#they always have to make it sound like it’s part of some broad issue that’s affecting All other branches of the platform

[steveharrington]

just saw a tweet saying stranger things has “killed television as a medium” in response to maya hawke saying the s5 episodes will be movie length and that is just. such an embarrassingly dramatic thing to say that just kinda implies you don’t watch any other tv. yes stranger things influences other shows with its binge release model (although that would arguably be a feature of netflix with or without st) and yes tv production time is becoming longer and longer, but to say it’s KILLED TV is so insane when we have shows like the bear, severance, interview with the vampire, the white lotus, abbott elementary, succession, ted lasso etc that have seen massive success and acclaim in the last couple years without adapting to stranger things’ new model of blockbuster type production. you can criticize what st is becoming without acting like it’s just obliterating all other shows and forcing you to only watch hour and a half long episodes. just…. change the channel ?

[dadbodbuck]

fine, you've forced my hand!

It’s by some miracle that Buck doesn’t show his hand the instant he turns on the lights to see him sitting in the corner chair of his hotel room.

“They’ve got you in some pretty shitty digs, Evan,” he says, and Buck fights tooth and screaming nail to hold onto his composure. “Nash so low on funds he had to put you up in a crusty motel?”

“Agent 217,” Buck says, hand itching for his comm. He knows better, knows that 217 has his service weapon tucked neatly away in a holster at his side, knows he’d be dead before he could click on to make the call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Please, call me Tommy,” 217 says with an innocent, dashing grin, even inch the handsome James Bond everyone assumes Buck must be. “You have something I want.”

“Like we’ll ever tell you anything,” Buck scoffs, “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

217—Tommy, and why would he give Buck a name to call him?—stands, and stalks over. “Who says I’m after information?”

Buck swallows, tensing himself for a fight. “So, what, this is a hit? Are you here to gloat?”

Tommy continues walking, appraising Buck where he stands in his unassuming civvies. Jean jacket, cotton tee, khakis, tennis shoes. Compared to Tommy’s government-issued slacks, crisp button-down, and polished shoes, Buck feels a little underdressed. He glances down as Tommy rounds his back and leans forward to whisper. “You were at the boardwalk tonight. I know what Nash is after. Going up against the entire establishment, Evan? That’s a suicide mission.”

And—okay. Contrary to popular belief, being a spy (“Intelligence Agent,” Bobby always insists) doesn’t get him laid all the time. He’s actually been going through a bit of a dry spell, with the recent push towards leaking the project they’d been a part of before they went rogue. They just need a little more information, a little more time. Point being, it’s been a fucking goddamn minute, and 217 is smoking. Curly hair, slate gray eyes that sparkle with dry wit, pearly white smile that is condescending, maybe, but in a way that gets Buck’s dick standing at attention. Broad shoulders, big arms, solid muscle. He could bend Buck completely in half, if he so desired. And God, Buck desires.

“Sorry,” Buck blinks, while Tommy smiles his little Cheshire Cat grin, “What was the question?”

“Oh, I’m not here for questions,” Tommy murmurs, hands slipping over Buck’s hips. “I’ve seen the way you watch me, Evan. You’re not exactly subtle. It’s a wonder Nash still employs you.”

“I’m not hooking up with a fucking Fed,” Buck says, even as he gasps with the way Tommy leans down to mouth at his neck.

“Kinda sounds like you are,” Tommy grins, obnoxiously smug, “Besides, weren’t you a fucking Fed three years ago?”

“People change,” Buck says mindlessly, “Fuck, touch me.”

“As you wish,” Tommy replies, sounding affected for the first time that night. Buck catches a glimpse of them in the standing mirror in the entryway, sees the way Tommy’s eyes are blown dark over his shoulder. Watches his hand snake down his front, gently palm over the (frankly, humiliating) bulge in his pants.

Buck wishes he could say it felt like nothing. It would be so nice to be disappointed by Tommy’s touch, when he hates the guy with a burning passion. Unfortunately for Buck’s pride, it’s electric. Tommy’s hand is firm and warm on his dick, even through the layers of fabric.

“They told me about your reputation,” Tommy breathes, “Told me about Agent Buckley, back in the day, sleeping with marks more often than tailing them.”

Okay, so maybe sometimes being a spy got him laid. “It was very effective,” Buck says defensively, “Got a lot of good intel. Why, you want to see what all the fuss was about?”

“You know what they say about curiosity and cats,” Tommy muses, “And satisfaction bringing them back.”

Buck hums, and loses the last tenuous grip on his dignity. “I could blow you.”

“You mean I’d get a blowjob and spared the sound of your voice?” Tommy says, pressing a little harsher into Buck’s clothed dick, delicious friction pushing a moan out of Buck’s mouth. “Is there a downside?”

“Your dick will be extremely close to my teeth,” Buck returns, “And I don’t want you to come down my throat. I want you to fuck me.”

“All you had to do was ask,” Tommy simpers, before dropping his saccharine tone for a bossy: “Now get on your fucking knees.”

And, really, who told him that Buck’s favorite part of his 1.0 phase was when his marks would boss him around? Against his will, his knees give out, and he drops down, watching himself kneel in front of Tommy before reluctantly breaking eye contact with the mirror, shuffling around to a face full of tented polyester.

“You’re so fucking obnoxious,” Buck says, even as he leans forward to run his tongue along the outline of Tommy’s cock. It’s mouth-watering.

“I thought the point of sucking cock was to have your mouth occupied,” Tommy scoffs, hand fisting Buck’s hair a little meanly. Buck wishes he could stop another moan from spilling out of his mouth, but the pain hits him just right.

With fingers that are still thankfully on board with what he’s doing, Buck deftly undoes Tommy’s belt buckle, unzips his pants, and marvels at the thick, long cock that he pulls from his boxers. Oh, he’s going to have so much fun with this. He licks up the underside of Tommy’s dick, slow and wet, and revels in the way his hand tightens in his hair.

It’s like riding a bike, or something, probably. Buck finds himself sucking on the head of Tommy’s cock like he was born for it, bobbing his head down the length of him, letting the filthy, wet, clicking noise of his throat echo around the hotel room. It must be like riding a bike, because the other option is that Buck really did need Tommy this bad. And it can’t be that. Bobby would skin him alive.

“Jesus,” Tommy swears, hips hitching into Buck’s mouth. It’s almost like he’s trying to hold back for Buck’s sake, which is… cute. Certainly nicer treatment than he’s used to, but he can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or not.

Either way, he can’t handle tenderness. Not now, and maybe not ever. He doesn’t get to have attachments. That much is clear. He sees the way Eddie and Hen and Chim worry over their loved ones. This way is better. He’s already got Christopher and Maddie and Jee-yun to worry about.

Buck pulls off Tommy’s cock with a loud pop. “You can fuck my throat. It’s okay. I won’t break.”

“I hate to think of what your team would do to me if I broke their favorite toy,” Tommy chuckles, “Especially Diaz. I hear he’s creative.”

“Do me a favor and don’t mention him with your dick next to my face,” Buck rolls his eyes, desperately ignoring the way his dick twitches at the mention of Eddie’s name, “I’ll be fine. Take me for a ride. I know you want to.”

“Oh, you’re gagging for it,” Tommy surmises, guiding his cock back to Buck’s mouth. Buck, unable to deny it, willingly goes down on Tommy, letting him set the pace as he fucks leisurely into Buck’s mouth.

Tommy pushes him down further, and Buck relaxes into it, until he can feel the warmth of Tommy’s hip where his nose pushes into soft flesh. “Holy shit,” Tommy says, “I’m starting to get why this was so effective, I think.”

Buck stays until black spots start dancing at the corners of his eyes, pulling back and heaving breath, and then returning to his spot with Tommy’s cock all the way down his throat. It’s alarmingly comfortable. For the first time since his team went AWOL, he wishes he wasn’t in too deep to quit. He could spend an entire lifetime sitting at Tommy’s feet with his dick choking him stupid.

He gets maybe three more off-breath-down reps in before Tommy is pulling him off by the hair. “Okay, if you still want me to fuck you, we have to take this elsewhere.”

“Yeah, I want,” Buck croaks, voice alarmingly fucked out. Tommy helps him up—strangely chivalrous for a man who has tried on multiple occasions to shoot him with a gun—and they tumble into bed together. If it weren’t for the fact of who both of them were, it might even be romantic.

Tommy has his mouth on Buck before he can get another word in edgewise. Buck starts scrambling to get the rest of their clothes off, and shirts, pants, underwear, and shoes end up scattered around the room.

“Lube? Condoms?” Tommy asks as Buck bites at the junction of his neck and jaw.

“Side table,” Buck says, “You don’t have to use a condom. I haven’t had sex in a while.”

“Poor thing,” Tommy says, faux-pitying, as he rifles through the drawer of the side table, “You must be so pent up.”

Honestly, Buck’s just used to his marks not wanting to use condoms, and dealing with the potential fallout later. Still, he’s kind of disappointed when Tommy pulls them out of the drawer along with the lube packets.

“You’re adorable when you pout,” Tommy grins, pressing a sickly sweet kiss to Buck’s cheek, “I’m using a condom.”

“Fine,” Buck huffs, rolling his hips up into Tommy’s, “Just hurry.”

Tommy, thankfully, wastes no time in emptying a lube packet into his hand and swiping it up against Buck’s hole, slicking the way for his fingers. He’s clearly no slouch at this, either, thick fingers deftly opening him up beneath him, forearm muscles flexing so deliciously.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck,” Buck says, squirming as Tommy slides his fingers in and out in intoxicating rhythm, “Fuck me, Tommy, Tommy—”

“Finally, you’re saying something worth listening to,” Tommy smiles against Buck’s neck, “Never thought I’d get to hear the great Evan Buckley beg for my cock.”

“It’s—ah—it’s a specialty,” Buck pants, rolling his hips as he aches for more, for a harsh little sting, for something to distract him from the way this is starting to feel too much like intimacy and not enough like fucking.

“Maybe I’d like to hear some more,” Tommy says, pulling away to roll a condom on and slick himself up.

Buck, suddenly cold and empty, lets the words fall unabashed from his mouth. “Oh, please, Tommy, I’ll make it so good for you, it’ll feel so good, just need you in me, just need—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tommy says, just on the wrong side of tender, “I know what you need. Hold still for me.”

And then there’s the thick press of Tommy’s cock against Buck’s hole. Tommy slips in with a stretch that has Buck mewling something embarrassing in the back of his throat, and leans forward as he slides deeper, inch-by-burning-inch, encouraged by the way Buck grips at his biceps.

“Breathe,” Tommy says as he bottoms out, at which point Buck realizes he’s been stuck with his head tipped back and mouth open. He sucks in a gasping breath, relaxing under Tommy’s bulk. Tommy is warm above him again, haloed by the dim hotel light, so close Buck can feel his breath on his cheek.

“Move,” Buck demands, squirming. Tommy seems only too happy to oblige, mouth finding Buck’s again as he starts to roll his hips into him. It’s a slow, languid fuck, but still enough to have Buck seeing stars.

“This how you got all those people to tell you what they were up to?” Tommy asks, a hand roaming down to pinch Buck’s nipple, coaxing a groan out of him. “You’d just lay here all pretty and let them take what they wanted?”

“Nnnnngh—usually they wanted me on top,” Buck says around a reedy moan, “But yeah, that’s the general idea.”

“You take it so well,” Tommy murmurs, snapping his hips in with just a little more force, “Makes me wonder how many times you’ve done this before. How many times you begged on your knees—how many times you’ve been a slut for terrible people.”

“You’re in perfectly fine company, I can assure you,” Buck says, trying to regain some of his composure, “Art thieves, mob bosses, hackers. You work with monsters every day, why can’t I sleep with them?”

“I’ll have you know that the monsters I work with are working for the greater good,” Tommy says, with a huffed laugh, “And if you keep talking about them I’m not going to let you finish.”

“Oh, you’re not going to let me?” Buck says, “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of taking what I want, too.”

“I’m sure you are, stud,” Tommy says, in that same condescending tone of voice that goes right to Buck’s dick. He fucks into him harder, right at the perfect angle, and Buck can’t help the pathetic moan that spills out of his mouth.

“You—were—talking—a little—too much,” Tommy grunts between thrusts, slamming into Buck again, and again, “Just lay back—and fucking take it.”

Like Buck could ever want to do anything else. He’s well aware of the fucked-out little uh, uh, uh noises that Tommy’s forcing out of him, but he’s far too gone to be embarrassed about it. This is the best fuck he’s had in years, he could care less what he sounds like or looks like right now.

Not that Tommy seems to mind. If anything, given the way he’s latched onto Buck’s neck like a goddamn vampire, he likes that Buck’s a writhing mess beneath him. Buck’s nerves are lit up, from the pain of Tommy’s less-than-gentle biting, from the way Tommy nails Buck’s prostate with every thrust, from the skin-on-skin he hasn’t had in so long.

His orgasm sneaks up on him. Usually, he’s a lot better about announcing it, giving his partners time to decide what they want, but Tommy is—Tommy is grunting and his back muscles are flexing under Buck’s fingers and his cock fills him so beautifully and Buck didn’t even think he could come without something on his dick, but—

Belatedly, as Buck rockets towards the clouds, he realizes that maybe there is something special about Agent 217. 

Buck comes down slowly, to the feeling of hands gently petting his sides, and a softening dick sliding out of his ass. It’s gross, leaves him feeling sticky and a little used, but he can’t bring himself to care that much about it at all. To his complete shock, he feels Tommy rummaging around for something, and then the soft cotton of his shirt wiping the cum off of his stomach, and the lube from his ass.

“It’s okay, Evan,” Tommy says, gentle, soft, “You can rest.”

Buck, despite every ounce of self-preservation that says he’s leaving himself completely vulnerable, does.

He wakes to an empty room. Nothing seems amiss, so despite the deep humiliation and regret, Buck packs his things (luckily, finding his hiding spots untouched) and heads back to the rendezvous point.

Athena is waiting for him at the café, in streetwear that looks unnaturally casual on her. “Got everything?”

“Check and check,” Buck says, handing her the dossier, “Got some lovely pictures. The sunset was especially gorgeous last night.”

“You sound like you could use a tea with lemon and honey,” Athena winces, “You coming down with something?”

“No,” Buck says, fighting against the urge to flush.

Athena passes him a knowing smile over her coffee. “Thanks for this, Buck. I’ll let Bobby know you came through, and he’ll want to meet with you later. I think we’re getting close.”

“Good,” Buck sighs, “I can’t wait for this whole mess to be over. I never thought I’d say this, but it would be nice to do some paperwork for once.”

[sentientcave]

Fuck-ass Mohawk

Contains: Alcohol, smoking (cigarettes and cannabis), Soap being Soap, Ghost being Ghost, uninvited touching, tall fem reader

Short little thing about Johnny liking it a bit when you're a bitch to him (And Ghost likes it too)

868 Words ~ MDNI

You’d rather stay home and play board games, but Laurie had convinced everyone that it was a good night for clubbing. You hated clubs— The noise, the crowds, the smell of sweat and alcohol and hormones— and spent the better part of club nights standing outside chain-smoking, or crammed into a dirty bathroom stall holding back a friend’s hair as she threw up blue curacao because she didn’t listen to you when you told her to eat dinner before going out. Tonight didn’t look like it was going to end up with anyone puking their guts up, at least. Laurie’s flirting with a gorgeous hunk with a devastating smile, and Alex and Hannah are dancing, so you go out the side door into the alley for some fresh air. Or air, anyway, since the alley’s where folks go to smoke. You light a joint, because at least that will dull the effect that the sound is having on your head. It’s getting close to midnight, which at least means the night is almost over, so long as someone doesn’t drag you along to some weirdo’s house. “Hey, wha’s a bonnie thing like ye doin’ out here all alone?” A voice purrs in your ear. You jump, surprised that he could get so close with out you noticing him, especially once you turn and really look at him. He’s huge, not that tall, probably your height when you’re not wearing boots (You have about an inch and a half on him in your shit-kickers), but broad and way more muscled than anyone has any reason to be, wrapped in a too-tight shirt, and smiling at you, bright blue eyes fixed on yours with unnerving intensity. He pats your shoulder. “Didnae mean to scare ye, lass, just wanted to say hello.” You take a big step to the side, establishing a new bubble of personal space without him in it. “Well, hello,” you say dismissively. “Goodbye.” There’s a snort from a few meters away, a big fellow with a kn95 mask dangling on one ear, his hand up in front of his face, a cigarette clamped between his fingers. “Och, dinnae be like tha’, hen.” “Don’t like it?” you ask, glaring at him. “Go away. Plenty of girls in there’ll go for whatever all this is.” A sweeping, unimpressed glance from his boots and ripped jeans up to his stupid mohawk would usually do the trick, but it only made this fellow smile wider. “No’ enough fer ya? I can sweeten tha deal some. The big fella doesnae mind sharin’ a sweet lass with me noo and again. There’s plenty of ye ta go around.” “Johnny,” the big fellow in question says sternly. His mask is back in place, covering the lower half of his face. “Dun’t look like she’s interested.”

“Tha’s where you’re wrong, LT. She just doesna want to admit it. Hen’s got pride. Wants to make me work for it, right lass?” He winks at you. “No. Don’t like your fuck-ass mohawk.” You puff on your joint, keeping your face still while he splutters, indignant. “Fuck-ass mohawk?” he asks. “What do ye mean by tha’?” “I mean it looks like you have a contentious relationship with your father,” you say. Maybe you’re being a bit mean, but it’s always fun to take a cocky fucker down a peg or two. “I don’t fuck with men with daddy issues. Most of ‘em are cops or military lads.” The big guy— LT?— laughs aloud at that while Johnny’s still looking at you with his mouth hanging open. The side door opens, and your friends pile out, Laurie arm in arm with her hunk, and Hannah and Alex clinging to handsome fellows of their own. “There you are,” Laurie says. “We’re going back to Hannah’s. Are you coming?” “Uh. I guess.” Laurie beams at you, and looks up at her hunk. “Kyle, do you need to find your friends?” “Nah. These lads right here.” He gestures at Johnny and LT. with a grin. “Knew Ghost would be out here, and Soap’s always followin’ him around like the big puppy he is.” “Ah’m no’!” You fall into step at the rear of the group. You’ll probably head home rather than join them, but Hannah’s flat is on the way to your own. Johnny and his handler flank you, matching your stride when you slow down or speed up. Annoying. “So what, is the big guy your replacement daddy?” you ask. “Wha— No!” Johnny says hotly. “He’s just my lieutenant.” “Could be your daddy, if you like,” Ghost says, putting a heavy hand on the back of your neck. “Got a thing for caustic little cunts.” “Oh fuck off,” you say, trying to shove his hand off. His grip squeezes a little tighter, and you try to ignore the way that core clenches around nothing. You channel the heat into anger, and dig your nails into his wrist hard. “Don’t fucking touch me.” He grunts, but doesn’t seem all that affected by your claws. “Look at you, ‘issin’ and spittin’ like a puffed up alley cat. S’cute. But save it for later, eh? Don’t want you to tire yourself out too early.”

[yellowbunnydreams]

Bunny Ears (Part 20) ~William Afton X F! Reader~

~Fluffy husband is always welcome! He's so dorky in this chapter it's almost cringy but we all need some golden-retriever Henry Emily in our life too. Sorry it took so long to write, I was really struggling with some writers block for a while so I apologise for any issues with the flow~

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tag List: @ruh--roh-raggy @h4nluv @sleepy---head @do-double-g @confiscated-peaches-main @dij-ology @viviennemuerte @robin-the-enby @shari-berri @randymeeksisafinalgirl @hallow1090 @aponia-yue @likoplays @dilflover-3 @oak-leafs @phd-in-fuckery @weirdoartist21 @nicolezghostz @fauine @emmbny

Sorry if I missed you on the tag-list!

CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 30's), divorce/processing divorce, Afton being a sarcastic hot ass, grumpy x sunshine . Faz-Fuck TM

The sweet smell of something syrupy and sugar, fruit hidden beneath it, filled your nose in the morning. Turning over in the large bed, your hand reached out for William only to find the mattress cool beneath your fingertips and making your eyes snap open as sit up. Wincing slightly as your body twinged unhappily and you blinked away the last of the sleep clinging to your eyes before your legs slipped out of the bed and padded barefoot across the cool wooden floor.

The space looked so different in the daylight, a window built into the slanted roof opposite the bed let in a lot of natural light, chiffon curtains fluttering in the slight breeze as you realised it was open. His bedding was black sheets with a blue comforter and black pillows, a stark contrast to the pale walls and matching the dark wood of the furniture around the place. It weirdly felt appropriate that William straddled the line between open and airy space with darker elements.

Your footsteps were silent as you pressed on through the house, coming to the old stairs and pulling down William's t-shirt around your body before you reached the bottom. Hearing humming coming from the kitchen, you managed to peek your head around the corner and smiled as you saw his broad back to you. Still wearing those sweatpants that he'd pulled on last night, but clearly focused on cooking as he partly turned to grab something from the counter, his sharp features looking handsome in the soft lighting as his greying stubble made his cheeks look a little more hollow. His salt and pepper hair messy like he'd just woken up, squinting as you realised that this was the first time you were properly seeing him without his glasses.

