and in a frenzy, she flitted about the room. She dipped a washcloth in the water basin and washed what she could. It was a cool night on the deck with a gentle breeze, so thankfully she did not sweat too much. When she stepped out of the water closet, Helmut entered their room. 

“Will you unlace me?” She gathered her hair over her shoulder and turned her back toward him. 

“Of course.” Helmut was said he was far more skilled at unlacing a dress, and it showed. He swiftly pulled the laces until the shoulders of her gown threatened to fall off and her white negligee underneath was visible. His hands lingered for a moment at the base of her spine, but he left her alone to prepare himself.

Mary neatly folded her blue dress while he washed and changed. Standing in only her delicate nightgown, she felt both indecently exposed and nervous beyond belief. She remembered her mother’s hushed advice before she left to wed, and Mary took her advice. 

First, she blew out the sconces on the wall, and then she extinguished the candlesticks on his desk. Then Mary drew the heavy red curtains to a close blocking out all star and moonlight. The only remaining light was on the nightstand, a trio of small flames, which she would smother soon enough. Mary settled herself into the bed sitting up against the pillows and tucking the sheets around her. 

“What is this?” Helmut returned, rolling up the sleeve of his loose white shirt, and Mary’s eyes went wide. She worried she had done something to displease him, or he might be unsatisfied before they even began. “Why is it so dark?” He drew near the bed and picked up one of the candles, holding it near his face, so he could see better. “Did you do this?” The flame showed he was not angry with her but concerned. His brows knit together, and he frowned. 

She nodded affirmatively, and he sat at the foot of their bed, the candle still in his hand. The hot wax dripped onto the catcher plate, but still, she feared a drop would spill onto him or her. 

“Why?” It was a simple question, only one word, but one that troubled him. His hawkish eyes peered into her soul, somewhere between anguish and outrage. 

“My mother said my husband would prefer darkness for the marital act, so I thought-” 

“-Of course,” Helmut huffed, muttering a curse. Mary looked at him, her eyes wide with nerves and confusion, so he continued. “I would like to think it may not be your mother’s fault, it is misinformation mothers have given their daughters for generations, but in my life I have learned to know better.”

Unconsciously, she moved her hands to cover her stomach. He may have kissed her and told her he desired her, but she remembered her mother’s words of how her husband would dislike her stomach or her thighs or whatever else. Her instinct was to hide from him, to cover herself. Mary opened her mouth to speak, “Helmut-”

“-Sternchen,” He glanced from her shaky hands to her ashen face and sighed. “Please believe me when I say I wish to see you.” Helmut cupped her chin with the palm of her hand, forcing her eyes that had been avoiding his to focus. “I do not take the privilege nor the honor of being your husband lightly, and I do not wish for you to ever feel unworthy.” 

She nodded, and he nodded at her in return. Helmut took the tallow candle and used it to relight the sconce. Muttering about it being better, now that warm light filled the room, he returned to their bed. He greeted her with a kiss, chaste at first, before pulling away. Mary leaned into him, not letting him draw too far away, and he chuckled lightly. 

He kissed her again, deeper, more passionate, bordering on desperate. One of his hands cupped her cheek, holding her to him, while his other hand wandered. It started on her waist, visible above the sheets, squeezing every so often, before moving lower. Helmut sucked on her bottom lip and trailed his kiss along her jaw, making her pant as he reached the pulse point of her neck. He could feel her heartbeat race as his hand slid along her thigh over her nightgown and under the sheet.

Mary trembled under his touch, so Helmut retreated. He remembered what she said about her mother, and he knew mothers’ reluctance to speak honestly to their daughters about such matters. The last thing he wanted to do was coerce or manipulate her. “Mary,” his voice was soft and tender, “what do you know about sex?”  

She hesitated, pressing her lips together in uncertainty. Helmut did nothing to embarrass her, but it was not a comfortable topic for her. He took her hand in his, rubbing circles against her knuckles, and she was comforted by the simple gesture. 

“My mother told me the purpose of the marital act was to please my husband and to create children.” He nodded, letting her speak rather than interrupting her. “Her advice to me was for it to be dark, that I should be quiet, I must never correct my husband, not to be too eager, and I should never refuse my husband either.”

Helmut shook his head in disappointment. He was not surprised, he had been raised a Baron, but he was still disheartened. It was poor advice meant only to please the husband but never the wife. “Did you ever hear anything else?” Helmut was not naive. He knew women would still whisper of sex in their drawing rooms and parlors in hushed tones. 

“Some of the ladies said it could be pleasurable with the right man,” Mary flushed a furious shade of red. “They did not say much more, just that their husbands were often unsatisfactory.” 

He scoffed a laugh, glad some women figured that out at least. Helmut was pleased, too, that she heard something other than her mother’s awful advice. 