"Welll good morning handsome." You called sleepily, watching as he practically jumped out of his skin and hissed as the distinct sound of somebody slamming their foot directly into the nearest solid surface was only just covered by the sharp intake of breath. Your hands flying to cover your mouth as you gasped too even though you were completely safe. "Oh my gosh, I'm so so sorry!"

"You're alright bunny, I didn't see you there." He laughed, crouching down to inspect any damage, more to his kitchen than himself before standing up tall once again and gently padding his way around the counter, his thick arms wrapped around you and holding you closely in a warm hug.

"How's my cute little superstar doing this morning?" He asked, kissing the top of your head as your arms wrapped around him in kind.

"Superstar? And I'm good...sore but good." Feeling him squeeze you tighter as he pulled back and inspected you with a frown, squinting in what looked like a slightly accusatory fashion.

"Bunny, baby-girl, you should have lead with that!" He began to ramble slightly as he focused on you, holding onto your shoulders and stroking his thumb over the curve of the joint appreciately as he seemed to tune you out almost in his slight panic.

"Will-"

" I'm sorry you're sore if I went too hard last night say and we don't have to do that again! Gosh I'm so stupid, I should have given you aftercare and made sure..no maybe I should have prepped you more-" Your own brows raised in slight amusement as you looked up at him, head cocked to one side as his voice slipped into that deep gravel.

"William."

"I am such a fool, an old fool! Bunny please can y-"

"WILLIAM AFTON." You finally broke through to him as he seemed to jolt at the use of his full name. Tensing before your hands reached up and cupped his cheeks lightly, thumbs stroking them over his stubbled cheeks and feeling him relaxing, torn from his little concerned spiral.

"William Afton, I love you. And last night was beautiful, and I wouldn't change it for the world, you hear me?" Watching his expression soften as you spoke,

"I do bunny...sorry I just..I wanted it to be special and I wanted to make you breakfast in bed and bring it up to you because you're special to me..I love you too."

"Good, now you've stopped panicking...is it bad timing to mention whatever you're cooking is burning?" Looking over his shoulder and towards the pan that was producing a little black smoke and smelt acrid, making William snap his head around and release you as he sprinted to the stovetop, swearing profusely as you dissolved into laughter over the whole situation.

If it was any indication as to what mornings were like in the Afton household, you were certain that you could live with that for the rest of your life.

It took William about another hour to clean up breakfast, or rather the cremated remains of the original breakfast plan and then to make some pancake batter, making sure that you had heaps of syrup, butter and cream on your pancakes that he even cheesily poured into a little heart shape.

It was entirely silly, but it was so cute that it made you smile even as you tucked in. Moaning at the taste on your tongue and William occasionally stealing bites from your fork and you from his as in the morning light, you both felt that playful spark passing between you. The cuteness of the morning suddenly broken by the telephone on his kitchen wall which had escaped your notice the night before ringing, William rolled his eyes and stood up, cracking his back before he picked up the reciever and crossed his broad arms across his chest, pressing a button on the wall unit so you could hear the full conversation.

"Morning to you Henry."

"Good morning Wil- Hey, how did you know it was me?" You stifled a giggle around a mouthful of pancake as William rolled his eyes again and rubbed his hand over his face.

"It's always you, the telemarketers don't even call this early anymore." William sighed before leaning against the wall, giving you a playful wink as he spoke to your mutual friend. "Anyway, you're not just calling for fun are you?"

"No, right! Yes... The reason I called!" You nearly choked as you could hear the mild confusion in Henry's voice before returning to it's naturally chipper state, probably forgetting why he was confused in the first place. "The reason I called is that I really need you to come in Will."

"It's my day off."

"Yes, I know I know, but one of the arcades isn't acting right and it's spitting out tickets when it's hitting low scores and nothing on the jackpot."

"Is it a One-Dee-Aye-Zero-Tee error?" He asked, taking a moment before you realised what he spelt and trying not to laugh even more as William gave you that confident smirk again that made your chest tighten up.

"No? You know I'm not familiar with all the error codes like you are! Please, please just come in for half an hour?"

"I uh...I would love to Henry but I genuinely can't." He replied, looking suddenly slightly sheepish as he moved his weight from one leg to the other, making you raise an eyebrow and point to yourself. William simply made a non-commital motion in return.

"Why? Wills if this is about your little guest that I presume is still there, just bring her along and I'll pay both of you for the day!"

"I can't drive, Henry."

There was a pregnant pause as you looked at the taller, older man with a furrowed brow and confusion written over your expression. Watching as even through the stubble you could see his cheeks flushing red and practically hear the gears of Henry's mind turning.

"Damn Will, I mean..did you like...break... it? Cause uh...wow that's mildly impressive almost if she-"

"No. No! God, no! Nothing like that!" William rubbed his hand over his face as he turned even more sheepish looking and could barely look in your direction as he tried to mumble something into the phone, only making you raise your eyebrows again. You could just hear Henry through the phone asking him to speak up however, clearly struggling to understand his friend as he tried to be discreet before William got frustrated and spoke loudly again.

"Look, I broke my damn glasses last night okay? I'm blind as fuck right now." You blinked in surprise as you vaugely recalled William throwing his glasses as they fogged up and bursting into uncontrolled giggled. Trying to clamp your hands over your mouth as you recieved a squinting death glare from your boyfriend as Henry spoke up again.

"You....How? Wait no, I don't want to know! But I do...but...how? How do you even???..." confusion evident in his voice as you tried and failed to stop your laughter.

"Look so I can try to get in but-"

"OH MY GOD IF YOU BROKE YOUR GLASSES WHAT DID SHE BREAK?!" you were unable to hide it as you burst out laughing, hearing Henry calling your name panickedly through the crackle of the telephone. "SPEAK TO ME, IF YOU NEED MEDICAL ASSISTANCE SAY 'PINEAP-"

William slammed the phone down on his friend as you looked at each other and burst out laughing again after a moment. Jokingly holding up some fingers and asking how many there were before William flipped you off and came over to kiss you, humming against your lips as he smiled into your laughter.

~~

"Bunny, we're going to be late." William laughed as he poked his head around the door to his room, looking at you sat on his bed and turning up the cuffs of the jeans he had leant you so that they wouldn't drag on the floor. He had had to lend you clothes for the day since you certainly weren't being let into Freddy's wearing that cute little dress from the night before, but his jeans drowned you even with one of his belts as tight it would go and a flannel shirt over a t-shirt.

You looked like you were a kid playing dress-up, but William simply smiled and padded over to you, wrapping his arms around you as he carefully tucked and adjusted the flannel to sit a little better on your much smaller frame.

"You look very cute though." Grinning as compared to his own lazy black t-shirt, opened pale yellow plaid shirt and jeans, you looked like a mini-him. Sticking your tongue out slightly as you shook your head.

"I look like a kid."

"No, you look like my beautiful bunny," He chastised playfully, giving you a slightly squinty smile as you noticed the bulge of his glasses tucked into his top pocket. It had admittedly been quite amusing when he revealed that they were really broken, one lens popped out and cracked so even if he could force it back into the frame, the vision would still be way off. You didn't remember him throwing it that hard the night before, but you supposed that you were focused on a lot more intense things instead.

"You're always going to say that, you love me." Rolling your eyes and watching as William raised an eyebrow before giving you a stern look and tutting through his teeth.

"I do love you, and here I thought you were a good girl."

"I am!"

"Good girls don't act like brats, they accept when their boyfriend says they're cute." Chuckling as he held your hand and kissed your forehead, humming against your skin before squeezing your hand and looking at you sheepishly again. "Although...I do need to ask a really big favour."

Crossing your arms after a moment, even in his squinty state, you looked all too cute and not in the least bit intimidating. Afton blinked and gave you that lopsided smile that made you melt, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close as he put his chin on your head. Breathing in and realising with a pang of both sadness and comfort that you smelled a little like his cologne as well as your own sweet perfume.

"I need you to drive us to work," He asked quietly, nuzzling into your shoulder as he dropped his head down, feeling you gently shake yours. "Please, I know you have a drivers licence."

"William..." You whined, feeling him turn his head and begin to place scratching kisses against your sensitive skin on your neck, murmuring 'please' against you between each one that made you think back to each delicious kiss the night before, groaning softly as you cradled the back of his head. "You're not playing fairly kissing me like that."

"You'll learn I don't always play fairly, bunny. Pretty please? I promise I'll take you to breakfast afterwards." Hearing the almost childish whine to his voice, you shook your head and laughed, carefully bringing his head up and kissing him as you looked at your handsome, older boyfriend and boss pouting like he hadn't gotten the candy he wanted.

"We've had breakfast, Will, both cremated and edible.

"Then I'll treat my pretty little bunny to ice-cream and cake and all the attention I can humanly lavish upon you?"

"Fine, twist my arm then. You're showing me how the hell to drive your car, and I'm not responsible for any scratches or paint work damage!" Kissing him again before taking his hand and walking down the stairs together, William holding your hand tightly and glad for the excuse that he could keep holding it for just a little bit longer.

~~

Driving through the small town and towards Freddy's whilst trying not to crash in William Afton's car that you definitely could not afford to replace, and you really hoped no cops pulled you over to ask for your registration details, was more stressful than you could have ever wanted to experience. Sure, you had a driving licence, but you didn't own a car and you were sure that the last time you had actually driven a vehicle was during your driving exam. But Afton had made it as comfortable for you as possible, and even allowed you to get out a block down from Freddy's and walk, since you both agreed that you weren't sure it was quite time to tell people about your relationship.

It felt strange, being inside the pizzeria without your uniform on now, and you called back to your first time arriving there, how nervous you had felt and how overwhelming the bright lights, colours and noise was. Now it felt strangely like home, like it really was a place where fantasy and fun could come to life.

Stacey wrapped you up in a bear hug once you got in, taking you slightly by surprise as you watched William slip in and through to the back hall to get his tool kit to fix the arcade, moving slower than normal to avoid earning an additional moniker to 'Wiffle Bat Willy' by punting a child in his blind state.

"Oh, em, gee! You're here on you're day off! Mr. Emily said you were sick on Friday and went home early and I was so worried!" The young woman gushed as she held you close and then at arms length, raising her eyebrow as you realised she had finally noticed what you were wearing. "And this...honestly isn't what I thought you would have as a personal style."

"Gee, thanks for your total vote of confidence!" You laughed, making your work friend laugh too as you shook your head. "It was what was clean and available." Not a total lie.

"Girl, stick a...darn...wash on, wear a skirt or something, god knows I would if I could right now!" Rolling your eyes at her statement, you looked over her shoulder at the groups of children running around carrying paper cups filled with half-strength sodas and hyper from pizza grease and carpet candy, raising your eyebrow as she followed your line of sight.

"Are you sure you want to keep to that statement?"

"On second thoughts, I have enough stains to get out of my clothes without having to scrub my legs raw to get off fizzy-Faz."

"Come on, find me a seat and I'll get a drink or something, I have to hang out for a bit anyway." It was Stacey's turn to raise an eyebrow now as you blushed, wondering if you had given too much away before she looked at the already blazing sunshine outside and sighed.

"Yeah, you don't want to be out there at the moment unless you're in some air conditioned car or bus. Come on, let's get you a table and I'll even get you a colouring sheet if you play nicely with the other kids!"

"Ha-ha, very funny." Ribbing her playfully in the ribs as you managed to snag a seat by the stage, prime real estate at Freddy's, and had a good view of the arcade, where you could see Will knelt on the floor and opening the back of a machine that had the 'out of order' panel placed over the screen.

"Oh look, you get a great view of Afton too!" Stacey laughed, making you blush more and smacking her arm as she retreated to just out of your reach. Cackling as she clearly enjoyed teasing you about what she presumed was a crush on your boss. "He's rubbing off on you too, that looks like one of his shirts."

You weren't sure how much hotter your cheeks could get as she disappeared to continue working, leaving you to sit and wait with your day dreams about what you would rather be doing as William Afton glanced over and gave you a soft smile that made you melt all over again.

[cobaltperun]

Lost (8) - Collect Call

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 9.1k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-Wishing you could keep me closer, I'm a lazy dancer when you move, I move with you-

Woodsboro was a small place, frankly, you were amazed it even had a proper gym, even if it wasn’t as well-equipped as you would prefer. Still, it had a punching bag, plenty of space to do push-ups, you could run, do pull-ups, lift wights, the basics were there, and you easily spent four to five hours in it a day, sometimes more. In fact, you just completed a two-hour work-out and were in the process of taking your gloves off.

Life moves on, no matter how hard you wish to stop it at times, to just remain in the current moment. Right now, however, you eagerly accepted the passage of time, after all, the sooner what Amber and Richie did became left in the past, the better, especially for Tara.

It's been almost three weeks since Tara was first attacked and for the most part, everything was returning back to normal. The wounds healed, well, aside from Tara's broken leg, that would take some time, but the scars remained, with two being more prominent than others, the stab through Tara's left hand and the slash that went horizontally just beneath the right side of your jawline. Other stabs and gunshots left their own scars, but those were easy to cover with clothes. Thus, you caught Tara's regretful gaze checking your scar out. Not that you blamed her, you glanced at her own scar every now and then. You still caught yourself wondering if there was anything you could have done to keep her safe, to prevent the first attack. The answer was always a definitive ‘no’ but you still wondered.

The Babadook theme rang almost immediately after you put your gloves in your bag and wiped the sweat off your face and hands with your towel, and you eagerly answered. "Hey, Snuggle Bear," you said teasingly before taking a sip from your water bottle. Damn, you missed having these phone calls with Tara while she was with Amber, and from the looks of it she had every intention to make up for the lost calls. Even with how much time the two of you spent together she still called you at least three times a day, often more.

"As if you're not as much of a snuggle bear as I am," she teased back, though there was a bit of nervousness in her tone. You’d leave that for when you met up.

With a broad smile on your face you faked sighing in defeat. "You caught me, only with you though," there was a small pause once you said that, but the silence felt comfortable.

"Exactly the way it should be," Tara set the boundaries, your boundaries to be precise. Possessive little snuggle bear. Granted, considering what those cuddles and snuggles included you couldn't say you blamed her for being like that. "Anyway, don't forget to pick me up in an hour," you stopped for a moment. Tara didn't have a check-up today. Hell, her next check up wasn’t until next week.

"Huh?" you were trying to think of the reason for picking her up. You didn't make any plans. Not that you minded abruptly spending time with Tara, but you were still a bit confused.

"Y/N," Tara groaned your name and you could hear her head hitting the pillow. "Your results are in. For your heart. Remember?" oh, that was today, well, at least that explained why she sounded a bit nervous before. She was anxious about the results. Damn, you, on the other hand, managed to forget all that. Your heart felt fine, so you kinda stopped being worried.

"Right, I'll come pick you up in an hour," you reassured her and began packing your stuff as you exchanged goodbyes with Tara.

Almost an hour later you parked in front of Tara's house and knocked several times. Most of the times since the attack you’d just unlock the doors yourself and go in, loudly announcing your presence even though Tara expected you. But most of the times Tara was alone, while this time her mother was home, and you did not want to deal with her mother making a scene for whatever reason. You could hear shuffling inside the house, and then there was some stumbling until the doors finally opened and a very drunk Christina Carpenter leaned against the doors, a bottle of whatever alcohol she was currently drinking in hand.

"Y-" she hiccuped and you could smell the alcohol even if you were over a dozen of feet away from her, let alone right in front of her. "Y/N, how you doing?" well, at least she could form some kind of sentence, even if her words were slurred.

"Good. Is Tara upstairs," you sure hoped she was because you didn't trust the drunk in front of you to help her down the stairs and Sam was out at the moment, probably covering someone's shift to earn enough to get by.

"Tara?" you felt a vein popping on your forehead. "She's not with you?" your blood would have run cold at that if anyone else said it.

"Please let me in," you did your best to be as gentle and polite as you possibly could. You knew the consequences of confronting Christina well enough. The last time you did it took a month and a rather expensive bottle of whiskey to let you back into her house.

"Hmm? Sure, suuuree," she stumbled to the side, and you quickly went up the stairs before she could try to continue the conversation.

You reached Tara's room and knocked.

"Come in," you heard Tara's voice from the other side of the doors. She sounded frustrated.

"Hey, you okay?" you came in and saw the issue. She was struggling with her jeans.

Tara laughed uneasily and just gave up, falling back on her bed and spreading her arms in defeat. "Shit, am I late?" she asked, a bit out of breath.

You offered her a smile and knelt in front of her to help her. You began pulling the jeans over her cast as she sat up, her breath hitching as you pulled her jeans up to the middle of her thighs. You stood up and put your arms around her waist so you could lift Tara up. That way she could pull her jeans up all the way and finish getting dressed. You smiled slightly when you felt her leaning her forehead on your shoulder, still embarrassed by how often she had to rely on you or Sam for even the simplest tasks. You didn’t think anyone could get as red as she did the first time you helped her take a shower. Not that you were unaffected, you just managed to separate doing something out of need and out of want, and that was a need, not a want for Tara. "Nope, I got here early," you reassured her, leaning to the side to kiss the top of her head, you always knew Tara was touchy, and that she craved physical touch and affection, but it only intensified after the attack, and what used to be hugs and occasional cuddles turned into still friendly kisses, sleeping with you almost every night and a lot of snuggling. "Ready now?"

Tara nodded as she pulled away, she picked up her handbag and put her arm around your neck as you lifted her up. "Think we can avoid mom?" she asked as you stepped outside her room.

"She's probably still at the doors, so unlikely," you sighed. It wasn't the first time Tara was uncomfortable about her mom seeing the two of you together, but there was something different about the way she worriedly looked away from you. "Did she say something?"

"Just another fight with Sam, well, another Sam just taking it and mom screaming at her," Tara explained and took a deep breath. "Sorry, you're worried about your results and I'm complaining about my family," she apologized making you nudge her lightly with your head.

"Hey, none of that, or do I need to remind you I forgot about the results? Besides, we support each other, right?" you reminded her as you went down the stairs.

Tara looked away. "It feels one-sided lately," she whispered so quietly you nearly didn't hear it. You were certain she didn't intend for you to hear it, so you just pulled her a tiny bit closer. You'd eventually have to talk about all the feelings that remained unresolved, but it didn't feel like today was the right day.

Luckily Christina wasn’t in the hall, you guess she went somewhere else to drink, and Tara seemed to relax a bit due to that, but she was still tense, even as you sat her down on the passenger seat.

As you drove to the hospital your mind raced in the other direction. You wouldn't say Tara has been difficult ever since what happened, hell, given what she went through, you thought she was handling things better than most people would. However, there were definitely more difficult moments, especially after she learned she would never have full use of her left hand again. She struggled to keep a firm grip on anything smaller than a cup or heavier than half a pound, not to mention reduced mobility and occasional cramps.

Mood swings, while understandable, were abrupt and immediately noticeable, which, you guessed, was to be expected. Something would trigger Tara, and it would be as if a switch got flipped. All Sam and you could do was remain patient with her. Neither of you could say you knew exactly what Tara was thinking, she refused to talk, but there was a pattern you recognized.

Christina screaming at Sam? Mood swing.

Sam being gone for too long? Mood swing.

Anyone mentioning Amber? Being reminded of Amber? Mood swing and a half.

Tara being unable to do something for herself due to her leg? The worst mood swing of them all.

Combination of any of those? Or all of them? Not fun. Currently, you were dealing with a combination of the first and fourth, perhaps the second as well, depending on when Tara last saw Sam.

Sam also told you that being away from you, even if it wasn’t for that long, caused just as big, if not even bigger mood swings, during which it wouldn’t take long to irritate Tara into an angry outburst. You, personally, didn’t deal with angry outbursts, Tara would get annoyed, or alternatively possessive and/or jealous, but you wouldn’t describe it as angry outbursts.

You stopped at the red light, a few more minutes and you'd reach the hospital.

"Y/N," the softness of her voice calmed you down, it let you know she was gradually getting less irritated.

"Yeah?" you allowed yourself a quick look at her, before turning your attention back to the road.

"I've been difficult lately, I'm sorry," that caught you off guard for a moment.

"I'd rather have you expressing everything you're feeling than the opposite. Both Sam and I will be here, no matter what, so be difficult if it helps," the lights switched to green and you drove for a bit before parking the car in the first open parking spot, still a bit away from the hospital. You turned in your seat, looking at Tara with utmost seriousness. "But, if at some point it stops helping, talk to us about that too. Just don't try to deal with it alone, rely on us."

What else could you tell her? This soon after everything happened? You were sure Sam told her something similar at least once a day, you told her as often as you could. There was no way to tell if it was reaching Tara or not. A shaky breath fell from her lips and Tara turned away from you and looked at the cars passing by your own. "We'll be late," she whispered, so you drove once again, choosing not to push or force the conversation further than she was ready to accept it.

By the time you were inside the hospital, with you sitting across from the doctor and Tara standing on her crutches next to you, you could only see the worry in her eyes. The irritation, the frustrations, it all vanished now that you were waiting to hear the results. You could see her anxiety going through the roof and wrapped your left arm around her waist, pulling her closer to you to help her clam down.

The doctor came in and you felt Tara firmly grabbing your shoulder. "Good news, miss L/N," you noticed Tara visibly relaxing and her grip on your shoulder getting weaker. "The heart attack was due to extreme circumstances. According to the tests your heart is a textbook example of healthy. You've got a long MMA career ahead of you with these results," oof, that one wasn't going to age well. You couldn't help but chuckle at that. If only the good doctor in front of you knew...

Tara, overwhelmed with relief and happiness flung her arms around you, causing you to quickly get up so she wouldn't hurt her leg. "Oh, thank goodness," she trembled in your arms as she, over the top happy as she currently was kissed your cheek several times. There was no way the corners of your lips didn’t touch a few times with how she was kissing you and you had to resist the urge to kiss her properly. It was getting more difficult though. Every time she looked you in the eyes a bit longer than she used to, every time she pressed up against you more than it was necessary, every time her lips lingered on your cheek, you had to control yourself and hold the need to kiss her back.

You worried it was too early for her to jump into another relationship, especially given what happened with Amber. "Easy, Tara," you laughed and offered a quick apology to the doctor.

"It's all good," he raised his hands. "I get it. Get out though, other patients are waiting," he chuckled and handed you Tara's crutches that had fallen to the floor.

Still, with Tara this happy, and with a movie night scheduled tonight at the twins' place, you figured nothing could cause another mood swing.

Famous last words, as some would say.

~X~

When you brought Tara back to her house and left her in her room once again, she caught herself glancing at the calendar on her phone. It's been three months now. With some trouble, she went over to the desk in her room and pulled out a box. She went back to her bed and got comfortable before opening it. The necklace inside was her favorite piece of jewelry. Simple at first glance with its round pendant, but the details were intricate and required a closer look to be seen. She traced the round patterns and the small sapphire in the middle with her fingertips, smiling as she remembered what you did back then.

~X~

It was in April 2020, it was a Saturday and you, quite easily, convinced Tara to come with you to another town, one, as you said, better equipped to handle what you wanted to do. You said you needed her help, and it wasn't until you were sitting in a confectionery store that you told her what you needed to do.

"So, there's a girl," she immediately froze when you opened with that. "I really care about her, and her birthday is coming up, and I wanted to get her something, I guess, a bit more, uh something. I thought about getting her a necklace, but I don't know anything about all that stuff."

Tara found it difficult to swallow the piece of cake she mistakenly put in her mouth before you spoke up. She still smiled, even if it didn't reach her eyes. "So, you thought I could help you?" she despised how her voice nearly gave her away when she started talking.

You just rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. The grin on your face told her everything. "I'd appreciate it."

"Do you, uh, do you really care about her?" she couldn't bring herself to ask if you were in love. The way your eyes brightened was enough of an answer without verbal confirmation.

"I do," not a moment of hesitation. Tara felt jealousy consuming her. She felt regret at not saying anything to you. She wanted to yell at you that you weren't being fair, but how could she do that when you looked so happy just thinking about that girl.

How amazing did that girl have to be to get that reaction out of you? She tried to keep her face at least neutral, even as her emotions spiraled out of control, self-doubt consuming her. She dared to hope that maybe, at some point, you might start seeing her as more than just a friend, but now she doubted that would ever happen. It would be too good to be true after all.

"Let's go then," neither one of you was done with the cakes, but she wanted, no, needed to get this over with. She'd help to the best of her abilities, but she wanted to be quick about it.

You blinked a few times, but didn’t say anything. You must have noticed her mood dropping though, because you placed an arm around her shoulders for a brief moment and smiled at her. She returned the smile, as genuinely as she could, but her heart still sank at the thought of you loving someone else.

You got to the store, and she looked around, wondering if she could really do it. "What did you want me to do, exactly?" she asked.

"Uh, look around and find the one that catches your eye the most? Let's say as if you were choosing something for yourself?" you looked around, completely out of place. Tara guessed you really never had the time to figure something like this out, with all the training and fighting, and now a job as a cook, you simply didn't have time.

So, going as far as to ask for Tara's help, not to mention taking an entire day off from everything, really made her envious of that mysterious girl of yours. How far were you going to go for that girl if you were taking a day off for a gift? What if she likes you back and you start dating? Who was she kidding with that last thought? That girl would have to be crazy not to like you back. It wasn't just jealousy over that, it went further, to how it would affect your friendship when your already limited free time got occupied by another girl.

So, to keep her mind off those possibilities Tara turned to her task. "What's your budget?" she asked absentmindedly.

"I didn't really consider it. Don't look at the price," were you being serious now?

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Tara asked in a hushed whisper, she knew how careful you were with money, yet here you were, acting like you’d spend a small fortune if needed.

"Buying a gift?" you didn't seem affected by the prices in the store. Well, if you weren't going to care, then Tara would do it for you.

"Welcome, is there anything I can help you with?" a woman interrupted the two of you and Tara gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Please do, we’re looking for a gift,” you told her and seeing how certain you were of that the woman didn't seem to mind Tara’s not so happy smile as she began showing the two of you different pieces of jewelry.

Tara considered something cheaper than a necklace, like a ring… actually, no, no ring! Too much! But something like earrings or a bracelet. Despite those intentions her eyes kept going back to one necklace in particular. Simple, golden, necklace with a beautiful circular design on the pendant and a tiny sapphire in the middle of it. You seemed to catch that, and Tara had long since noticed you weren't paying attention to the jewelry as much as her reactions to them.

"Could you maybe try it? You know, to see if it's comfortable?" you sheepishly asked and Tara sighed, that ugly jealousy increasing tenfold. Did you really have to buy that girl one thing that genuinely caught her eye? And to make it even worse it fit her like a glove.

"Thanks," you looked almost mesmerized at the sight of the necklace around her neck.

"Mhm. Lucky girl," she swallowed down those feelings as your eyes met.

"I'm the lucky one," the tiniest bit of raspiness in your voice as you whispered those words sent a shiver down her spine.

With the necklace paid for the two of you went back to Woodsboro. As payback she made you watch The Babadook and Hereditary back to back. You never mentioned the girl again. She asked what her reaction was, you just shrugged. She asked to meet her, you gave vague excuses not to. No matter what she asked, or how she approached the conversation you remained tightlipped about it. You still had that look of absolute adoration in your eyes when you talked about her and Tara just couldn't take it, so she stopped asking.

Eventually, by the middle of November, she couldn't keep it in anymore. Amber really, really disliked you, probably even hated you a bit, and telling her about what happened would only make it worse. Mindy would tease her, so she couldn't go to Mindy either. And while she loved Chad and Wes, she did not want to discuss the jealousy that was eating her up from inside with them. You were obviously not an option, so, she was really left with the worst possible option.

"I don't know what to do, mom," she lamented when she told her mother the story. She was fairly certain half of what she said was already forgotten by the half-drunk woman.

"That's bad," her mom said, looking straight through Tara with her hazy eyes. "Girl's parents are rich, when she sobers up from her rebellious phase, she'll go back to them and all that money will go to her," Tara felt like vomiting as her mother hiccupped and gulped down another glass of wine. "It's not like they have other kids."

Your parents were rich. There was no denying that, but to think that was why her mother was so supportive of her friendship with you. Tara felt sick. She barely kept her breathing under control and, as subtly as she could, used her inhaler.

"You clung too hard Tara, and she got sick of it. Keep doing that and people will abandon you again," with tears in her eyes Tara ran outside, with her mother not even calling after her. She was clutching her inhaler and phone to her chest as tears streamed down her face. It wasn't the first time her mom had said something like that, that she clung too hard and that it was the reason Sam and her dad left her.

She couldn't call you. She couldn't be that clingy. Instead, she ran until her lungs burned, which, admittedly, wasn't too far. Tara gasped for air, trying to calm down and avoid an asthma attack. This wasn't the time or the place, but the cold air made everything more difficult. Almost out of the blue, she began shivering, only now realizing she wasn't exactly dressed for the cold, she was in her pajama shorts and T-shirt and only had slippers on her feet, not to mention she was disoriented, cold, and out of breath.

"Tara, sweetie?" a voice she barely recognized called her name and she abruptly raised her head to see none other than the lady that owned the restaurant you worked in. A middle-aged woman with hair seemingly permanently in a bun and a kind face that made working with customers seem easy. Tara suddenly found it really difficult to recall her or her husband's name, but the couple was amazing from what you told her, and you loved working for them. And they were always kind to her as well, letting her into the kitchen to spend time with you as long as she was careful.

"What are you doing out at this hour and dressed like that?" the woman quickly wrapped Tara in her coat. "Dear Lord, you're freezing," Tara looked down, ashamed of being caught in this state. "Let's go inside," only then did Tara realize she somehow stumbled to the restaurant you worked in. And with that close to your apartment as well.

"N-No, I'm fine," she tried to refuse, her mother's words echoing in her mind.

"Y/N will go crazy if I leave you like this, come on so I don't have to get scolded by my own employee," she guessed she couldn't argue with that. She knew you, if she refused and left, and the woman told you about it, you’d start looking for Tara and then Tara would feel even worse.

The lady took her through the front doors, through the small restaurant with nice wooden tables and into the kitchen where Tara saw you wrapping up the cleaning. The kitchen was still warm and she gave the coat back to your boss. The woman was reluctant to take it, but seeing the look in Tara's eyes as she watched your back made your boss take the coat back.

"Y/N," her voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet somehow you heard her and whipped around almost as if you couldn't believe your own ears.

"Tara?!" your jaw dropped as you saw her. Immediately you dropped what you were doing and pulled her as close to you as possible. Tara didn't know if it was instinct or habit, but whichever it was it took over and she clung to you as if her life depended on it, gripping the back of your uniform and taking all of you in, the warmth of your body, your scent mixed with the smell of the kitchen and all the food you made tonight, the feel of your muscles underneath your clothes, she took it all in. "Shit, you're freezing! And you were crying? What happened?" you turned to your boss, looking for answers.

“I don’t know, I just saw her outside,” your boss raised her hands while Tara kept shivering in your arms.

“I owe you one,” you turned your attention back to Tara and picked her up by her waist. The familiar feeling of being in the air, her body leaning against yours and your arms holding her up was the comfort she desperately needed at the moment. You went over to your hoodie hanging in the back and gave it to Tara the moment you lowered her back down.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Tara whispered and let go of you just enough to put the hoodie on.

“Hey, it’s okay,” your smile warmed her up as you brushed the tears from her cheeks and only then took your white uniform off, leaving you in a plain red T-shirt. The moment that was done Tara went right back to hugging you. Just for a bit longer, she told herself, just until the words her mother spoke became less loud. Just until she was certain you didn't mind. Then she let you go, only to feel you pulling her into your side and leading her outside through the back doors.

"Thanks! I'll make up for this tomorrow!" she heard you hollering as you took her straight to your apartment.

By the time the two of you were in your apartment, Tara was calm, for the most part. You set your priorities straight, cranking the heating up to the max and getting Tara to lie down in your bed to warm up quicker. You even tucked her in, wrapping her in your blankets. Only then did you send a message to her mother. Tara frowned at that. As if her mother cared. And it wasn’t that you thought her mother cared, you just didn’t want to take any chances that her mother would end up calling the police and causing issues.

"What happened?" you finally sat down on the sofa next to the bed and Tara wasn't sure what to tell you. She didn’t know how to even approach the topic, how to tell you what she was feeling and what caused her to run from home like that.

"Am I too clingy? Does it bother you?" she eventually blurted out before she could change her mind.

Your eyes widened at that. "It could never bother me, Tara," you assured her, your eyes carefully studying her. "Where did you get that idea?"

Tara sat up in your bed, now feeling warm, for more than one reason. "Mom said I clung too hard, and you got sick of it," Tara just admitted it, she wouldn't tell you what made her mother say that, but she figured she should tell you what made her run from her house like that. "Then she said people will keep abandoning me and I got emotional, so I ran. I didn't even realize where I was."

You clenched your fists and Tara could see barely contained anger in your eyes. "Of course, it was your damn mother," you growled, leaning back and glaring at the ceiling. “Why don’t you just come and live with me once you turn eighteen?”

It wasn’t the first time you asked that question and Tara wanted that, she wanted that so damn much, but she knew you were saving money for the future, and that you would have to get a bigger apartment if she started living with you. Even if you started sleeping together, which, given you were just friends, might become a bit weird over time, she wondered how the rest of living together would work. And then there were your fights… Frankly, Tara didn’t know if she had the strength to see your bruises after fights, even if everything else was fine.

“I… I don’t think it would work,” she gave you that same answer and at first you assured her you’d make it work, and she’d just tell you she was fine in her house.

“Tara,” you sighed, and she could see the complaint at the tip of your tongue.

"Especially since you will have less time for me," Tara finally opened up about what had been bothering her since April.

"What?" you suddenly sounded confused, the question of Tara moving in forgotten for the time being.

"The girl? The one you bought that necklace for. You'll have less time when you get together with her," she explained, not sure why you didn't get that. You were usually more than aware of how much time you could spare on what. Even if you told her your friendship wouldn't suffer because of your love life, she honestly couldn't believe that. Tara was the one you spent most of your free time with, and that would have to be shared once someone else comes along. And she knew she couldn’t see you hugging and kissing that girl, or any other girl, so the more serious the relationship got the less she’d see you. And she dreaded that thought, she hated how it made her feel like maybe there was some truth in what Amber was saying.

"Is that what you've been worried about?" you asked and moved to kneel on the floor next to her.

Tara just nodded, not trusting her voice right now.

You sighed and reached for the nightstand drawer. Tara's eyes widened when she saw the same box you got from that jewelry store. "There's no girl, Tara, the necklace is for you," you opened the box and looked her in the eyes, almost silently begging for permission. When she, too shocked to say or do anything, just kept looking from the necklace to your eyes you took that as enough of a permission to put it around her neck.

It still fit her like it was made for her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine when your fingers brushed against her neck. "What did you say?" her throat was dry all of a sudden.

You smiled sheepishly, pulling your hands away from her neck. "It was meant to be a gift for your eighteenth birthday, and I really don't know shit about jewelry, so the only way I could find something good would be to, you know, trick you into choosing your own gift like eight months in advance," at least you looked embarrassed.

Tara still couldn't believe what was happening, too speechless to even react. So, you took that as a sign to keep talking.

"I'd rather ruin the surprise than let you worry about something like this. For what it's worth, I didn't think you'd think there could ever be a girl that could take your place. Hell, I was scared you'd see right through me," you chuckled a bit and took her hand. "Please say something," you pleaded, and she pulled you into a hug.

"You're crazy, you know? What were you thinking spending all that money on me, hmm?" she felt tears running down her cheeks. You, damn, dumbass she was so hopelessly in love with.

"Yeah, you kinda make it hard to think clearly," you teased, and she jokingly gave you a light smack on the back.

"I love it," she relented, knowing better than to argue with you about this. "Thanks, Y/N," she muttered into your neck wishing she had the courage to just move up and kiss you.

~X~

Tara smiled as she remembered all that. She spent the night, sleeping right next to you, not quite as close as she did over the past few weeks, but back then it didn't matter. It wasn't the first time the two of you slept like that, but it didn't happen that often, especially in your bed. So, back then she cherished the nights that would end like that. A plan formed in her head, she hadn't worn your necklace over the past three months, due to Amber's jealousy, or well, what she thought was jealousy. So, it was about time to correct that.

~X~

When you arrived at Chad and Mindy’s house, you found Sam on the porch, smoking a cigarette.

"Before you ask, I'm trying to quit," Sam said as you reached her and leaned back against the fence. You just raised your hands, understanding it wasn't the easiest task. As long as she didn't smoke anywhere near Tara you honestly didn't mind.

"You know, I don't think I'll ever miss Woodsboro, but you can't deny the sky is beautiful at night," you pointed out as you looked up over your shoulder.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sam nodding. "Can I ask you something about you and Tara?"

You met her eyes, slightly confused as to why she'd ask you instead of Tara. "Sure."

"Do you know? How she feels?" it was a question that could make or break your relationship with Sam.

"That she loves me? Yeah, I've known since she was sixteen," you admitted. "Her eyes are just so expressive, you know? I can see the way she looks at me. I know the way she clings to me isn't exactly friendly either," the looks, the lingering touches, the apparent need Tara had to just stay as close to you as she physically could ever since she was attacked… You noticed it all. Truth be told, you and Tara had always been touchy with each other. Whether you were carrying her on your back when you were kids, or she just randomly hugged you and wouldn’t let go until she was content throughout your entire friendship, or falling asleep next to each other and eventually watching a movie while cuddling, sure, you guessed some friends did that, but all things considered you couldn’t deny that Tara was in love with you, or that you were in love with her.

Sam clenched her fist. "And you?"

You looked at her as if she suddenly grew another head. "Seriously? That's a question? I love her, Sam."

Sam relaxed at that, at least a bit. "What's stopping you then?"

You looked away from her and back to the night sky. "It was never the right moment. I figured it out a bit before I turned eighteen, but I was about to leave my parents. Then I had to find the balance between MMA, work, and everything else I now needed to handle on my own. I just wouldn't be able to be what she needed in a relationship," not to mention Tara was sixteen at the time, well, sixteen and a half, but you didn’t want to rush her into a relationship until she was ready. Until she knew what she wanted and needed in a partner, you wanted it to work, and it felt like waiting a few years was the best way to make sure it would work, and not fall apart because you were still too young to know what you wanted.

The circumstances were much different now, though. Age and maturity kinda weren’t a factor anymore, not after what the two of you, and especially Tara, went through.

Sam nodded, apparently understanding your reasoning. "And now she went through a traumatic experience, and you want to give her time to heal?" Sam was spot on. Now you were sure you and Tara would work, but between what happened, and the way Tara was handling it, you didn't think it was the right time to get together. That being said, you doubted you had it in you to resist if, say, a kiss was about to happen.

"If something happened I think I couldn't fight it, but I'm not going to pursue anything right now," you admitted and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.

"Oh, yeah, Tara is waiting for you in the guest room. Apparently, she has something to ask you," Sam's statement puzzled you. You and Tara already spent plenty of time together today. Couldn't she ask before?

"Thanks, Sam," you got inside and found Chad and Mindy in the living room trying to decide which movie to watch. "Hey," Tara's question could wait a minute or two. You approached the twins and gave them a quick hug. "How are you?"

"Doing better," Mindy shrugged, grinning a bit, even though you could see her subconsciously reaching for her chest where Amber stabbed her, it was a miracle she survived. It was a miracle either of the two of them survived, and you could see that night haunting them in the way their eyes lost that childlike innocence they had before this all happened. Other than Tara, the rest of your friends had normal childhoods, parents that were normal, that cared for them, they were never abandoned, and now, completely out of nowhere, a close friend tried to kill them and killed Wes and Liv. They would never be as trusting as they were, and you couldn’t blame them. "You know how it goes, we're all dealing with it one way or another," she said, for once choosing not to be snarky or sarcastic.

You nodded. Hoping the answer was honest because, as much as it hurt to admit, you didn't have it in you to fully be there for anyone else.

"Chad?" he was in a rather special situation, seeing as Liv was his girlfriend. You heard from Tara Liv's parents didn't take it well when he tried to talk to them. He dragged her into that mess, they said. It wasn’t fair, but in their grief and anger and no one left to pay and suffer for their daughter’s death, the only target left was Chad. There was a chance Tara would have been the target of their rage as well, seeing as she did introduce Liv to the rest of the group, but they just never had the chance to take their anger out on Tara.

"Hanging in there. Going back to practice has been helping to get my mind off of things," the only one who visibly took all of this worse than Chad was Tara. For a moment you wondered if Tara would be able to handle it better if she wasn't stuck in one place pretty much all day.

You patted Chad's shoulder. "If you ever want to spar, or train together, you have my number," and you most definitely would train with Chad if he asked.

"I'll keep it in mind Champ," he smiled slightly. "Tara's waiting for you," he gestured upstairs, and you nodded, leaving the two to find Tara.

“Second door to the right!” Mindy added as you began climbing up the stairs.

“Thanks!” it was a testament to how rarely you visited their place. If the times you came to pick Tara up were excluded, you were fairly sure you could count all the times you spent time in this house on your hands. In all the years you’ve known the twins. As kids you just used to spend time in the park, or at the school playground, afterwards Tara’s house became the usual place to hang out, and by the time you turned eighteen most of the time it was just you and Tara anyway.

When you found Tara, she was sitting on the bed, with a box in her hands. It looked like a jewelry box? "Hey, what's up?"

Tara blushed slightly. "Uh, could you open this box?" she offered it to you.