“Oh, my sweet Sternchen,” he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “Sex is about more than producing children,” she nodded along, mesmerized by his eyes, “in fact, there are many activities which will not result in children. It is also more than a husband’s pleasure or a wife’s pleasure, it is about mutual enjoyment.”

Mutual. Mary wondered how Helmut felt when he kissed her. He was always so composed, but did his heart race too? Did he feel the same? 

“May I show you one of the best ways a man can please a woman?” She nodded, but that was not enough for him. “Can you say it? I would like to hear you.”

“You may,” Mary answered. She could trust Helmut to check with her at every step, and she appreciated his attentiveness. 

He instructed her to lie back on the pillows, and she did. Her eyes never strayed from him, curious as to what he would do next. Helmut pulled back the sheets, exposing her feet and the bottom of her nightgown, and she shivered against the sudden cool air. Slowly, he pushed up the hem of her negligee, and his fingers trailed up against her leg. Now exposed, she inhaled slowly as she watched him press a kiss to her abdomen. He moved down her body, and she squirmed.

One of his hands grasped her hip and held her there. “What I am about to do is commonly called oral sex. I am going to kiss you here,” he lightly ran one of his fingers over her, making her wriggle again, but his other hand held her in place. “Are you alright with this?” His molten brown eyes flickered to hers. 

She remembered before when he asked her to answer aloud, so she did. “I am.” 

The hand that traced along her moved to hold her other thigh, tighter than she would have expected. He started with little kisses and playful nips on her thigh, enough to excite her and almost beg him for more. By morning there will be dark bruises and marks, but neither one cared. Helmut was caught up in the moment, inhaling her heady scent.

He licked along her sex to prepare her. Mary swore she saw a mischievous smile on his lips before he twisted his tongue against her. His every touch was lightning, and she writhed under him at the striking pleasure. 

“Helmut-” she gasped, grasping his sun-lightened hair. It was the only part of him she could reach, and she held on tight to him, curling her fingers in his locks. “What is that?” 

“That, Stenchen, is your clitoris,” he chuckled against her, “and its sole purpose is for gratification.” Helmut rubbed it in circles with his thumb, watching how Mary stretched and groaned. 

She panted, “More, please.” Mary craved that feeling like she needed to breathe. As with everything he did, it was addictive. She wanted more of him, more of his touch, more of his kiss. 

“As you wish.” Helmut licked up all the wetness that seeped out of her, his tongue teasing against her entrance. She breathed unsteadily under him, but he wanted to make her fall apart. He yearned to make her pant, whimper, and moan. He longed to know what she would sound like when he brought her to climax, what she would feel like, and what she would taste like. He craved it all, desperately.

 Helmut sucked on her clit, and on instinct, Mary rut herself against Helmut’s face. He relished this act of impulse. His tongue danced along her entrance again before diving in, pressing against her walls and tasting her sweet slick. She whined his name at this, and he moaned against her. Perhaps by groaning and humming against her, he could encourage her to release her own sounds.

He kissed, licked, and sucked every bit of his wife. Heat built in her core, sparked by the lightning of his touch, and he brought her closer and closer to the brink. The muscles of her thighs contracted and ached, threatening to trap his head between her legs. From the sound of his deep groan when she twitched, Mary did not think he would mind. 

His lips returned to her clit and sucked hard, bringing all of his work to a climax. First were flickers of lightning, then came the thunder. Helmut was rewarded for his efforts with a gasping mewl. 

“You are delicious,” Helmut grunted. He rested his head against her pillowy thigh, allowing them both to catch their breath. “Divine.”

Mary finally untangled her fingers in his hair. She caught her husband gazing at the apex of her thighs adoringly, and she smirked. Curiously, she wondered how long it had been since he last lay with a woman. Had it been his wife, Heike? Or had he found company on lonely nights? She could not blame him if he had, certainly not if some woman was able to ease his suffering and teach him a thing or two along the way. 

“I want you.” She was still too shy to say exactly what she wanted, but he knew. 

He laughed happily, meeting her eyes. “Not yet, Sternchen, not yet. I am afraid you are not ready for me.”

“Are you scared of hurting me?” Mary remembered her mother’s warning that her first time may be painful, but that it should not be too long. If she was tough she would endure. 

Helmut sighed heavily, his fingers absent-mindedly tracing circles against her thigh. Already he could see dark marks forming from where he held her. He pressed a kiss on each one before answering.

“No matter how much I prepare you, there is still a chance it may hurt.” Mary nodded slowly against her pillow. She hoped her mother had been wrong about that as she had many other things. “I promise to be slow and do my best to be gentle, but you must tell me if you are ever uncomfortable.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, attempting to smooth down the mess she made of it. “I will, Helmut, I will.”