You tilted your head in confusion but still took the box. You remained on your feet, in front of Tara, not entirely sure if you'd need to move right away. Things became even more confusing when you opened the box. You recognized the necklace immediately and you looked at Tara, a bit lost at the moment.

"Could you put it on me?" Tara asked, clearing your confusion.

Your heart began beating a bit faster. "Of course," you spoke softly and leaned forward to put the necklace around her neck. You tried not to notice how her lower lip trembled, or how it felt like your fingertips touched fire. It wasn’t like this when you first put it around her neck, and your heart threatened to leap out of your chest when you looked at the necklace around her neck. It felt good to see it there once again after more or less three months now.

"I took it off exactly three months ago. It felt fitting to put it back on today, especially if you put it on me," her eyes held a bit of uncertainty as she placed her hands around your neck.

With anyone else, they'd have to work for it, but with Tara, you just moved, letting her pull your head down. She kissed your cheek and then moved her lips closer to your ear. "You're the only one whose mark I'll ever wear," your eyes widened, brain short-circuited, body moving on its own as you pulled her closer, heart hammering in your chest as she looked you in the eyes. Was she leaning in or was that you?

"Tara, Y/N, we're ready to start the movie!" Mindy's voice startled both of you and you awkwardly separated from each other the moment Mindy came in. The fuck? Didn't the three of them send you up here? And now they interrupted you? "Come on," she ushered you and then probably connected the dots. "Hey, wait a second, did you two just-" she had the most infuriating shit-eating grin on her face.

"No!" both of you denied even if you could feel the tingling sensation on your lips. It wasn't even an almost kiss, your lips definitely touched for a moment, and judging by Tara absentmindedly touching her lips she felt it too,

"Sure, you didn't," Mindy rolled her eyes. "Make out later, we got a movie to watch."

"We weren't-" Tara began and you could see a very prominent blush on her face. "Why am I even bothering?" she gave up prompting you to chuckle.

"Let's just go and watch the movie," you gave up and picked Tara up. The warning you silently sent Mindy luckily kept her from saying anything, she still had an infuriatingly teasing smirk on her face and it only made Tara hide her face in the crook of your neck.

"T, we all know you're not hiding because you're embarrassed," Mindy just couldn't help herself.

"Dude, let me have this," Tara groaned, making Mindy laugh as she led the two of you to the living room.

Your phone rang just as you and Tara settled in, and you glanced down to see it was your coach. Sighing, you pulled away from Tara and smiled apologetically at her pouting face. "Sorry, I have to take this, don't pause the movie," you stepped outside the house and answered. "How did it go?" you immediately asked, you kinda knew the answer already, you were already perfectly fine with it, you just wanted to hear it.

"You're out Y/N, they agreed to let you have two more fights and then you'll have to retire," you couldn't remember ever hearing him so devastated. You didn't get it, honestly, this was much better than you expected. You thought it would be instant retirement.

"Got it. Well, let's just make those last two fights memorable," you said, you didn't try, he tried, and there was nothing else to do but accept the complementary paycheck and retire without making a fuss.

"Why did you have to go after those two?" he asked again even if you answered that same question when he told you the situation you were in.

"I told you. They hurt the one I love," you'd do it again, and again, and it didn't matter what the cost would be.

"Y/N, come on! The movie's really good!" you heard Chad hollering from the living room.

"Sorry, I have to go, we'll talk tomorrow, okay?" even if you were fine with it, you did wish there was another way, but there wasn't so, that's how it was.

"Yeah, sure. We'll talk," he hung up, sounding even more dejected, before you had the chance to do it and you went back inside. You felt Tara's eyes following your every move, even when Mindy teasingly told her the TV was in the opposite direction. Tara flipped her off, but didn't look away and as you sat back down you saw concern in her eyes.

You smiled, leaning in, and kissing the top of her head before pulling her closer to you. "It's nothing urgent, I'll tell you tonight," she'd sleep at your place tonight. It was a bit of an unspoken deal. If Sam couldn't sleep at Tara's place, then Tara would sleep at your apartment. And since Sam narrowly avoided another fight with her and Tara's mother, they both decided it would be for the best if Sam didn't sleep there for a night or two. Just to let things cool down a bit.

Tara looked you in the eyes with an intensity that made you wonder if she would settle for your answer. Luckily, she nodded and went back to watching the movie.

Three and a half hours later you couldn't avoid telling Tara about what happened anymore. You wanted to delay it a bit longer, let her rest, and not worry her about how you were taking the news because you knew she'd be worrying regardless of what you told her. So, you took your sweet time to get ready for bed, hoping she might fall asleep.

She didn't. Of course, she didn't.

"Y/N," there was a playful warning in her tone, one that told you Tara saw right through you.

"Sorry, sorry," you rubbed the back of your head nervously as you lay down next to her. Tara was on your left side, much like she was in the hospital. And just like in the hospital, you were closer to the doors. Ghostface was gone, but Tara did at one point sleepily mutter to you that she felt safer when she was between you and the wall, safe from both sides.

"So, what was the phone call about?" Tara demanded as she got comfortable next to you, and you pulled the covers over the two of you.

"I'm retiring from MMA," you just dropped it on her and watched as her jaw dropped, as her entire face morphed into pure shock.

"What? Why?" she questioned the moment her brain processed the information you just gave her.

"Apparently, a case can be made that I went looking for a fight, for both times I fought Amber and Richie, especially the one at Amber's house. So, while a lot of people accept the self-defense and/or keeping my loved ones safe as a valid excuse, at least just as many people are saying I could have stayed out of it and/or that I took it too far," you explained the gist of the situation. It was a perfect storm, really. You, a young, new fighter, came along, and defeated a bunch of fan favorites, only to then get caught up in a conflict that left more than half a dozen people dead and just as many heavily injured.

"That makes no sense. What were you supposed to do, let them kill you?" Tara's voice shook with barely restrained fury.

"No one is saying that, but plenty of people are saying I went to Amber's house intending to kill her, which, to be perfectly honest, is true," you couldn't argue against that, you really did plan on killing Amber.

Tara frowned and sat up, looking down as you kept lying there. "We went to save Sam," she argued, even if there really was no point in arguing.

"Tara," you sighed, reaching up to brush a couple of strands of her hair behind her ear. "You and I both know that's the official statement. Yes, saving Sam was important, but if Sam woke me up, or if you had told me it was Amber before we went to sleep I would have done the same thing Sam did."

"I killed Amber," Tara kept arguing, even if she did lift her hand and placed it over your own.

"Valid. I still wanted to do it. I would have done it if I had anything but the gun in my hands," you argued back, still fairly calm about everything. You knew damn well that you would have killed Amber and Richie with your bare fists if you needed.

Tara leaned over you, gripping your shoulders. "Why are you like this? Why are you taking the side of people that are against you?" she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.

You frowned, choosing the next words carefully. "It's not about sides. It's as simple as acknowledging that I had those intentions. Even if my reason for fighting was justified, and it was, there have to be consequences. Otherwise, you might as well openly give a highly trained group of people a loophole on how to get away with fighting outside the cage, or ring, or whatever," you firmly believed what you were saying. You were fine with this outcome. This was the price to pay to keep Tara safe? Hell, you would have paid a much higher one if it was needed.

"It's not fair," Tara whispered, as she lowered her body down to your own, no longer capable of staying in the position she was in. You were honestly impressed she held out for so long. You just pulled the blanket over your bodies and hugged her. Tara sighed, gently running her fingers through your hair.

"Is the phrase we-" Tara immediately placed a finger over your lips.

"-only use when things don't go our way, I know. You keep repeating that," she huffed, annoyed.

You still kissed the tip of her finger and grinned when she blushed. "It's not so bad. I'm retiring, but I'll have two more fights and I'll get some money to retire quietly. Everyone will end up more or less happy by the end of this deal," you tried to get her to see the brighter side.

Tara, instead, just narrowed her eyes.

"Okay, that's not working. How about this? I get to go to college and work at the same time, while spending plenty of time with you, instead of sacrificing the job in favor of fighting. It's really not that big of a loss Snuggle Bear," you didn't know what else to say to her that could get her to just accept it as it is. It really shouldn't have been this difficult. Tara hated that you fought, before all of this went down, she herself tried to talk you into quitting several times, so all of this, her entire reaction, baffled you.

You understood that she knew how much you loved MMA and you guessed she would be worried about how you'd take all of this, but this was a whole different reaction from what you imagined. And you couldn't put a finger on what was the reason for this shift to save your life.

Though she struggled to do it, Tara moved away from you and tucked herself in the corner. "I wish you didn't pretend you were okay, Y/N. For once be open about your feelings," you didn't have to see her face to know she was crying.

"Tara," you tried, leaning over to wrap an arm around her waist, but she pushed against it. You took a deep breath and sat up. For once you were completely honest about being fine. But that was the point, wasn't it? Because it was for once. So many times, you pretended to be fine, keeping the fact that something was troubling you from Tara and now that she knew you did that for years there was a crack in her trust in you.

You got up from the bed and lay down on the sofa to give her as much space as your apartment allowed. It was a long, silent night, with neither of you saying a word or getting any sleep.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Title: cruel summer | chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Pairing: Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Read on AO3 | Join the tag list | Masterlist

Summary: 

Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Author’s Note: Thank you again for all the love you’ve given this fic. Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed! I’m also open to requests <3

Warnings/Additional Tags: age gap (15 years), explicit sexual content (18+), explicit language, A N G S T, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), confessions, dirty talk, pet names, emotionally constipated Joel Miller and his communication issues part 27346, alcohol use, blatant Taylor Swift references

When Joel stirs awake, it’s still dark outside and the house is blessedly quiet. He’s got an arm around your waist, keeping himself pressed tightly to your back. His half hard dick strains against the curve of your ass, his hips flexing slightly to chase the friction.

You wiggle against him, letting out a cute little sigh in your sleep. He has to bite back a groan as his hips flex again. You’re so beautiful lying there in just one of his t-shirts, your features highlighted by what little light filters in through the window from the street lamps. He gently moves your hair from your shoulder to press kisses to the skin exposed from the worn collar.

You squirm again, and Joel slips his hand underneath the hem of your shirt to press his fingers against your hip bone, urging you to move against him. You’re still asleep but your breathing has sped up as his cock grinds against you. 

He lets his fingers slide beneath the band of your panties, still only caressing your hip bone. He kisses your neck some more, nibbling gently, and you finally stir awake.

“Whatimesit,” you slur. Joel chuckles against your shoulder.

“Don’t know. Early enough,,” he replies, voice scratchy from sleep. “Can I touch you?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, nodding your head against the pillow, eyes still closed. 

Joel loves you like this. All sleep warm and soft, opening up to him with all the trust in the world. It makes him think dangerous thoughts, like keeping you in bed beside him for the rest of your life so that he can wake up like this every day.

He lifts your leg over his own hip, opening you up. Those wandering fingers slip past your panties to part your slick folds. He groans, deep and rough, against your shoulder as he plunges two thick fingers inside of you.

“Christ, sweetheart, you’re so fuckin’ needy, huh? This pussy’s always wantin’ attention.” He curls his fingers and you bury your face into the pillow to muffle your moan. 

Joel plays with your soaked pussy for a few glorious minutes before withdrawing his hand to the sound of your sad whines. He moves your leg, shifting on the mattress until he’s on his knees between your spread legs, urging your hips up so that he can tug your panties down and off your body. He lays on his stomach, the broad expanse of his shoulders spreading your legs as he leans in and licks your center, starting at your dripping entrance before circling your clit.

“Joel,” you whimper, fingers immediately curling in his hair, pinpricks of pleasure-pain shooting across his nerves. He growls against you, dipping down to curl his tongue into your entrance as his nose bumps against your clit. Your hips grind against his face as you pull him closer. “Joel, baby, fuck, that feels so good.”

He looks up at you from between your spread thighs, loving the view of you with your head thrown back as you struggle to catch your breath. He works his fingers back into your tight heat and you whimper, biting your lip to hold your sounds in as best you can.

You’re tugging on his hair, urging him up. The annoyance he feels at being interrupted is quickly soothed when you drag him into a filthy kiss, your tongue tangling with his as you moan into his mouth. 

Then your hands are shoving at his shoulders, throwing him off balance until he lands on his back and you scramble to seat yourself on his lap. The only barrier between your bodies is his boxers and he can feel the wet heat of your grind against his painfully hard length.

“What are you doin’ up there, sweetheart?” Joel asks through gritted teeth, fingers digging into the soft skin of your thighs. “I wasn’t done.”

“Don’t wanna cum on your mouth, baby,” you whisper. Your hands press down on his chest as you work yourself against him. “Wanna cum on your cock again. Please?”

And who is he to deny you anything?

He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he shoves his boxers down only enough to expose his cock. You drag your wet pussy across his lust hot skin, his head dropping back against the bed as he swallows down a moan. 

“Christ,” he growls. “Take it, baby, come on.”

___________

You reach between your bodies to fist his length, positioning the sensitive head at your entrance and sliding down with a gasp. Joel holds perfectly still beneath you, the only sign of his desperation the rhythmic tightening of his fingers on your hips.

You swivel your hips once your bodies are flush, making Joel hiss. You slowly raise your hips until just the tip remains inside before bringing yourself back down and grinding your clit against his pelvis. 

“Christ, Christ,” he says through gritted teeth. “Nothin’ in this world better than your cunt.”

You smile down at him as you keep your movements tortuously slow. Joel slides a hand under the shirt he’s leant you, kneading your breast, the sensation making you tip your head back with a breathless moan.

Joel shifts beneath you, sitting up and changing the angle of his thrusts and making them so deep that you see stars. You cling to his neck as he gets his knees under him while you’re still wrapped around his waist, the new leverage giving him more power to his movements as he manages to hit that spot inside of you that makes your breath catch and your vision go a bit blurry at the edges.

“Joel,” you say in a desperate whisper. His eyes meet yours, dark and determined as he pounds into you. “God, Joel, fuck.”

It’s not the only three words you want to say, but it’s all you can manage to get from your brain to your mouth. His lips take yours in a rough kiss, his hands wrapped around your waist and his fingers digging into the grooves between your ribs like they’re made just for him.

“Sweet girl, my good girl,” he breathes. “Want you to say it. Who’s pussy is this, huh?”

“Yours, Joel,” you reply brokenly, your muscles going taut with your impending release.

“Fuckin’ right,” he growls. That deep possessive rumble in his voice sends you right over the edge, your nails scratching across Joel’s shoulders as you cum. 

He takes the opportunity to flip your positions, your back hitting the mattress with a dull squeak of springs. He lines himself back up and wastes no time slamming back inside you in search of his own release.

“Come on, Joel,” you urge, curling your fingers into the muscle of his ass to draw him closer with each thrust. “I want you to cum for me, baby, I want you to fill me up so fuckin’ bad I can’t stand it.”

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing forward to sink his teeth into your shoulder. His hips stay flush with yours as his cock pulses, warm heat spilling inside of you and making you shiver. 

He drops his weight on you, the air leaving your chest in a whoosh. You tap at his shoulder and he rolls to the side, spent and sated.

“You make a pretty good alarm clock,” you tease. He laughs before pressing up to his elbow to kiss you, slow and sweet. You smile at him as he pulls away, only to watch his face fall suddenly.

“Shit! We didn’t use a condom,” he says, sitting up abruptly. “I’m so sorry. I just got so carried away, I don’t know what I was thinkin’.”

“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t even think about it.” You sit up, rubbing a hand on his back. “I take my birth control religiously, though. I swear. I even have it in my purse if you wanna check.”

“I trust you, baby,” he replies, kissing your forehead. 

“Daddy!” A small voice calls at an impressive volume from down the hall.

“Duty calls,” he groans, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and bending down to retrieve a discarded pair of sweatpants. “I’ll go attend to the princess.” He leaves you with another kiss to your forehead.

You head to the bathroom to clean up, brushing your teeth with the spare toothbrush he’d given you the night before and running a brush through your sleep and sex mussed hair. You stick with the big shirt he’d given you for sleeping, putting your bra back on beneath it before rifling through his drawers for a pair of boxers to wear as shorts beneath it, 

You move downstairs, passing by Sarah’s closed door where you can faintly hear Joel’s muffled voice asking his daughter how she slept. In the kitchen, you peer inside the fridge, pleased to find a full carton of eggs and milk. Pulling those out, you check the pantry and cabinets until you find a loaf of bread, cinnamon, and brown sugar.

You find the coffee on your hunt as well, filling up the filter on the drip machine and adding water before pressing start. With coffee brewing, you get started on breakfast, mixing up the batter for french toast while a pan heats on the stove.

In your own little world, you don’t hear the front door open, or the heavy footsteps that come down the hall.

“Smells good in here–oh. Well, hello,” a voice says, making you jump. You turn to face a man leaning in the doorway, his black hair and brown eyes familiar despite never having met him.

“Uh, hi,” you reply, brandishing the spatula defensively. “You must be Tommy.”

There’s a flurry of footsteps on the stairs before Sarah runs into Tommy, wrapping her arms around his legs. “Uncle Tommy!”

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, eyes not leaving you. “That’s right. And you are…?”

Joel follows down the stairs, pausing in the doorway and eyes flicking between you and Tommy. Sarah breaks the tense silence by coming to your side and asking what you’re doing. Your attention turns to her as the men share a look.

You return to your task, attention focused on Sarah as you try to ignore the weight of their silence behind your back.

________

Joel drags Tommy by the shoulder to the living room. The younger man’s eyebrows are raised, waiting for him to speak. 

“Who’s the jailbait, Joel?” Tommy asks with a laugh. Joel narrows his eyes at his brother.

“She ain’t jailbait, okay?” He says with a sigh. He gives Tommy your name, running his hand through his hair. Tommy’s eyebrows raise impossibly higher.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me. The daughter of your client?” He whistles low. “That’s fuckin’ ballsy, even for you.”

Joel remains quiet. Tommy tilts his head, appraising his silence.

“What’s on your mind, brother?” He asks. Joel clenches his jaw.

“Nothin’, man. Let’s just get back in there,” he finally replies, moving past Tommy to return to the kitchen.

You smile brightly at him when he enters the room, and he forces one in return.

________

Joel drives you home that afternoon. You mention your plans to study at the library the coming week.

“Don’t wanna risk any distractions with the exam so soon,” you tease.

Joel’s laugh is strained, the sound awkward.

He gives you a sweet kiss when he parks the car, watching you as you enter the house. You turn to wave at him, but he’s pulling out of the driveway.

Your hand drops to your side, your goodbye unseen.

_______

Joel finishes the job in your parent’s master bedroom on Wednesday, the day before they’re scheduled to return from their cruise. He doesn’t see or hear from you much, and part of him is relieved. Tommy’s words echo in his mind every time his thoughts stray to you, strengthening his resolve.

Your exam is scheduled for Friday. After that, he knows that your parents are helping you move back to your apartment near campus for the start of your senior year. His replies to your messages are brief.

You: Exam finally done! I think it went really well. 

Joel: Congratulations.

________

You don’t see Joel before you move back to your off campus apartment. Your parents had taken up your remaining days in their house, taking you out for a celebration dinner following your exam and helping you prep for moving back for school. Joel’s been pretty quiet, but you chalk it up to him starting a new job and needing to focus on the work.

Alarm bells don’t start to ring until your second week of school, when your phone calls start reaching his voicemail instead of him. The replies to your texts take longer to arrive, if they do at all. 

It’s a Friday night and your stomach is in knots as you stare at your phone, willing Joel to reply to your last message. It was innocuous, just an update about your day, but you haven’t heard from him in a couple days. Your phone gets ripped from your hands by your roommate, Hannah, and she holds it above her head as she stares down at you with a stern expression.

“Stop moping. I can’t stand it,” she says. “Cam and Tristan want to go out to midtown tonight. You’re coming with.”

“But–”

“No ‘buts’. I’ve let you be sad for a week. It’s time for alcohol and talking shit about the mysterious boy you’re so hung up about,” she interrupts. She slips your phone into her pants pocket and claps her hands. “Go change. And use some dry shampoo, your hair is not doing your Texas roots any justice.”

You can’t help but laugh, but the sound is rusty to your ears. She follows you to your bedroom, picking through your closet and tossing a pair of high waisted jeans and a crop top at your head. You change into the selected outfit and dig your well worn cowboy boots from under your bed. Hannah then waits until you sit at your desk and start pulling your hair and makeup stuff toward you before giving a satisfied nod and retreating to her own room to get ready.

Later, you slide into the Uber beside her and she holds your hand as you start to tell her about Joel, the man you were in love with and how he’s breaking your heart. You swallow around the lump that forms in your throat.

“Oh, honey. You wanna slash his tires?” She asks, making you giggle. “Or do you wanna drown your sorrows in margaritas and line dancing?”

“Drinks, please,” you reply with a sigh, leaning your head against her shoulder. She pats your thigh.

“Anything you want, darlin’.”

________

Joel’s on the couch drinking a beer as he tries to focus on the basketball game Tommy turned on. It’s late, passing midnight. His nail scrapes against the paper label absently.

“How’s your girl doin’?” Tommy asks as he flops onto the couch. 

“Don’t know. Broke it off,” he grunts. Tommy’s eyes widen. 

“Seriously? Must explain why you’ve been such a miserable bastard.” Joel punches him sharply in the shoulder. As if summoned by the conversation, his phone rings on the coffee table, your contact name lighting up the screen.

Tommy’s eyes flick between the phone and Joel, who refuses to pick it up. The phone goes dark before lighting again, a second call coming through.

“Joel…does she know that you broke it off?” Tommy asks. Joel clenches his jaw, staunchly refusing to meet his brother’s accusatory gaze. “Christ, man. Could you be any more of a dick?”

The phone goes dark and lights up again. A third call. Joel reaches out for the device just as the call goes to voicemail. A text comes instead.

You: Joel, please pick up the phone. 

He swipes through the screen to his missed calls and presses one of the entries, most of them from you. It rings once before you pick up.

“Joel?”

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

“Nothing, not really. Just…I went out with Hannah and I just…I wanna go home, Joel. But there’s no rides available and–”

“Where are you?” He asks immediately. You tell him the name of the bar, some country themed place he knows is big with the college crowd. He’s already standing and gathering his keys, shoving his feet into his boots by the door. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he promises before hanging up.

“Tommy, keep an eye on Sarah,” he commands. Tommy gives him a salute in response, reclining back on the couch.

“Go get your girl, brother.”

________

You’re outside the bar, boot tapping on the pavement when Joel’s familiar truck pulls up in front of you. You hop in the cab and he doesn’t say anything as he pulls away from the curb.

Seeing him is like a punch to the gut. The silence sobers your mind from the mild haze two margaritas had left you in. You ache to touch him but he feels thousands of miles away despite sitting right next to you, his grip on the steering wheel white knuckled as he avoids your gaze.

You give him the directions to your apartment building, voice small and wavering with emotion. You tip your head back against the headrest, tears stinging behind your eyelids as you fight against them. 

“You okay? Nothin’ happened back there, did it?” Joel asks. 

“I’m fine,” you mumble, voice watery. The first tear slips down your cheek, the rest in hot pursuit as you try to breathe through the ache in your chest. He pulls into the parking lot of your complex and kills the engine. 

You blink up at the ceiling, more tears falling. Joel heaves a sigh.

“Baby…,” he murmurs.

“Don’t call me baby, Joel. Not after your radio silence the last couple of weeks,” you snap, opening the door and jumping out. “Fuck you.”

You hear the sound of a door slamming shut behind you, footsteps pounding on pavement as he jogs to catch up to you. You refuse to look back, entering your building and rushing up the stairs, breathing labored as you take the steps two at time to get to the third floor before him.

Your efforts are pointless. He catches up to you as you fumble with your keys, eyes blurry with your tears. He grabs you by the waist, turning you until your back is pressed to your door and he’s bracketing your body with his arms. You struggle to shove him back.

“Stop it,” he growls. “I’m doin’ this for your own fuckin’ good, can’t you see that?”

You’re frozen in anger, the rage bubbling in your veins. “My own good? You’re back on this fuckin’ martyr shit? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not fuckin’ kiddin’. Don’t you see how much of your life you have left to live? Why would I keep actin’ like I have any right to keep you?”

“Because I love you, you fuckin’ asshole!” You shout back. A door down the hall opens and your neighbor Craig, another student at UT, pokes his head out and calls your name tentatively.

“You okay?” He asks, eyes flicking between you and Joel. 

“Doin’ swell, thanks Craig. See you in biochem Monday,” you say, eyes not leaving Joel’s. The other man blinks.

“Uh, okay…,” he says uncertainly. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“With all due respect, Craig, get the fuck back inside,” Joel snaps. Craig’s door shuts with a click. He murmurs your name. “Open the door, sweetheart.”

You turn in his arms, sticking your key in the lock and shoving the door open.

Joel follows you inside, pressed to your back. He kicks the door shut, turning your bodies until you’re pressed against the door once more, your chest heaving. 

“You love me?” He asks incredulously. His palms frame your face, thumbs smoothing across the tear stains on your cheeks. 

“Yes, you big fuckin’ idiot. I want you to keep me,” you whisper. “Please, Joel.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips against yours. It’s rough and demanding, his teeth nipping at your lower lip and his tongue exploring yours when your mouth drops open in a gasp.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmurs, trailing his mouth down your neck.

“I don’t know either, but if you pull this shit again, I’m taking Hannah up on her offer to slash your tires,” you reply. He pulls back slightly.

“What?” 

You drag him back to you. “Don’t worry about it.”

He kisses you again, his hands on your hips as he wedges a knee between your legs. You gasp at the friction, the seam of your jeans rubbing just right as you flex against him.

“Fuck,” Joel says through gritted teeth. “Missed you so much, sweetheart, ‘M sorry I was such an idiot.” 

“Make it up to me, then,” you command.

Joel lifts his head, grinning like the devil as he turns your body against his until his hips are pressed against your ass and your hands are flat on the door. He runs a large palm over one cheek before drawing his hand back and landing a hard smack to the muscle, making you gasp. Your fingers curl against the wood door and you press to your tip toes, torn between wanting to escape the sensation and wanting more.

Then his fingers are on the button fly, tearing it open before shimmying both the pants and your panties down your thighs until your heated skin is exposed to the cool air of your apartment.

“You already wet for me, darlin’? Or do you need a little encouragement?” He asks, mouth pressed to your ear. He slides his fingers through your wet center. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

“Fuck me, baby, please,” you beg, voice wanton as you arch your back and press your ass out more. “Pretty please?”

You hear the shuffle of his hands undoing his belt and pants before they drop to the ground and he’s wasting no time fulfilling your request. The hard length of him slams into you, filling you so abruptly and delicious you can’t hold back your shout.

“That’s right, scream my name for me,” Joel growls in your ear before latching his teeth harshly into your shoulder. “Let everyone know you’re fuckin’ mine.”

“All yours,” you whisper back, holding on for dear life. He wraps a hand around your throat, not constricting, but holding onto your pulse point the same way he holds your heart.

You’re already fluttering around him, so wound up from the argument and the adrenaline of it all that when he slips the hand still on your hip around to circle your clit, you come with a strangled moan.

“Fuck,” Joal grunts, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. He slams inside, pressing against you as he comes, the fingers around your throat flexing possessively. 

You’re both panting, your skin slick with sweat as you try to recover. He slips from your body and you can feel the lewd drip of his spend down your thigh. He pulls his own pants up before easing yours up as well, though he doesn’t bother to button them. Instead, he keeps a hand on your back and crouches down to loop the other behind your knees, picking you up as you giggle and wrap your arms around his neck.

You tilt your head against his shoulder as he carries you down the hall and you point out the door to your room. He sets you on the bed, kneeling to pull your boots off before helping you get fully out of your jeans this time.

“Can you stay?” You ask, voice small and uncertain. He pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a text before he replies.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I can stay,” he replies, removing his own shoes and pants to climb in beside you, curling around your body in the small bed.

“I love you, Joel.”

“I love you, too.”

Tags: @huffle-punk @telepathay @johnwatsn  @hopelessromantic727 @caatheeriinee07 @leeeesahhh @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly 

@dragon-of-winterfell @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @cutesyscreenname

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Sugar daddy Reiner who epitomizes gentility and compassion, an absolute pillar of strength and security to those around him. His authoritative presence commands respect, accentuated by his well-tailored black suit, accentuating his broad and sturdy shoulders.

The sartorial statement screams of raw power, reiterating Reiner’s dominance. With an arm perpetually poised on the small of your back, he shields you from the noise of business dealings, bringing an overwhelming sense of calmness, shielding you from any misfortunes.

Donning a pristine white, thigh-slit dress personally chosen by him, you bask in Reiners enchanting persona, basking in the rays of elegance and sophistication emanating from his commanding persona. Reiner’s golden blonde hair and rough-hewn stubble make him the epitome of manhood, filling your heart with an unparalleled warmth whenever he whispers into your ears, expressing his devotion for you.

Notwithstanding his tenacity, Reiner often feels agitated when around multitudes of people, unease rising from within. The formidable self-doubt pulls him down, leading him to question his adequacy in being with someone of your calibre, someone that the world regards as a paragon of beauty.

As you witness the unanticipated trepidation seeping into his eyes, you realize his deepest fear; the fear of losing you. A sensation of profound gratitude flows through you, filling you with an undeniable sense of satisfaction that you're capable of providing him with the solace and protection he seeks in moments of vulnerability.

The thought of leaving him is unfathomable, and thus you tenderly hold him, imparting him with stability and fortitude, becoming his faithful and steady partner through thick and thin. Reiner’s presence in your life imbues it with unmatched worth, leaving you no room for contemplation of life without him.

Sugar daddy Reiner embodies all that is charming and tender in the bedroom. His gentle caresses, paired with soft, delicate kisses, have you transfixed and yearning for more.

His firm grip, clasping your hand in a tight embrace as you begin to writhe, all the while his visage buried in the soft, supple flesh of your neck, sends shivers down your spine. Your cries of ecstasy, though unbidden, come naturally as he indulges himself, his thick cock plunging ever deeper within you.

Yet, as you writhe and twist under his affectionate ministrations, you cannot help but sense a hesitation. It is as though he holds back, unwilling to truly unleash the full force of his tremendous size upon your form.

Though you are no delicate flower, his robustness intimidates you, and he knows this all too well. With subtle hints, you have tried to coax him into letting go, but to no avail. His responses, each and every time, are a kiss and a whisper, professing his love and his reluctance to ever harm you.

Sugar Daddy Reiner often woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, his body trembling with fear. His dreams were always vivid, haunting him with terrible images and sounds that he couldn't shake off. But the worst part was when he would claw at his own skin, as if trying to escape from some unseen monster, calling out your name in a piteous whimper.

Your heart ached seeing him like that, shattered and broken, and you wished you could take away all his pain.  But you couldn't. Not really. Because there were certain boundaries to your relationship with him; he was nothing more than a sugar daddy to you, not your boyfriend, not your husband.

You knew that his nightmares were a symptom of something deeper, something he wasn't willing to share with you, and it frustrated you to no end. 

Every time you attempted to address the issue of his nightmares, he would push you away, shutting himself off from you and asking you to leave. This was deeply frustrating because you longed for him to take that final step, to offer himself to you wholeheartedly, yet it seemed like he was hesitant to do so.

The emotional distance between the two of you became a source of constant worry, gnawing at you every time you were together.  Although Reiner's constant attention and generous gifts were appreciated, they never felt enough. You craved more than just material possessions, and it seemed like he was simply attempting to make up for the lack of intimacy with his lavish offerings.

Despite his efforts, you knew that this wasn't what you wanted. You wanted the real Reiner, flaws and quirks included, but the impenetrable wall that stood between you two seemed insurmountable. 

Reiner was intuitive enough to notice that something was amiss. He bombarded you with incessant texts and calls, making you anxious and overwhelmed. You knew that avoiding him forever wasn't a solution, so you tried to force yourself to face him every time he asked to see you. But it was always the same routine— the half-hearted touches, the strained smiles, the promises that never materialized, and it only added to your growing frustration.

  Every time you came up with an excuse to decline his invitation, his voice carried an underlying sadness that further fueled your sense of inadequacy. You wanted nothing more than to give him what he asked for, to show him how much he meant to you, but somehow you could never muster up the courage to do it. You remained stuck in a self-imposed trap of disappointment, struggling to find a way out.

Sugar Daddy Reiner was a man who had it all—the money, the power, the influence. But all of it seemed meaningless in the face of losing you, his heart's greatest desire. As he lay awake at night (for the first day without you) , he could feel his heart tearing apart at the thought of you leaving him.

He knew deep down that all you wanted was for him to let down his guard and reveal the man he truly was beneath the polished exterior.  But Reiner was trapped in the grip of his insecurities, unable to break free of the gnawing doubts and incessant anxieties that consumed him. Every time he tried to reach out to you, you always avoided him, leaving him feeling even more isolated and alone.

It was like a vicious cycle, with his fear driving him deeper and deeper into despair.  The more he pushed you away, the more desperate he became to hold onto you. He would try to catch glimpses of you whenever he could, stalking your social media profiles, driving past your apartment building, and sending you messages that he knew you'd take hours to respond.

  It was a frenzied haze of emotion that he found himself caught in—the urge to be close to you, to hold onto you tightly, to never let go. And yet, he felt powerless to stop himself from spiraling out of control.  In a moment of clarity, he found himself walking down the quiet street towards the quaint little cafe where you worked.

He knew that this was his last chance to save what little was left of his shattered heart. He knew that if he could just speak to you, really speak to you, and lay all his cards on the table, he might just be able to salvage something from the wreckage.

Sugar Daddy Reiner, a man of poise and prestige, appeared as if he had been through the wringer. His normally impeccable hair was disheveled and unkempt, resembling a bird's nest perched atop his head.

His eyes, typically radiant with care, now appeared to be exhausted, surrounded by a pair of dark circles that bespoke an underlying burden. It was apparent that something had upended the self-assured and unwavering Reiner, a sight so unfamiliar that it nearly shattered his identity.  

As he approached you, his hands trembled with an unease that seemed palpable, begging for reassurance. His throaty murmur was barely audible over the rustling leaves and soft swish of grass, "Can I talk to you for a moment?" You saw him, then—vulnerable, in pain, his once mighty demeanor wavering in a quiver.

Without a second thought, you grasped his hand, silently reassuring him with your presence and comforting words. The tenseness in his frame slowly began to ease as you tightened your embrace. The closeness between the two of you sparked something more intense than a simple attraction.

  After a moment of shared embrace, Reiner spoke, "Are you done with me?" You could sense the despair lurking behind his question. Your heart wrenched with empathy. Shaking your head vehemently, you could see his grasp on reality starting to fade, fearing the loss of another loved one. You gently spoke,

"No, I am not done with you. I could never be." The declaration eased his trepidation for the moment, but the angst in his eyes was apparent. He spoke again, his hands shaking with uncertainty, "Then why have you been avoiding me?"

   At his inquiry, you swallowed your emotions and thought about how best to answer him. After a deep breath, you expressed, "I want more of you. Not just the physical, but the entire package. I want to know what inspires you, what moves you, your hopes, your dreams." He went silent for a moment, his eyes now glued to the ground, weighed down with heavy contemplation.

Then, he raised his head and spoke in a raspy, earnest voice, "I want more too." He took a deep breath before continuing, his words shaky, "I'll give you anything, anything you want. Just stay with me."

Tears began to trickle down his cheek as he clutched onto your uniform, a wave of anguish over the possibility of losing another. It was an act of vulnerability, rare for a man who was usually impenetrable, but one that showed you how much he genuinely cared for you.

Sugar daddy Reiner who showered you with lavish clothes and all sorts of gifts that night, leaving your heart racing and your hands trembling. The excitement didn't stop there, though, as he whisked you off to his penthouse apartment and proceeded to ravage your body with his rough and unrelenting thrusts, finally letting go all sense of hesitation. 

You moaned and writhed beneath him, unable to resist his masculine charms as he explored every inch of your body. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, grunting out words of love and affection that left you dizzy with desire.

  When it was over, he held you tightly, unwilling to let you go. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck as he whispered promises of forever, his words echoing in your mind as you drifted off to sleep in his strong embrace.

Reiner, who once was just a sugar daddy to you, is now your beloved boyfriend, and you couldn't even imagine a future without him by your side.

[everygame]

Thank Goodness You’re Here!

Developed/Published by: Coal Supper / Panic Released: 1/08/2024 Completed: 7/08/2024 Completion: Finished it!

It seems contrarian for me to open this by saying this is definitely the best game of 2024 and it’s definitely going to be my favourite game of the year… but it’s true.

The thing, I suppose, that makes that kind of wild, declarative statement seem so difficult to declare is that… games are just so broad, aren’t they? Playing something like Thank Goodness You’re Here! is so unbelievably different from playing, say, my favourite game of last year, Hi-Fi Rush, that it doesn’t feel as easy to say as declaring one movie “the best film of the year.” I mean in that case, you still just sit there and watch a movie. There’s not quite the same… granularity of experience. I mean even if you were talking indie games, Balatro touches such a different part of my brain from Thank Goodness You’re Here! So how could I ever, really, compare them?

Well, you know what? Sometimes you gotta just stick your flag somewhere, and my flag goes in the top of a Yorkshire pudding, and when it unfurls it’s the flag… of Yorkshire. Which surprised me, because I’m Scottish, so normally it goes in the top of a Scotch pie, and it’s a Saltire, so I guess I really like Thank Goodness You’re Here!

To describe it, though, which is what you’ve paid for, Thank Goodness You’re Here is a non-evil Untitled Goose Game. You play, in some respects similarly, an agent of chaos in a small town: a tiny man with… jaundice(?) who has been sent to the town of Barnsworth to help the mayor, but end up in the tangle of everyone’s lives. You help them do things that sound explicitly rather simple like mowing a lawn to buying some soup… but it’s not simple at all.

Unlike Untitled Goose Game, your tiny man isn’t just a wee dick; you’re actually helping people, it just happens to be in a very anarchic fashion. You rise to the level of the town, rather than lowering it, so outside of a few smacky bum-bums, you never feel like you’re bullying anyone… well maybe that guy with the chimney. But the joke works.

It would be regressive to describe this game as “weird” or “crazy.” What it is, and what makes it so brilliant, is that it’s so British. If you love the era of British comedy that brought us things like Look Around You or Alan Partridge, you’ll feel right at home here, and I was genuinely laughing all the way through this. Mileage may vary: some jokes and sequences are unbelievably puerile, some are a little smutty; some are… disturbing, but there’s a joyful nature to this whole thing, and it’s all so rapid fire that if something falls flat, it’s not long before you’re laughing about something else.

I think also that the game has a near-perfect take on interactivity for this kind of story-based experience. Outside of special sequences basically all you can do is slap things or jump, but everything is reactive, and the level design is cleverly focused; your path through the game is a sequence of designed loops that you can’t deviate from, but as a result you don’t suffer from the kind of downtime you can struggle with in more open adventures and which can ruin immersion. 

Here you’ll never return to an area and discover it static, how you left it, and have to waffle around trying to find X or Y; you’re always moving forward onto Z. I can hear the criticisms, but at least for me this never felt restrictive; the only issue I really had was feeling that I had to put the game down regularly lest I finish it too quickly–though it’s surprisingly lengthy for something featuring so much bespoke art and sequences, at almost five hours.

To be honest, the game manages something that I wish designers of interactive experiences–think your Meow Wolfs, your Sleep No Mores–would learn from, which is how to always be guiding your player forward through a space and yet still allow them to experience it at their own pace. Sure, it has the benefit of being able to lock doors behind you, and there aren’t 300 other tiny men with jaundice trying to do everything in it at the same time (though I’d love to see that?) but I couldn’t help but be impressed with the flow.

(This may relate to me seeing Sleep No More before it closes just before playing this, finding it a hard to navigate mess of meaningless rooms in a warehouse and thinking it was fucking rubbish.)

The reason, really, that this is my game of the year already is that it’s trying to do something specific and it’s doing it as unbelievably fucking well as anyone probably could. Your dexterity won’t be challenged, your brain won’t be taxed, but they don’t need to be. Sure it’s a funhouse mirror, but if someone was to ask me “What’s the UK like?” from now on, I’ll probably just say “Play Thank Goodness You’re Here!”

Will I ever play it again? Absolutely. Not for a long time, I think, but I didn’t technically see “everything” according to the achievements, and I’d like to.

Final Thought: For categorisation sake, I would like to mention that I do think that Thank Goodness You’re Here! is largely specifically English, and Northern English at that, but there are enough commonalities and it features a big role for Davey Swatpaz that I think it’s fair to think of it as extremely British anyway. And speaking of the excellent casting, Matt Berry is in this and as always he’s brilliant. There are few games where I’d say “I really hope you run out and buy this” but there are few things that are such polished diamonds, and even though this was funded by Panic, who apparently have enough money that they can piss it up on a wall on the world’s most niche handheld (hey, I still bought it) smaller games are having such a rough time of it that when they’re good we should really, you know, reward that. Don’t just do it for me; do it for Tiny Tom. Or Big Ron.*

*pie size preference depending.

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[creatingblackcharacters]

Hello! I'm writing a...well the dream is a cartoon aimed at about a middle-grade age bracket, so I'm definitely studying your art/design guides for the visual side of that, but rn I'm a little concerned about the premise. It's supposed to be that cliche "normal kid (in this case, four of them) discovers that they're a Cool Magic Alien Chosen One, their normal human family just adopted them and they have a Cool Magic Alien Family who suddenly wants them back."