“I am going to start with my fingers. Is that alright?” He waited for her permission before continuing. “Can you take off that lovely nightgown? As pretty and enticing as it is, it rather gets in my way.”

Mary quivered at the cold of their room, but Helmut, who lay beside her, was warm. His searing hand cupped her breast, and his thumb stroked her pebbled nipple. To make the situation equal, Helmut removed his white shirt. His golden chain, nestled among the hair on his chest, glinted in the golden candlelight. 

She ran her hands over his chest, feeling his hard muscle under the soft surface. His muscles jumped and flexed under her tentative touch, much like they did when she tended to his wounds, but this was different. This was not accidental, eyes and hands wandering, it was purposeful. Mary wanted to memorize every plain and angle of him. 

Helmut rolled from laying beside her to straddling her. Mary could taste herself on his lips, and his plump cheeks glistened with her. He continued his kiss, following the familiar line along her jaw and neck, but he did not stop or pull away. He kissed his way to her chest and took one peak into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. Refusing to let the other feel neglected, he flicked and pinched it making her huff.

“Sweet girl, did the pinch bother you?” Vehemently, she shook her head no. 

Her hands twisted in his hair again, holding his mouth to her. As if he would willingly detach from her. The hand that fondled her breast strayed, stroking and prodding at her entrance. Slowly and carefully, he pumped his finger in her, using the wetness of her desire and his saliva to his advantage. Mary never felt anything like it before — it was so different from his tongue —, but she enjoyed it. Rubbing at her walls, he searched for the sensitive spots his tongue could not reach. By the intensity of her whimpers, Helmut knew he was close. 

Cruelly, at least in her opinion, Helmut pulled his fingers away from her. He brought them to his lips, obsessed with the taste of her, and laughed when she pouted at him. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He dramatically smacked his lips. “But you are so sweet and so patient for me.” 

Mary could not bear waiting any longer. “Helmut, please.”

“Remember,” he prompted, “any discomfort and you tell me.” He spoke quickly, rushing through the rest of his sentence, “And I must admit to you that I may finish rather quickly, but I would still like to please you.”

Mary was so eager she could hardly get the words out. “I promise, and do not worry about that. This will not be our last time together.”

Helmut enjoyed that: she did not say she doubted or she hoped it would not be, she knew. He unbuttoned his pants and shimmied out of them, leaving them on the floor, and slotted between her hips. Mary glanced down quickly at him, and she grew worried.

“Are you sure it will fit?” She had his tongue and his fingers in her, and as exhilarating as it was, she feared he would not fit. Helmut ceased his adoration of her neck, there would be several marks come morning, and rasped in her ear.

“I am sure, Sternchen, I have experience and patience. A man can do anything if he has those.”

“Then please, Helmut.” 

He notched the head of his cock at her entrance. One of his hands found hers, holding it, while the other guided himself. He pushed in gingerly, waiting for the slightest word or expression of pain from Mary. She grimaced, taking a deep breath, but encouraged him. He prepared her well, but the stretch was still greater than anything she experienced before. Helmut muttered praise for her the entire time, raving about her beauty and how much he loved her. 

Mary let out a breath when his hips met hers, and he groaned. “You’re so tight and wet,” Helmut buried his face in her neck, nosing through her hair. He continued to purr dirty praise in her ear, licking and sucking between phrases. His cold gold chain brushed against the top of her breasts, and she desperately wanted him to move. Her muscles tensed around him, making Helmut hum in pleasure. For a moment, he thought he would spill already, enveloped in the wet heat of her, but he steeled his nerves. 

Slowly, he drew his hips back before pushing forward again. He fell into a steady rhythm, a push and pull, teetering on the edge of too much and not enough. Everything Helmut did, Mary wanted more. Her hands traced along his back, feeling the powerful muscles and healed scars move, and instinctively she tried to meet each thrust. 

“More, please,” she begged. Helmut snapped his head up to stare deep into her eyes. He anticipated anything he did being too much for her, too painful, and yet Mary asked for more. His pupils dilated, overtaking the familiar brown, and something deep within him shifted when she made her request. 

He began a brutal pace, hips sinking into hers without restraint. Mary cried out and her eyes rolled to the back of her head when he struck deep, so he did it again and again. His strong frame pinned her to the bed, and there was nowhere else she would rather be. With one hand he pulled her thick thigh up and around his hip, angling her better for him, and the other toyed with her nipple. 

“Does it feel good?” he growled, “To have a husband who loves you so dearly? Who would do anything for you?” John Walker would never have satisfied her, and she knew it. No one could please her as Helmut could. 

There were no coherent thoughts in her head. Her answer was a mix of please, Helmut, and indiscernible babbling. It was music to his ears. Her fingers dug into his skin, her legs shook against him, and he knew she was close again. Helmut was confident her thigh would stay if he no longer held it in place, so he pushed his fingers between them to circle her clit. It was the final touch that pushed her over the edge, squealing his name. 