While a good chunk of the point is to deconstruct that fantasy (both the human and magic families are Not Perfect but Not Irredeemable, none of them seamlessly cut off their boring crappy human families to go join their cool nice REAL families or anything, and I'm thinking of ways at least some of the human parents can stay in the narrative even if most of it takes place far away) I still worry about the implications of this sort of narrative at all on the Black character in this group. I know there are a lot of tropes and stereotypes about Black families, so I don't want to imply anything harmful about either of hers even if *everyone's* are meant to be imperfect humans(/basically-humans) with stuff to work through. (Her magical family would be visually and culturally *Black* magic aliens of course, the fantasy world is idealized in many ways and may have different history and technicalities behind some details but isn't "colorblind" or anything.)

I'm not even sure where to start, or if there are any glaring red flags including her in this premise at all. I don't want to cut her entirely! I'd just have to work to establish her as part of the Main Group if she wasn't tied to them by the thing they have in common/met them later (once they got to the fantasy world), so I worry she'd still feel tacked on/sidelined/not Cool Special like everyone else, or already living in the fantasy world and having the requisite familiarity/knowledge would push her into a "guide" role which I know has its own tangle of issues.

Is this...I guess I can't expect you to represent a whole demographic, but would you say these "changeling fantasy" narratives are the sort of story Black kids even like/want/need? I don't want to assume the desires I had in that phase of my life are universal, but neither that they were utterly unique...I'm sure there's a chunk of perspective I'm missing.

Any input you can offer from these at-the-moment pretty broad strokes would mean the world. Thank you!

I mean, so far it sounds fine to me. As a kid I always was happy seeing myself in the rare fantasy story. It sounds like you're doing your research. As for the "guide" role, that's not necessarily an issue. As long as you're not making her "naturally mothering", or acting like her ONLY role is to give the white characters advice and sacrifice to their whims before falling back, that's fine. Her voice SHOULD be held in high esteem if she knows more than them in this new environment lmao. It's really just making sure she's her own character with pros and cons, like you said. I mentioned adultification in my stereotypes lesson, go back and review those questions, and continue to ask them of yourself as you write.

Black kids deserve all sorts of stories. We wanted to see ourselves discover we have magical powers and go to space and fight dragons and stuff. So you're not lacking a demographic, especially in that age range.

[ivyial]

Okay, I just saw your other ask about leshley/eagleone and felt like I had to get in on this because ever since RE4Make came out, I've been going crazy over this ship. I have always found it cute in RE4 OG, but now it's driving me crazy. I cannot understand how many people miss the many implications that Leon is trying to flirt during certain parts of the game. Like seriously, come on, pals, he's being so awkward, trying to sound cool and give compliments that end up sounding weirder than he intended. And I don't know if it's just me that noticed this, but I find it funny how Leon talks to Ashley in certain moments like it's the easiest thing to do; then, in other parts, he really has no clue how to speak to her. Does that not scream attraction to anyone?

i'm with you on this one. i don't know how people miss EVERYTHING about them. like they don't even go "oh?" at times when they're playing. it probably depends on the mindset you have when you're playing. if you're hyperfocused on the action, maybe you'll miss it. idk. on social media, there are two broad types of people who have negative reactions when it comes to leon/ashley:

1. aeon shippers (mostly, can be other shippers as well, but they're mostly chill because they themselves get forced into a corner by aeon stans) who think it threatens their ship

2. people who are fiercely anti-romance when it comes to whatever media they consume and consider it to be dumb and actively making a good piece of media worse (because in their eyes, romance is a lowly preoccupation to have)

and both groups are super bitter for no reason lmaoooo. you might have noticed a tendency in media discourse recently on social media that is very anti-romance - a few weeks ago, it became a whole thing on twitter because of the bear (the tv show) and the ship between sydney and carmy, to the point where even official media outlets started talking about it. romance is considered dumb. everything that contains romance is essentially a bad soap opera. blah blah blah we're all too smart for that. there's a very strong, almost puritanical anti-sex sentiment going around at the moment as well, and i wish it was just some isolated issue within fandoms overpopulated by young teens, but people lost their minds over two sex scenes in oppenheimer for god's sake. and if i had the time and willpower and knowledge, i'd turn this into a discussion about how that ties into humans being obsessed with moving away from every single instinct that they have, but well.

i also agree with the second part of your ask, about leon's attitude towards ashley. tbh, leon can't flirt for shit: most of the time, he's awkward (RE2R, the fence scene with claire: i can never tell if he's attempting to flirt, or if he's just awkward because there's a cute girl right in front of him) or even downright unfunny (was he trying to flirt with jill in death island? was he trying to lighten the mood? idk man leon is a bit of a whore so). he tries to flirt all the time: we got shen may in infinite darkness, ada, etc. we know he isn't smooth.

so one thing that really sticks out in RE4R is his tone with ashley, in two specific instances (maybe more): the one i mentioned in my previous ask, when he says "i can catch you", and when he sees ashley asleep on the bed in chapter 13 (and calls out to her). these are two very intense and high-stress situations where he kind of reverts back to RE2R leon (nick does a great job at conveying the difference in maturity in leon's voice in both games). he's very distressed. why does that matter? because fucking shouting ashley's name when there are two enemies 10 meters away (we know that, he doesn't, but the island is riddled with ganados, so why would he even try?) is the stupidest decision a special agent could make. and yet he does it anyway. there are other instances of leon being in a similar situation, yet he still retains that deeper tone of his - see his first encounter with krauser in chapter 11.

and it's not just because he's doing his job, which is what one of my friends argued, because you don't go around flirting with the person you're tasked to rescue for shits and giggles. not to mention, that's the president's daughter. if he was just doing his job, he'd stick to the plan, be stoic and get her home and that's it. that's what's required of him. implying that the first daughter is hot as fuck and that he doesn't usually enjoy his regular missions nearly as much as he does when he's with her isn't part of his job description. there's a difference between being a decent guy and not treating her like cargo, and overtly flirting with her.

i think he's also very awkward with her at first because he's toeing the line between what's acceptable and what isn't, so he can figure out if there is grounds for flirting and it's not wholly unwanted on ashley's part. then you get that pep talk in the castle, which is when they really start to get comfortable with each other and when he attempts some physical contact that isn't just 100% necessary. she reacts well, which explains why he takes it further in chapter 9. he spends the rest of the game painfully distressed and by chapter 16, they're all over each other (jetski + taking her hand to run to the elevator - leon, the girl is smart, she knows how to run and follow you).

leon has a crush. plain and simple. he doesn't know how to deal with it, except for the few times when he does and the flirting is technically reciprocated. idk how people can't notice the plain signs of attraction, even in a generation that is as recluse and introverted as mine tends to be, but they're very obvious once you start paying attention.

[daddydindjarin]

The Long and Winding Road Part IV: The French Quarter

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no physical description of the Reader given)

Rating: 18+ Mature CW: alcohol, female masturbation, slight angst, feelings tbh

Wordcount: 4042

Summary: Bourbon Street offers good times and good drinks, but the two of you only seem to be thinking about each other.

A/N: Dividers by @firefly-graphics! Thank you especially to the discord besties for always encouraging me when I post the smallest of peeks, and treating it like it was a treasure.

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The sound of raucous laughter from outside of the semi-private courtyard did nothing to drown out how loud your heart sounded beating in your chest. A strong, quick, thumpthumpthump battering against your ribs like they were a closed gate, and your heart was trying to break free.

It was silly, you thought to yourself, your ears straining while listening for any sound changes from the bathroom, where Frankie had retreated to wash the grime from him. You could hear his low humming- maybe an Eagles song? - just under the patter of the shower, and the thought of Frankie feet away from you, wet and singing was doing nothing to calm your nerves.

You sat on the side of the bed, acutely aware of how awkward you looked, spine stiff and your hands wringing in your lap like a nervous teenager who had snuck out to a boyfriend’s house for the first time. “Come on, girl,” you whispered harshly to yourself. “It’s just two friends sharing a bed for the night. Stop being so fuckin’ weird.”

Logically, this shouldn’t even be an issue. You’d spent the better part of your sleeping time in a pop-up tent with Frankie, where there was very little room to be had. Nothing like the spacious carriage house you currently found yourself in. The King bed you were currently sitting on was bigger than your tent, so it would stand to reason that you’d probably not even touch each other in your sleep.

You didn’t know if that bothered you more.

You stood, reaching for your suitcase to grab a change of clothes and your toiletries, making a mental note to find a pharmacy close by to have you doctor call in a refill of your prescriptions. You heard the shower turn off, and you gathered your things as the sliding bathroom door slide open. Schooling your features, you turned, ready to smile at him, and tease him about leaving you some hot water, but the sight of him made your mouth run dry.

Frankie emerged from the bathroom with a cloud of steam following him. He was still wet, his dark hair slicked back where he had pushed it off his forehead in a hurry, lines of water trailing down his neck and onto his chest. You knew how broad he was, every tee-shirt he wore strained across his shoulders, but to see his shoulders and strong arms with water still clinging to his sparse chest hair was another thing entirely. Your eyes followed a droplet as it crossed its way over a nipple and down his slightly rounded stomach, losing sight of it in the trail of hair that disappeared below the towel slung low over his hips. You looked back up to his face to see him watching you with an intensity that you weren’t prepared for, his eyes dark and hooded.

“Hermosa,” he began, his hands twitching at his sides, and his voice broke you out of your trance, heat faring across your cheeks.

“Sorry!” you gasped out, nearly dropping your clothes as you fumbled to close your suitcase. “I was distracted, I didn’t mean to stare at you.” Like a piece of meat, you thought to yourself, briskly walking to the bathroom that was still humid from Frankie’s time in there.

As you slid the door shut, you thought you heard him chuckle, “It’s alright, I like watching you stare.”

You turned the shower on, pleased that the water pressure was so high, and stripped, setting your dirty clothes on the counter before looking at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t spent much time analyzing your appearance, with other things taking precedence over a rigorous skin care routine, and you knew that you were showing small signs of aging, as was typical of someone your age. But, you wondered, what did Frankie see when he looked at you? Did he see the lines next your mouth and eyes? Did he notice that you get stress breakouts on your chin and forehead?

Did he find you attractive?

There was no point in denying you were attracted to him, if the way you were salivating over him was any indication. Turning from the mirror, you stepped into the shower groaning when the hot water hit your back. The smell of Frankie’s soap permeated the air, a sensuous blend of cinnamon and cloves, and if you closed your eyes, you could almost picture him standing in front of you, smiling that little smile he reserved for things that truly amused him.

Would he touch you? How would his hands feel skimming your shoulders in a barely-there touch, tracing his way across the peaks of your chest. How would his mouth feel against your breast, his plump lips closing over a sensitive nipple? Your hands cupped your chest, fingers gently tweaking your nipples, and you bit your lip to keep in any errant sounds.

Were you really doing this? About to masturbate to the idea of a man you met weeks ago, but who had been nothing but kind and supportive of you? You’d feel guilty if you weren’t imagining him on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those dark eyes framed by those long lashes as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your mound.

Frankie gave off pussy eater vibes, and you could almost feel how he would lave attention to your clit, alternating flicking it with his tongue, and sucking it harshly until you were a wreck, just the thought of him eating you out was making you incredibly wet, and you played with your clit gently, leaning back against the tiles. Your hands, you knew, were a poor substitute for his thick fingers, and you whined when you pushed two inside yourself, thrusting gently, your other hand still focusing on your nipple.

Oh, you knew he would stretch you open, murmuring praises as he fucked you with his hand, telling you how good you were for him, how pretty you looked as you took all he had to give. He’d make you cum with his face buried in your pussy, and it was the thought of him, chin wet and grinning, that had you clenching around your fingers, a choked cry escaping you. Your legs shook, and you thought about sliding to the bottom of the shower and just living there, but Frankie was waiting for you in the other room, and guilt was starting to creep up your spine. You hurriedly washed any trace of your misdeed from your skin, so you could re-join him in the bedroom and work out your plans for the night.

It didn’t take long to finish your shower, soap rubbed and rinsed quickly from your body, finding yourself pulling your clothes onto still slightly damp skin in your building excitement. You slid open the door to release some of the steam that was causing your yellow silk camisole to start to stick to your skin. Louisiana was still hot, and you knew that walking the French Quarter was going to do nothing for the heat, but that didn’t mean you had to swelter in the hotel room.

Stepping back into the hotel room to grab your makeup bag, you glanced over at Frankie where he lounged on the bed, and your mouth went dry. He had traded his usual ball cap for slicked back still wet hair, the curls barely being contained by whatever slight product he had used. He was wearing slacks- not jeans, you noted, shifting slightly in your own pair- and a white button-down shirt that was undone down to his breastbone. The there was no sign of an undershirt, just the smattering of freckles that you wanted to trace across his neck and chest with your fingers.

And your tongue.

He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but you knew he was awake, based off the way he was breathing. Not wanting to be caught staring, you grabbed the times that you needed before retreating into the now cooled off bathroom, reminding yourself again to calm the fuck down.

Frankie watched you go through his semi closed eyes, fire burning under his skin.

He knew that you had been watching him since he came out of the bathroom earlier, and if you hadn’t run for the bathroom when you did, he would have pulled you to him right then and there based on the way you were looking at him. And just now, he knew it wasn’t his imagination, the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he couldn’t see.

Thoughts of how to tell you, to convince you that he was feeling the same way swirled in his head. Of abandoning your planned night out on the French Quarter, of pulling you onto his lap so he could tell you every filthy though he’s had about you these last two weeks. Letting you touch him more than just a passing graze, or a hand hold to not lose each other in a crowd.

But New Orleans was close to the top of your list, and he wasn’t going to have you miss anything you wanted to see because of him. ‘It’s possible,’ a small voice in the back of his mind thought, ‘that it’s not even you that she likes. Maybe it’s just the proximity and wanting human touch.’

It wouldn’t be the first time that has happened. How many nights had he buried himself in another person just to feel something other than the crushing loneliness of an empty room, empty house, empty heart? When the drugs didn’t touch the sadness, and he couldn’t lose himself in work or in being a father, what lengths had he gone to just to feel like there was someone out there who wanted him?

Relationships built on that didn’t last- but when had you ever said you were looking for a relationship. You had mentioned in passing that you didn’t have anyone like that (or anyone really) in your life, and he couldn’t imagine that it was because of you. You were gorgeous, curves and softness in all the right places, soft and warm. You were kind to everyone, a smile so quick and disarming, Frankie figured it was more deadly than a gun. You were smart, and funny, and so organized that he pegged you for the military type, which you had quickly dismissed with a laugh and a “I don’t like being told what to do.”

With how wonderful you were, people should have been chomping at the bit to be with you, but you had been adamant that aside from a long-term boyfriend in high school, and a few flings here and there, there wasn’t anyone. And he could only conclude it was because you weren’t interested in being in a relationship. Besides, it wasn’t like you had even suggested it, or anything close to it.

But the way you looked at him…he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

15 minutes later, you came back out of the bathroom, makeup done, and your hair twisted up and away from your face, a few curled pieces falling lose. You pulled a pair of boots on, and grabbed a jacket before turning back to him, arms slightly spread out. “Well,” you asked, twirling in place to show him the entire outfit, “How do I look?”

Frankie wished that he could find the words to accurately describe the way he was feeling in that moment. The front of your camisole was tucked into your holey jeans, showing off your small stomach, and he wouldn’t be surprised if there was drool at the corners of his mouth. All he could muster was a “You look amazin’,” as his eyes raked you up and down.

You beamed at him, and he could feel heat creeping up his neck as you shrugged your jacket on, tugging it into place. “I’m ready, Captain! Let’s go find some ghosts!”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re more likely to find a venereal disease in New Orleans, Hermosa,” he said, pulling his own blazer on. He didn’t know why he felt like dressing up tonight, sure it had nothing to do with the gorgeous girl at his elbow.

“Oh, come on, Francisco!” You playfully shoved him towards the door, exasperation lighting up your voice. “We’re in arguably the most haunted city in America. Every inch of this place is haunted, including our hotel supposedly.”

He locks the door behind him, leading you with a hand at the small of your back to the street, where patrons are starting to pour into the bars and taverns. It’s already dark, and he knows it’s only going to get more crowded and rowdier as the night goes on. “Sure, sure, if you spot one, be sure to let me know, that way I can get the hell out of there.”

A sly grin crosses your face as you look up at him. “Frankie,” you tease, grabbing his arm as the crowd thickens around you, “Are you afraid of ghosts?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m afraid so much, as having a healthy dose of survival instincts.”

You let out a peal of laughter, the glow from the string lights on the canopies making your eyes sparkle up at him, and he turns away before the urge to kiss you completely takes over his brain. You squeeze his bicep as the two of you fall into companionable silence, watching the boisterous crowds, and starting to feel the atmosphere that New Orleans exudes. The scent of magnolia washed over the two of you, and the big bands started up their jazz ensembles in quick succession, light and happy music surrounding every corner.

You lead him to the Old Absinthe House, pushing your way into the crowded small space, and shouted your orders to the barman, who didn’t look put off at all by the large crowd. Once he pressed your drinks into your hands, Frankie led you to an unoccupied corner, and you handed him the green drink.

“What is this?” he said, dipping his head next to your ear so you could hear him over the music and people. The smell of your perfume wafted over him, a mix of sugared berries and rose and…was that his body wash he smelled on your skin? You smelled like him, and he was going to lose his mind, the caveman part of his brain buzzing at the thought of you choosing to mix your scents.

You leaned up, your cheek pressed to his, your lips grazing his ear as you told him it was an Absinthe Frappe, and you spoke of its history, something about it being invented at this bar in 1874, how there were authors that swore by it, but all he could focus on was the way your hand rested on his chest for balance as you stood on tiptoe to lean into him so he could hear you.

You pulled away from him, and he felt dazed, like he had been hit over the head one too many times. He watched you smile before raising the glass in a mini cheer, and then you were downing it, quickly, the column of your throat bobbing as you chugged the drink. By the time he was able to shake the daze off, and realize what you had done, you were already gone, heading back to the bar for a refill, topping off the beginning of a long night.

It was close to 4am by the time Frankie was able to stumble back to the hotel with you.

You were three sheets to the wind, smelling of sweat and booze, the New Orleans cologne thick on the both of you as you rode on his back across the courtyard. You were giggling at the story you were telling him; some joke a girl in a bathroom told you earlier in the night, that you hadn’t stopped laughing at, and he was finding it harder and harder to be annoyed with you as you rested your chin on his shoulder, your arms loose around his neck.

Around the time he started to coral you away from the busier bars, you had given him a guilty look, and admitted that this wasn’t what you usually did. “I can count on one hand,” you had slurred, leaning on him heavily as you fingered the beads around your neck, “the number of times I’ve been actually drunk. Don’t like drinking by myself, and don’t have lotsa friends to get drunk wif me.”

The thought of you being alone more often than not was the deciding factor on letting you keep drinking, with spurts of him giving you water before letting you sip from your new bathroom friend’s drink as you danced together to some pop song Frankie hadn’t heard of. The two of you were menaces, begging him to dance with you after a quick, “this is my Frankie,” which had shot straight to his cock. He eventually indulged for a few moments, swaying to the music while you shook laughed and danced with him, until you turned your back to him, and your ass grinded directly on him. He knew you had to feel what you did to him in this crowded bar by the heady look in your eyes when you glanced at him over your shoulder, making no move to step away from him. He had excused himself, directing you back to your bathroom friend as he made a beeline for the men’s room to try to get a fucking grip. You were drunk and having fun. He was sober and responsible, and this was not happening tonight.

The pair of you had started back to the hotel after one last drink, followed by Bathroom Girl, or Amber, as the name scrawled on your arm read, stole the bouncer’s sharpie, and wrote her name and number on your arm while you leaned on him because you said the room was spinning. She had kissed your cheek, and then his, before disappearing back into the crowd of bodies. You had waved and then wrapped your arm around Frankie’s waist, smiling up at him as he held onto you, so you didn’t fall and crack your head on the pavement. You had made it a couple yards when you had stumbled and just about twisted your ankle, so Frankie stepped in front of you and knelt, his arms akimbo behind him.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a piggyback.”

You had balked at the suggestion, waving your hands frantically. “No, no, I can walk. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hermosa, I don’t think you can walk,” he laughed, jerking his chin. “Come on, it’s not that far, and you’re not gonna hurt me.” It took a few more gentle coaxes to get you draped across his back, but once you were, it was like all the tension left your body, and you hummed a song in his ear, and told him the story that had you in fits.

It took him a few tries with the door lock as he tried to keep you from falling off him, but when he got into the room, he backed up to the bed and leaned back to let you down. Except you didn’t release him, your legs tightening around his middle as you pulled him back with you, causing him to lose his footing and fall backwards onto the bed, with you beneath his back. He laughed, feeling you nuzzle your head between his shoulders like a cat. “Alright, Hermosa, I’m gonna end up crushing you. Let me up.”

You made a small noise, close to a whine in the back of your throat, but did has he said, and he cursed under his breath at the way his body was reacting. At the way it had been reacting all night. He heaved himself off the bed and crouched in front of you to pull your boots off, undoing the laces with care. You sat up and watched him, and when his eyes met yours, you grinned, shedding your jacket, your hands going for the bottom of your camisole, and wrenching it over your head.

Sitting in front of him in nothing but your lacy white bra and jeans was absolute torture, your chest heaving from how deeply you were breathing. He almost couldn’t look away, until you moved to the button of your jeans and his hand shot out to grab yours, halting your movement.

“Hey, hey, wait. Let me get your sleep shorts so you can change,” he said, trying to redirect your attention, to redirect his thoughts.

“Don’t wanna change,” you mumbled, your hand twisting to lace your fingers with his. “Want you.”

Frankie groaned, sitting back on his heels, and he squeezed your hand gently before extracting it from your grip, and pushing himself up to stand over you. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, and he quickly turned to grab your sleep clothes, determined to look anywhere but at you. When he turned back around, you had shimmied out of your jeans, smiling up at him with that sweet smile, and thrust out your clothes before turning around and digging for his. When he didn’t hear any movement from you, he steeled himself, and glanced over his shoulder, only to find you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at your clothes with tears dripping off your chin.

Panicking, he turned back to you quickly, hands hovering over your shoulder, wanting to comfort you, but not wanting to send any mixed signals. “Hermosa, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Do you need help getting dressed?”

Your bottom lip quivered, and you refused to look at him, instead pulling your shirt on over your head. He bowed his head, determined to catch your gaze, giving you a weak smile to try to coax you into talking to him.

“’m sorry,” you murmured, biting your bottom lip so hard, he thought you were going to draw blood. “I don’t know why I did that. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Guilt washed over him, and he found himself cupping your cheek, raising your head to look at him. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Hermosa.”

“Frankie, I just came on to you, and you ran away from me,” you replied, brows furrowing, and he could see the logical part of your brain trying to fight through the boozy fog.  “I was getting naked for you, and you practically dressed me yourself.”

After a beat, you whispered, “Do you not want me?”

Frankie sighed, his thumb brushing away an errant tear, and you leaned into his hand. His thumb kept stroking your skin, soothing you. “It’s not that I don’t want you,” he said after a moment. Your bottom lashes were heavy with unshed tears, a few more falling every time you blinked, and he was quick to wipe them away, as if they never existed in the first place. “You’re all I’ve been thinking about. You, and then things I want to do with you.”

“Then why-“

“Hermosa, you’re drunk. I’m not going to take advantage of you like that.”

“But you wouldn’t be!”

“Yes,” Frankie said, his thumb running across your bottom lip, and disappearing before you hand the chance to taste it. “I would be. There isn’t anything I want more right now than you beneath me, but if that’s something that you want, then you’ll still want it when you’re sober, and will remember it later.”

He watched as you soaked in his words and smiled softly at him. “Okay,” you whispered, nodding against his hand.

“Okay,” he agreed, letting his hand linger for just a moment more before standing back up and grabbing his pajamas. When he exited the bathroom, you were already under the covers, your eyelids heavy and fading fast. He laid on top of the covers, grabbing the blanket from the couch to cover up with. As he turned off the light, your voice, soft and warm drifted over to him as he felt himself falling asleep.

“Hey, Frankie?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thank you.”

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[clickerflight]

Clove: Part 9 - Traveling Merchant

Masterlist

Part 8

THE BOYS HAVE RETURNED!!! This is a pretty soft snippet today. I love pampering Hyrum.

Content: Cronic pain issues, healing, social anxiety

Pretty soft one today for sure. Let me know if you want to be on the tag list

..................................................

Hyrum’s tail thumped against the table as he leaned against the back of the kitchen chair, on his knees as he watched Ephraim cut up vegetables and put them in the pot that bubbled on the stove. Ephraim kept glancing back at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. 

Hyrum liked to watch Ephraim cook. He liked having porridge and berries for breakfast still, and he usually traded between sandwiches and bread pudding for lunch, but dinner was a special affair. Ephraim made something new every night for Hyrum to try, and tonight he was making something called stew. He’d put chunks of meat in it and everything, and Hyrum was doing his best not to drool on the floor, his tail thumping against the table even harder. 

He shifted down onto the chair a bit more, despite the excitement egging him on to watch closer as Ephraim stirred everything together in the pot. His legs were beginning to ache deep down from the pressure so he needed to move to try and get them to feel better. 

“I should be done soon,” Ephraim said, turning to Hyrum with a broad smile that sent curls of joy through his chest. “Do you want some bread while you wait?”

Hyrum shook his head. He didn’t want to spoil his appetite. The stew smelled so wonderful he wanted to be able to eat as much of it as he could. 

Ephraim ran a hand through Hyrum’s hair and the werewolf leaned into it. His hair was smoother and shinier now, waves beginning to form in it as it grew healthy again. 

“How about we go work on that quilt, hmm?” Ephraim suggested. “Time will go faster than waiting in here for it to be done.”

Hyrum nodded and padded along after Ephraim, heading to the craft room where the quilt was set up. Ephraim picked up a needle from where it had been sitting on the fabric, already strung with yarn and started sending it in and out of the chalked in dots, tying knots at each one before moving on. 

Hyrum went to his side where his needle was. He hadn’t gotten as far as Ephraim had as his fingers weren’t as good as Ephraim’s. The vampire had promised Hyrum that his fingers would heal eventually, but it was really annoying while he had to wait.

Still, he did notice an improvement as he poked the needle down through, and then up again, using his other hand to make sure that the yarn didn’t knot up underneath. 

“Goldenrod.”

Hyrum looked up expectantly, his tail swishing back and forth behind himself still. 

Ephraim smiled and said, “After dinner I’m planning on going down to the village. The traveling merchant should be here by now so we can see if they have some things for you. Do you want to come with me and help me pick out your clothes?”

“Really?” Hyrum asked. He nearly shouted out his agreement when it struck him that they would be going down into the village. His tail slowly came to a stop and he looked down, fidgeting with the yarn. “Is it safe?”

“Oh yes. It’s very safe. There are some other wolves down in the village too. They might want to introduce themselves… would you be up for that?”

Hyrum bit his lip. He wasn’t sure about going down to the village. It sounded dangerous. Jack had always drilled it into his head that if anyone saw Hyrum, they would try and kill him, but… Ephraim told the truth more often than not as far as Hyrum could tell. He was even right in how to make a weapon stronger, despite the way Jack proclaimed himself to be the best weapon maker in the kingdom. 

And if Hyrum was going to be Ephraim’s weapon, then he certainly could be strong enough to go down to the village with him!

“I want to go,” Hyrum said with a determined nod, going back to sewing. 

“Alright. And if you change your mind, let me know. I know it’s almost bedtime so I don’t want to make you do too much if you’re tired.”

Hyrum smiled to himself. He had been feeling less and less tired as of late, and he was sure he could handle a walk down to the village. He tried not to think about how there would be people who would want to talk to him though. How was he supposed to address them? Would they want him to talk to them, or would they just want to look at him like some of Jack’s friends did. That was the only bad thing about living with Ephraim. Things were so unpredictable and Hyrum didn’t know how to handle half of it, but Ephraim was patient with him and explained things until he understood, so he wasn’t too worried. 

An unbidden thought popped into his mind that surprised him enough he stopped sewing again. I suppose I could just ask him. 

Hyrum pondered over the thought and realized it was true. He was confused about something, he didn’t know how he would handle a situation that he knew was coming, and he could easily ask Ephraim about it before the vampire eventually noticed he was confused and explained it for him anyways. All he had to do was ask, and Ephraim practically beamed everytime Hyrum asked him a question. 

Hyrum opened his mouth to do just that when Ephraim lifted his nose, closing his eyes. Hyrum did so as well, curious and opened them again to see Ephraim leaving the room. “Dinner’s ready, sweetheart.”

Hyrum followed quickly, the question blown out of his mind over the thought of food. He sat down as Ephraim ladled some stew into a bowl for him. 

“Be careful,” Ephraim warned. “It’s hot.”

“Oh,” Hyrum said, picking up his spoon. He lifted a chunk of meat out and touched it to his lips. It was hot so he backed off, licking his lips. The flavor of the residue was heavenly, though, and it took all of the werewolf’s self control to not just take the burning cube into his mouth. 

Ephraim smiled and spooned some food up for himself, blowing on it for a moment before eating it. 

Delighted for an answer, Hyrum blew on his like Ephraim did, carefully. He waited a moment, blew on it one more time for good measure which got a little chuckle out of Ephraim, and then put it in his mouth. He closed his eyes as the meat pretty much melted in his mouth, and his tail thumped heavily against the chair again as he savored it. 

Ephraim was done before Hyrum was as the werewolf made sure that each bite wouldn’t burn him before standing up and putting his bowl in the kitchen basin. 

“Alright,” Ephraim said, walking over to the door where he put on his gardening boots. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Hyrum said, coming to stand by him. 

Ephraim grabbed his sun hat and they stepped outside. It was late morning now, nearly bedtime for the vampire and werewolf, despite the pull Hyrum had to stay up and run around. He was glad for the chance to go with Ephraim outside. The sun soaked into the overlarge garments Hyrum was wearing, and he twisted the fabric to pull it closer against his skin, enjoying the warmth. 

As they got to the steepest part of the hill, Hyrum was having a hard time staying steady on his feet. His legs, despite feeling much better, still always ached and the fact that he couldn’t feel the bottoms of his feet made it difficult for him to stay balanced on inclined slopes. 

Ephraim slowed down and held out a hand for Hyrum, and the werewolf took it with both of his as he stumbled. 

Ephraim walked slowly with Hyrum, keeping him steady as they went. Halfway down the hill, Hyrum looked up from his feet to the little village sprawled below and remembered the question he was going to ask. 

“Erm… Ephraim?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What, um, what do I do if people talk to me?”

Ephraim looked down at him, a little surprised, but his smile came back just like it always did. 

“Right, sorry. I should have, ah. Well, when someone sees you they’re likely to ask you your name.”

“And I tell them?”

“Yeah, if you want,” Ephraim said. 

“Can I tell them my name is Goldenrod?” he asked eagerly. 

Ephraim smiled. “Sure. You can definitely tell them that. And then they might ask you about your day and you can tell them. If you get tired I’ll let them know, okay? If you're overwhelmed, I’ll jump in.”

“Okay,” Hyrum said, relaxing a little.

“And if the werewolves come over,” Ephraim continued, which made Hyrum tense up again, sensing this was going to be a little more complicated. “They’ll probably want to smell you first and you can smell them back. They’ll be really excited to meet you so they might be a bit much, but I’ll try and let them know to calm down, okay?”

“Okay,” Hyrum replied and Ephraim smiled.

“I’m actually pretty excited about this. The villagers have been asking about you. I told them a little about what happened and they have actually been a huge help getting me some extra food for you,” Ephraim said as they reached the bottom of the hill where the path went from tramped down grass to dirt. “They’ll love you.”

Hyrum puffed up under Ephraim’s arm, warm and happy as they made their way past the first building. 

There were people gathered around a large cart with two huge animals hooked up to the front of it, stamping hard feet and throwing back huge heads with long manes. 

“What are those?” Hyrum asked, trying not to imagine how much it would hurt to have one of them stomp his toes. 

“Those are horses. They’re pretty friendly, but try not to stand behind them. They can kick when they get frightened,” Ephraim said soothingly, though that didn’t make Hyrum feel all that much better. 

As they approached the cart, people turned and Hyrum did not miss the way their eyes lit up when they saw him.

“Hi, Ephraim!” one woman with three children said as she walked over to greet them and Ephraim took her hand in his free one with a huge smile. 

“Good morning, Anna,” he said warmly. Hyrum pressed himself against Ephraim’s side as much as he could as the three children stared at him, sizing him up. 

The smallest boldly took a step forward and opened her mouth, but Anna cut her off by stooping down and picking her up, making her giggle. 

“Are you here to get something for Hyrum?” she asked, having successfully distracted her youngest, though the other two kept staring at Hyrum. The werewolf wished he could have known this was a possibility. He didn’t like just being stared at. 

Ephraim stepped sideways a little, gracefully hiding the fact that he stumbled because of how hard Hyrum was pressed to his side. “Yup, we certainly are. It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” Anna said with a nod, shooing her children off towards one of the houses. “Have fun, Hyrum.”

The werewolf nodded a little, and Ephraim led him farther down the road towards the cart. 

“Oh!” a deep voice said, surprised as Ephraim stepped up to stand behind a small line of people at the cart. 

A large man had turned around and looked down at Hyrum. Hyrum had never felt smaller as the huge man smiled at him. He was taller and broader than Ephraim, but he had a friendly enough smile, a bit like Ephraim’s. 

“Hello, little one. What’s your name?” the man asked, making his deep voice softer. 

“G-Goldenrod,” Hyrum said, glad to be hiding under Ephraim’s arm. 

“Oh, like the flower? That’s very nice,” he said warmly. “I’m Guntar. I’m the butcher. I sell Ephraim here his blood.”

Hyrum looked up at Ephraim and he nodded. “Yes he does, like his father before him.”

Guntar smiled. “Are you excited to look at what’s on the cart?”

Hyrum thought about it for a moment. He shrugged and Guntar chuckled. “There are some pretty cool things on it this time, from what I hear. Old Morticai’s outdone himself if the toys the wolf boys were carrying off were anything to go by.”

“Hmmm, I hadn’t thought of that,” Ephraim said, mostly to himself. “Goldenrod, would you like a toy? Something to play with?”

Hyrum had no idea what he was talking about, so he just shrugged. 

“Well, we’ll have a look when we get to the cart, then.”

Hyrum nodded, still tucked under Ephraim’s arm as they made their way through the line. 

Ephraim was glad to get to the front and Morticai grinned. “Ephraim! My favorite customer! And who’s this?”

Ephraim looked down at Hyrum who seemed to be rather done with meeting people so Ephraim said, “This is Goldenrod. I’m actually here to buy him some clothes, and perhaps a toy or two. He’s, ah, he’s had a rough go of it so far.”

Morticai’s flamboyant mustache drooped. “Yes, yes I can see that. Let’s see if we can get that squared away then!”

Moticai worked fast, knowing his merchandise well, and soon, they had two sets of trews and two tunics, both sets a bit big for the werewolf in anticipation for him growing out a bit. Ephraim was planning on getting up early to talk to some of the empty nesters and see if they had some clothes he could borrow from them as well, just in case. If Hyrum grew into being a werewolf a bit more, he’d need more clothes as he ran these into rags.

“Now, as for toys,” Morticai said, pawing through a crate. “Mmm, what do we think about this?”

He passed Ephraim a wooden bird with some gaps in the wood. A quick shake made a marble inside rattle around. Ephraim saw Hyrum’s ears prick up and he gave the werewolf the toy to look at. 

“Works for me. Thank you.”

“Oh, of course. And did you want to have a look at the blubs I brought.”

“Oh, if I must,” Ephraim said, delighted. Could Hyrum go around to the other side of your cart while I look?”

“Of course!”

Hyrum gratefully took the opportunity to run around the cart and hide from everyone in line. 

“Now, I have some more tulip bulbs-”

“Oh, goodness no, I have plenty. Say, did you have any peonies?” 

“I do! And some beautiful puzzles that I know you’d like to have a look at here.”

Ephraim delightedly went through the goods, distracted by them and Morticai’s tales of the cities that he didn’t hear Hyrum’s small gasp of fear and the small sound of a marble rattling around in wood. 

Part 10

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff @honeycollectswhump

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Do you have any opinions on how many people are lauding Barbie as THE feminist movie instead of a movie which kind of touches upon certain aspects of feminism without really dealing with any of the actual undertones of it? Like I know a fun summer movie (or any movie tbh) doesn't NEED to address all nitty gritties of a socio-cultural phenomenon but at the same time I personally feel that the exaggerated depiction of how patriarchy works (which is definitely a stylistic choice) brushes aside too many real world impacts for it to be considered as some kind of cultural icon for feminism. None of the above takes away from its entertainment factor for me.

Yes, I do have some thoughts about that. I am following a lot of Barbie coverage, from reviews to tumblr posting, twitter and tiktok. It's everywhere. But it doesn't mean that my exposure fully encapsulates the entire discourse(s) surrounding the film. So my perspective is strictly my own and in no way representative of how the film is or should be perceived/criticized/lauded.

I personally didn't think of it as the quintessential feminist movie. That's too broad a label that does more harm than good. It is but a version of feminism, mostly your basis 101 white feminism a la Greta Gerwig and one that it's easy to digest, to reach a big audience and one that doesn't interfere too much with the corporation. It reminded me of how I used to see the word in my first year of college when I started getting into contact with feminism and my eyes suddenly opened.

It's not interesectional feminism, it does gloss over some issues and I'm not trying to justify it too much because there are enough people pointing that out rightfully so and are more in the right to talk about it than I am.

Am I part of the target audience for Barbie? Yes and no. Mostly yes, but there are experiences in the film that do no speak to me. What does that mean? I think it reflects my life and how I adhere to this mainstream feminism knowing that it's not really entirely for me.

What I can say, and I know this will sound exactly like white feminism, is that some aspects tackled in the film are universal. What I mean by that is questioning our purpose and how we perform gender. I've been struggling with that. I too look at other women thinking they have it all figured it out and they know how to be women (based on some idea in my head), while I don't, which makes me question how I don't do a good job at being a woman. Is seeing Margot Robbie as stereotypical Barbie questioning her purpose the same? No. Because I do not look like Margot Robbie (and the film smartly pointed out the absurdity). And then there was Gloria's speech which is again about this general idea of never feeling that you are enough and no matter what you do, there is always more to improve and balance and how shitty it is when it fact we should just be allowed to exist. All of us, regardless of any aspect of our identities. All of this spoke to me, but it doesn't mean the film didn't cater more to a specific experience of being a girl/woman in patriarchal structures through the lens of a straight, white perspective. It's not innovative because it's definitely not the first film to even address it like that. What is noteworthy though is how successful it is. That usually doesn't happen with films predominantly made by women and for women (and men too in the case of Barbie, too bad some of them refuse to aknowledge it). It's a blockbuster hit with a direct feminist message. I think that's important to note, as long as we take into consideration the nuances when we talk about Barbie.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑺𝑶𝑫𝑬 𝑻𝑾𝑶

A few things to keep in mind; after the fallout with Tommy instead of heading to Boston Joel heads to the woods to escape it all, and the 20-year time jump doesn't happen. Which means, for now, no Tess, no Ellie. Joel is 32-33 here (since in the prologue he's around that age) and reader is in her mid-twenties

**for full series summary please check masterlist

chapter summary: you and joel meet in person and get off to a rocky start.

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

word count: 1.6k

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

warnings: joel having anger issues, grief, joel threatening to shoot you

SERIES MLIST || PREV CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

It happens when you’re trying to take a picture of dew on a big leaf. 

You hear the click of a gun, silent steps, and an agitated grunt. A man, you guess, a man much stronger than you. The feeling of him lurking behind you makes a shudder trail up from your tailbone to your nape, a needle-like sensation that induces the need to run. He’s closer now, his breathing heavy. You know it’s too late to run when you hear the loud crunch of leaves. 

“Hands in the air,” he says, voice gruff. “I swear, you make a sudden move and I’ll shoot.” 

You tremble. Your hands slowly raise, the camera falls and the strap stings your neck when it does. 

“Don’t shoot.” 

You sound meek and afraid. A million thoughts swirl in your mind, the most prominent one being that you didn’t want to die. An irony considering how you felt when you first breached the border of the forest. When he speaks again he doesn’t address your plea for your life, which scares you more.

“Turn around then, let’s see what you are.” 

You turn and his eyebrows rise with shock, mouth parting. His hands falter lightly, the barrel of the gun dropping to your neck. When he swallows, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“Well, I’ll be… a Domestic.” 

His shock gives you a brief moment to observe him as well. His hair sticks out from all directions, messy and unkempt. His patchy beard is peppered with a healthy amount of grays; so is his hair, you realize. You’re impressed by the broad width of his shoulders and strong jaw. He’s wearing a tattered brown jacket and a gray button-up underneath. His finger still rests on the trigger, the crease between his brows deep. 

The watch on his wrist reflects the light into your eyes. 

“I didn’t think your kind actually existed. A fairy tale, I always thought.” he huffs. “An Infected that can speak, think, and eat like one of us,” 

“I am one of you,” you answer defensively. 

“You have antlers growing out of your head, girl.” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m any less of a human,” 

“Maybe, but it sure does mean you ain't all human now, does it?"

The drawl of his words strikes a nerve. Blood pools underneath your fingernails and you think about the many others that think like him. 

Rarely do you leave the protective bubble of the forest, but those scarce moments when you do have shown you what the masses thought of this new type of “Infected”. Most treated Domestics the same: shooting on sight. Some believed they could be the source of a cure—Whichever one they believed, it always ended in violence. 

You have no reason to believe this man is any different from the rest. Hell, you can’t even rule out the possibility that he might be a hunter. 

He takes a step closer. You inhale sharply, lips only slightly parted. The man doesn’t stop until you’re staring directly into the barrel of the gun, he cocks the weapon, his eyes glued to your ears and antlers. Saliva gathers in your mouth and you swallow thickly. 