Helmut maintained his tempo as well as he could, staying consistent for her orgasm, but she coaxed him to follow her soon after. He let out a choked moan as he spilled himself within her in stuttering thrusts. 

He stilled, his cock starting to soften inside her, and Mary held him tenderly. She smoothed his hair out of his eyes and cupped his round cheeks with her hands. Helmut rested his body on her softness, running his hands over her plush curves, and squeezing when the desire struck him. When both their breathing steadied, he kissed her delicately. While he did not wish to leave her, he knew he needed to clean them so they could sleep. 

“Is it like that every time?”

Mary could feel him chuckling, his chest moving against hers, and she laughed herself. “It can be however you wish, my love,” he assured her.

Eventually, he pulled his softened member from her. She missed the full feeling of him, but he explained it would not be comfortable for them to stay like that. Reluctantly getting off the bed, he wet a cloth in the basin to wash the two of them. His touch was gentle, not trying to overstimulate her, but to soothe her. 

He offered her one of his shirts or her nightgown to sleep in, but she rejected it. Lying next to him was warm enough, and she wanted to feel him against her. When he blew out the remaining candles and laid back down in the bed, Mary rested her head on his chest. She heard his heartbeat and his steady breathing, and Helmut kissed her on the top of her head. Mary fell asleep, lulled by the rocking of the ship and the feel of her husband under her. 

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[twillightteaparty]

Yanderes! Azul, Malleus, Riddle and Vil with the reader who returned to their universe without telling them.

Yandere! Twst boys Response to Reader Returning to their Home Universe!

this is my reminder that Yandere Tropes should stay fictional and are inherently Toxic relationships.

Mentions of: Blackmailing, threats, breaking of items

Azul

Unreasonably, and Undoubtably pissed to the high heavens and back. Will try blackmailing, threatening, and literally use any of the power and fear-mongering he can to get Crowley to give him any information and or let him straight into your world.

Even if Crowley doesn't give him what he wants he lives by the motto of if there is a will there is a way. thus he will be finding any and all resources he can to see if he can just make a spell or something that will let him threw into your world or like will bring you back.

wouldn't be unfortunate if someone were to steal his reacher and or ruin it. what a shame indeed /sarcasm

when or if all else fails will cry in his octo pot for a long while.

Malleus

I imagine him getting very upset, pouty, and grumpy. maybe it's also now raining all the time. debates if he should abuse the very powerful magic he has to go make a portal and drag you back. but that would give his like three knights a heart attacks and raise too much suspicion, wouldn't it.

honestly gives the entire school a real reason to fear him for once, because he is basically a walking storm of unpredictable emotions. I imagine he develops a look that everyone goes if looks could kill I'd be dead.

Too restricted to really do anything about it and kind of has to suck it up. probably has days where he's still upset about it a little too much. even years, upon years later. probably concerns Lilia a little bit.

collects anything that reminds him of you now, a little bit creepy not gonna lie.

Riddle

His dorm wasn't safe for a week at least. cracked down on the rules way more than he normally does. everyone during his moody fit or pure r a g e was living in fear of him over blotting constantly. Trey managed to talk some sense into him. but really riddle took the phrase to try to put your anger into something else all wrong. didn't pick up a hobby like cross-stitch or something. nope.

so here is how we have Riddle interrogating Crowley, if not that he is suddenly abandoning his duties in a way never seen before to try and reconstruct or recreate the magic that allowed you to be here and leave here in hyper detail.

We can thank trey for going out of his way to pull Riddle to 'reality' once more and whatnot. because it's him constantly pulling riddle away from his obsession that makes it almost impossible for him to get any work done.

will be bitter and resentful for the rest of the time. so I hope you don't plan on coming back any time soon because um. Revenge is best served cold and several years late i suppose

Vil

Had rook looking for you for d a y, maybe even a week or two. but once he hears what happened or finds out or realizes probably has the meltdown of the century. Probably broke something in said meltdown. Rip favorite makeup palette.

Probably also tries questioning Crowley about everything, if he gets no answers out of it Vil suddenly remembers if you want to do things right you have to do it yourself.

que Vil planning around his busy life to set aside time to figure out how to fix this 'temporary setback'. though I have to say he hardly has time to figure anything out, though what time he puts into isn't wasted to be honest.

definately gets more pissed when he cant get the portal to work to let him threw or to have you fall through it again or whatever. bitter, and angry tries to not let it get to his skin. but like *slaps vil* this man can hold so much a n g e r

---

this was a post for me to specifically bully the Yandere!twst boys and I had maybe a little too much fun with this. so thank you to whoever asked for this, thank you very much.

love the vibe of reader just being like bye bastards without telling anyone.

signed, Admin Tea