“What makes you different from the rest of’em— The rest of the Infected,” his voice drops, his tone threatening. “Give me a good reason not to blow your brains out right this second,” 

Your ears straighten when he pushes the cool metal against your forehead. It’s cold yet it also burns. You’re hesitant to say anything, let alone convince him to let you live. Your lips are numb like a corpse, your throat seizes, the air caught in your throat. 

Your gaze falls to his throat, and with a subtle snarl, he notches the gun under your chin, lifting your gaze back up. 

“Speak,” he commands. 

“I—I don’t crave to attack the uninfected,” you blurt out. He raises one eyebrow and looks you over, clearly not convinced. “I’m also scared of them. They attack me like they would any other survivor,” 

“Is that so? Maybe we should try that theory out.” 

You must’ve given him a look of utter horror— or one of a kicked puppy— because his eyes soften, brows relaxing along with the rest of his muscles. He finally lowers the gun and shakes his head. 

“I won’t, don’t worry,” he holds the rifle with one hand and reaches out to touch your ear. It flinches at his touch. You take a tentative step back. 

“Don’t do that,” you say with a frown. You feel incredibly warm and your ear continues to twitch. A sense of both comfort and fear rolls in your stomach. “I’m not a dog you know,” 

“I guess not.” he also takes a step back and waves his hand. “Go along then—Scram,” 

You scoff at his words, half smiling half surprised. “Scram?” 

“I don’t want any sort of infected around me,” he answers, you notice his fingers curling tighter around the handle of the rifle. “I don’t care whether you can talk or shit gold, I want none of it.” 

“I live here too, you know. You don’t own the forest—” 

Suddenly, you find yourself staring into the muzzle again, you jump and goosebumps trace your skin. His hardened expression is back, he looks angry—furious almost, which surprises you. You didn’t expect him to offer you tea but you surely didn’t expect him to threaten you once more. 

“We managed not to come across each other this far. Which tells me you must’ve been snooping outside of your regular path, am I right? Don’t come near here again.” 

You’re wrong, is what you want to say since this actually was your regular path but seeing that he has no intention of backing down you decide to keep your thoughts to yourself. 

“If I do find you snooping around again, I won’t be as kind. Now, go.” 

Joel watches as the Domestic runs away, jumping above the branches and fallen trees. She didn’t say a word. She merely stared at his rifle one last time before fleeing. 

Rightfully so, he would’ve shot her if she hadn’t. 

For the longest time, he thought of the Domestics to be nothing more than a lie. He assumed it to be a weak attempt to spark hope within the people. A new type of Infected that didn’t behave like infected regularly did. 

He remembers Tommy speaking of them, once, before Joel shut him down.

Supposedly they came in different forms, all of them having animal-like features. Joel never thought this of being the next step of human evolution —or an adaptation as many had told him— there was no use in having tiny antlers or other minuscule differences. They still would die just as easily as regular folk, so what was the point? 

He turns and leaves. Joel would’ve shot her— hell, he probably should have. He doesn’t know nothing about this new type of infected, who was to say that the next day she wouldn’t come crawling back as a damn Clicker? 

But, he still had some fraction of a conscience, and when she looked up at him, so afraid—the mere thought of him offering her up to the Infected making her tremble— he just couldn’t. 

Joel is positive that this decision of his will cause him trouble. Hopefully, she’ll actually listen and never come near him again. But in this day and age, people rarely heed the warnings. 

A fly lands on his shoulder and he swats it away. The thing you were doing had piqued his curiosity; you were taking pictures. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d taken a picture—

No. That’s a lie. He does. 

It was when Sarah had won an award for playing on her youth soccer team. He remembers the picture well; Sarah holding her trophy with one hand and making a peace sign with the other with his arm thrown over her shoulder. 

Joel stops, looks at the ground, and lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are wet, and his throat is so tight that it hurts. 

Back when it all happened, he couldn’t even manage to go back to their home and bring a single picture with him. All he remembers of Sarah is from his memory—Not that he could ever forget what she looked like. 

His chest stutters, anger boiling in the pits of his stomach. It’s unfair that he is still breathing and walking, it should’ve been him— Or he should’ve at least died along with her. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice loud within the silence of nature. 

His anger festers in him like a disease. It never leaves. Whenever he thinks about his last moments with Sarah, his arms coiling around her as she stopped breathing, her blood warm against his skin. He feels a sharp pain in his chest and collapses. Most days, he wished that the pain would stop his heart, clog his veins, and leave him dead under the trees.

He jolts at the familiar pain growing in his chest. The sounds he makes come from his throat, an unattractive gurgling sound that reminds him of Runners. Joel stumbles forward and trips. Looking down he sees thick roots making their way out of the soil, his gaze follows the rotting limb, he sees a tree stump. 

Again, he sees rocks. 

The tightening of his chest subsides for a brief moment, his shock numbing the rest of his nerves. Joel looks back to where he came from. He observes the path the Domestic had escaped to, then he turns back to the rocks. 

Joel isn’t sure what prompts him to do it— He’s angry, bitter, and the peaceful image of the Domestic happily taking pictures doesn’t leave his mind. Raising his foot from the ground, he kicks the stack violently with the sole of his boot. 

He doesn’t care to look in which direction the rocks flew to. He walks away. 

[gaymoustache]

i'm really looking forward to reading what you're working on sounds very interesting... can't wait ! of course it would be very nice to read the draft you have!!!

Thank you! Sorry I meant to post this earlier but time slipped away from me. Here is a snippet from the draft, which is inspired by Joni Mitchell’s album “The Hissing of Summer Lawns,” and various other influences, especially Harry’s lyricism on his past two albums. Hope you like it.

Centerpiece

Everytime Louis was in bed with him, he would brush away the crust from the corners of his eyes and kiss the soft scruff above his lips and say, “You’re alright?” And Harry would mumble, “Yes,” and he would kiss his lips and say, “I love you, H,” and Harry would smile a real smile and say, “I love you too… more…” and fall asleep before they exchanged any other words.

And he would wake up in that state again— a dream. Laying back on the bed, he feels light as a feather, as if he is part of the cotton gingham sheets, a ghost kicking his legs up and letting the fabric puff up and fall gently back onto his naked body. Flesh and bones feel lighter this way. When he sits up he’s a plant growing, propagating itself, limbs stretching out from his body like vines and leaves. It’s daylight afterall, a blue London morning, and Harry feels nothing in his chest of dread like he sometimes does when he’s awake.

In this flowery state of mind, he drifts down the stairs to the kitchen, where Louis would be cooking horrendous pancakes and pretending like he was doing something right. Harry, in fuzzy pale pink slippers shaped like bunny rabbits, which match the hot pink carpet of his stairs. His hair brushes the tops of his shoulders like how it used to feel years go, back when he finished growing it out, when he still felt like a kid.

He could never fully decipher how it could all feel so real. The soft touch of his feet pressing into the hardwood floors, the carpet on the stairs, brushing his fingers through his long hair, holding his body in his hands like it hasn’t changed since 22. Smelling the butter and eggs from the butchered breakfast, touching and feeling Louis’s warmth and hearing his morning voice.

“G’morning,” he says, sliding a final misshapen pancake onto a ready-made stack of them, and like a movie the motion seemed practiced.

“Hi,” Harry greets, smiling when Louis wraps his arms around his waist and kisses his cheek.

“Don’t you look lovely this morning,” Louis rasps, nose tickling his neck. That's something Harry’s brain recognizes from real life— this feeling of domesticity. It’s familiar. It’s never gone away. “How'd you sleep, hm?” Kissing his collarbone, making the hair on his arms stand up.

“Alright.” Harry doesn’t say, I’m sleeping right now, though he’s aware of it, just dimly aware of it.

“Y’magazine came in the mail.” Louis lets Harry go, arm slipping off from around his middle to gesture at the end of the countertop, where an issue of House and Garden lay wrapped up in its plastic still.

Am I a wife again? Harry wonders briefly, but answers his own thoughts by looking down at his body, which looks almost the same as it always does. Less muscly, maybe. His arms, tattooed and big around the biceps when he bends them, but delicate around the wrists and hands. And every time he looks down at his legs they look how they always do: thin, long, tan like matchsticks. A gap between them, knees often knocked together on impulse. His shoulders are still broad from the back when he takes the chance to look in a mirror in the next room, to see himself fully in this new, complete form. Himself, but not really himself. An idealized version of it, like how his body sometimes feels when he’s done meditating for an hour.

Some part of him helplessly hoped that it would be a recurring dream, waking up in this world as a woman like the first time he started having them. Feeling it as a real, genuine thing, not just some daydreams he conjured when he was too confused to articulate what he really wanted.

Despite not being a female as he half-expected he would be when he drifted off to sleep, he still feels different in this body than the one that rests, unshowered in his and Louis’s bed. He feels clean, lighter, without a weight on his shoulders that he’s been trying to shrug off since the tour ended. What he really liked about feeling a new body was his face. He touched it obsessively, feeling the softness of his cheeks. In real life, he hasn’t had the energy to shave in days. Here, he has only the softness of the skin of a peach, that soft skin above his lip— brownish-blonde hair he didn't mind seeing and feeling. Other times in this dream state, he’d be completely smooth, with not even the ghost of it there. His cheeks seemed fuller, jaw softer, the consequences of finally eating real food, made from home. Maybe that would happen in real life, he thought, when he woke up again.

After eating the pancakes Harry’s body drifts back over to the magazine, gliding in his slippers over the kitchen floor. The cover—a photograph of open French windows that lead to a glowing patio— sticks in his mind like its pages were gluey. He lays it out flat on the table as Louis washes the dishes behind him. Fingers brushing over the glossy paper, flicking until he finds a spread of a flowery garden. A saturated meadow, green Technicolor fields, and a set of white wicker chairs and tables sitting right in the center of it all. And a girl who looks just like him, with hair just as long, drinking from a tea cup of china. Watching the kids play in the yard.

When he finishes loading the dishwasher, Louis settles warm hands on Harry’s waist. Kissing his neck, whispering words into his ear about making love, having children. Things they wanted. Things they could do on this time off, until one of them inevitably had to leave again.

Harry leans back into the warm touch, into his bed, burrowing himself in the dream as long as he could if only to bask in the feeling of himself living a life he’d wanted for too long.

[imaginaryari]

Part 1:

The interrogation room is quiet unlike every other part of the prison. Not even at night are the cells truly silent. A way of torturing her kind. She prefers it in these rooms even though it’s never good that she gets dragged to one. For once, she can hear herself think. Remember. For a few brief minutes everything is fine. She focuses on a strand of her silver hair that’s fallen into her face. She thinks about her family, how they must have grown, why she’s even in here-

The prisoner looks up as her least favorite cop stomps into the interrogation room and drags the opposite chair out, effectively ruining her moment of serenity. He clears his throat disgustingly. Officer Warren is 6ft, broad shouldered military type from the square jaw and maintained beard on his aged face down to his standard issued boots he’s used too many times to subdue someone. He has awards for rounding up the enhanced, people like Silver. He walks and talks like a man the people respect and fear. Talks to the enhanced like they’re close on first name bases and revels in the fact that he put them in their cells. What she would give to lay one finger on him. That’s all she needs. Unfortunately, her hands are gloved and bound because officer Warren also knows that. 

“Silver! It is always nice to see you here.” Warren’s voice booms through the formerly quiet room.

“To what do I owe the pleasure Warren?” She asks with mock sincerity. She copies his tone to the best of her ability hoping he realizes how stupid he sounds. There’s seldom people in the world she hates more than this man.

He scoffs but then offers a smug grin. “How would you like to get out here?”

It’s a trap. Silver knows this. The enhanced don’t get second chances, especially not from officer Warren. 

 “Wasn’t I supposed to ‘rot in here?” Silver asks. She could never forget; he wanted her family and she refused to give them up. It’s one of the few wins against this man in her mind. 

Officer Warren gives her another grin that makes her nauseous. “I thought you would be interested in parole but if you aren’t…there’s plenty of other enhanced in here.”

The promise of seeing the outside world again would sway anyone. It’s been almost 5 years. Her family is still waiting for her somewhere out there; she has to believe this. They might still need her, hell, she needs them. There isn’t much point in living if they aren’t safe. 

“How can I trust you?” She asks but it's stated like a fact everyone knows. He can’t be trusted.

Officer Warren beckons one of the guards. Silver recognizes this one and levels him with a glare. “Williams, remove her cuffs.”

“Sir?” The guard says confused and unsure, looking back and forth between Warren and Silver. He always does what Warren asks but Silver knows even after all these years he’s still scared of the prisoners. It should make him awful at his job but just makes him quick to subdue and restrain. That’s why he's always in these interrogations. 

“Now, please.” Warren orders, angry that someone would even question his authority. The guard hesitantly approaches SIlver, scared of her and what she can do but more afraid of what Warren will do if he disobeys. She resists the urge to mess with him, knowing he should absolutely be more afraid of her than the powerless officer. With practiced ease and muscle memory he opens the cuffs.

Silver immediately rubs her wrists when the cuffs click open. The relief is almost overwhelming. She quickly reminds herself not to do anything stupid, no matter how satisfying it would be to knock Warren’s lights out.

“Shall we?” Officer Warren says cheerfully, standing and gesturing towards the interrogation door like the gentleman he’s not. 

–

It’s a maze of hallways to get out of the prison. Purposely designed as such to make escaping harder. Aside from the underlying buzzing noise she can never identify, clouding her thoughts, some of the hallways are unlit and pitch black. Yet, Warren and guards never hesitate as they escort her out. Silver loses count of the endless gray walls and cells and turns they make towards the exit. Some prisoners congratulate her as they pass. Some sneer, knowing that the only way out of here is either to make a deal, and fill your empty cell with someone else. 

Silver has never pretended to be anything but self-serving and doesn’t make eye contact with any of them

“There’s a group of enhanced kids going around and robbing people. Messing with their heads. You’re fond of doing that so I thought this would be the perfect way to end your sentence.” Warren says as he escorts her out. 

Silver squints. Nothing about that story adds up. Robbing civilians, while common, isn’t a team effort especially if you can mess with minds and memory. Years of having her enhancement has taught her it’s very easy to leave them dazed, similar to when you enter a room and forget why. Or lose an item you just put down.  A group would actually draw more attention and a tight knit one wouldn’t take the risk of losing a member to officials. 

Unless your Silver’s ex. Hm. Things are starting to make sense. 

“You’ve tried to catch them before.” Silver states. 

Warren doesn’t even look ashamed admitting his failure. “Physical powers are one thing. Mental ones are harder. But from my experience you can catch ‘em with a little trust.” He begins to walk away, leaving Silver at the gates. “You have three weeks. I need their abilities, call names, and base of operations” He leaves her with an address to a place to stay and doesn’t even have the decency to call her cab. Silver sucks her teeth and tries to find change for the bus. 

—

It’s no fancy hotel, barely a motel, but it’s a place and it’s furnished. Officer Warren had said it was hers for as long as it took her to finish her task. Silver won’t complain; before she was arrested, she was constantly couch surfing- never out staying her welcome and never spending too long on the streets. She had made friends this way but contacting them was out of the question. Getting caught means getting blacklisted. A means of protecting themselves.  Silver is effectively cut off from anyone that might have helped her in the past, and they might warn others that she was taken in. There’s always the chance someone threatened with jail will turn in anyone else. In fact, a lot of the people Silver met over the last 5 years were laying low, only discovered because of a successful interrogation. Even though Silver had bit her tongue ‘til it bled it’s safer amongst the enhanced to assume snitch and apologize later.  Well, Silver had been thrown under the bus. It was either her or her family and she wouldn’t ever-

Semantics. She won’t see them again in the near future and hopefully they’re doing okay. Silver shakes her head, never mind that. She has a job to do and extraordinarily little to go on. 

-

The neighborhood is different. She didn’t expect it to be quite the same after lock-up but the changes are more than jarring. New buildings going up, less of the spots her old friends used to hang. There was an empty lot that used to hold flea markets every weekend. Great for the enhanced who weren’t welcomed in stores.  It's a parking lot for a strip mall now. All the small deli’s are gone, replaced with upstanding grocers with their overpriced organic produce. Silver is so sure the neighborhood has been purged of the enhanced until she decides to hit up one of the cafés. She stares at it; upset she can’t remember what it used to be and then enters reading the weirdly named drinks on the menu. What the hell was a strawberry starlight? Mocha madness?

“Are you new around here?” another patron asks.

“Not exactly,” Silver says with a shrug, eyeing the stranger. He’s handsome, hair in short braids he’s tied up and out of his face leaving one rebellious one to frame it. He looks like he should have taken a sip of his drink before speaking. The bags under his eyes scream exhaustion but he still sounds awake. And happy about it. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been ‘round here.”

“Ah, try the mint hot chocolate. It’s a crowd favorite.”

“Is that what you’re having?”

He chuckles. “No…this is way too caffeinated for the masses.” Silver chuckles at his use of “the masses.” It makes a little sense, the bags under his eyes and the loaded drink. 

“The masses?” Silver asks.

“Yeah, dulls.” He practically whispers. Silver hasn’t heard that term for civvies in years. He’s very bold to use it with her and Silver wonder’s if she’s obvious or if he’s just observant. 

“Is the inevitable crash worth it?” She asks, glancing at his drink.

“Always.” He says as Silver is called next to order. “See you around.” The stranger says exiting the shop. She thinks about the encounter for hours afterwards. The enhanced were still around even if they were muted.

—

She finds what she’s looking for the next day, right before the sun sets. It’s a large tent with black and white stripes set up in a nearby park. Big enough to draw attention but lacking the actual necessities to pass as a real circus. No animal trailers, no confection stands. There is however a ticket booth where viewers are lined up to get inside. The woman in the booth has black lipstick lining a fake smile as she takes customer’s money. Silver wonder’s if this is what Warren meant by robbing. The enhanced using their gifts on civilians is illegal but these people willingly paid to see a show. 

Silver by-passes the line and ticket booth, removes her right glove, and taps a potential viewer on their shoulder.      

“You don’t really want to see this show, right? I can take that ticket off you.” The man blinks and has that familiar dazed look on his face. His mind begins to cloud and then he hands over his ticket. Silver quickly takes it, slips back on her glove, and makes her way to a seat before he comes back to his senses.

-

The tent is bigger on the inside and has lights strung along the ceiling. There’s a ring and stands that are slowly being filled by viewers. The lights go out as soon as Silver finds a seat. She stays away from the rows closest to the ring but not too far away where she would be alone and noticed.

The spotlight lowers, illuminating what has to be the ringleader. He’s barely dressed for the occasion. Top hat donned but instead of a blaring red jacket, a black T-shirt with a tuxedo print and black jeans contrasting nicely with white sneakers. 

“Hello everyone. Welcome to your wildest dreams. I’ll be your guide. Whenever you need me, you can shout `More!’” Silver snorts at the corny introduction but still applauds with the crowd. It takes a moment but she recognizes him. The man from the café with the over caffeinated drink. Interesting. So far, he’s just the host, maybe the leader of this whole operation, but Silver can’t place an ability just yet.

“Please give a round of applause to our first act, Mirage, master of illusion.”

Smoke begins to flood the stage effectively hiding More. There’s a flash of light before the smoke clears in the center of the ring. More is gone, and someone new stands in his place. The audience claps in awe as Mirage waves. He lacks More’s height and has a baby face. Instead of the braids, he has tight coils with a fresh fade.  He’s just as underdressed as More, even has the same white sneakers,  but at least has a pinstripe blazer over a white t-shirt and jeans. 

Silver is willing to bet he’s the one responsible for the tent. His set isn’t too extravagant; he just has smoke and card tricks. Shifting the smoke to look like a bird that soars over the crowd. It lands ever so gently on the empty seat in front of one of the viewers. The spotlight shifts to them, a young boy, and he offers a nervous smile, not prepared for the attention. The guest looks at Mirage who gives a cocky smile. “Blow it away.” He instructs through his stage mic. With a shrug he does. The smoke dissipates to reveal a real bird– a stark white dove. The young boy reaches for it,  his face lit up in wonder, but it takes off landing right on Mirage's shoulder. He pets it to prove it’s real and the dove seems to love it. However, it then dissipates into smoke after Mirage blows on it. That confirms it for Silver, the dude simply makes illusions. One down.

“I need a volunteer for my next trick.” Mirage says, his voice booming throughout the tent. Many viewers wave their hands and yell to gain his attention. 

Mirage and More look around at the audience and More locks eyes with Silver. There’s a connection, a shock of understanding, and something else she can’t quite place before he says, “You, cutie with the hood. Would you like to help Mirage?”

Silver nods, unable to break eye contact.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just a simple card trick.” Mirage pulls a deck of cards from his pockets and flicks a few cards into the air, catching them with the deck. Silver keeps her head down and her hood on as she walks into the ring. She wasn’t supposed to draw attention to herself. More finally backs away, once again giving Mirage the stage.

It is a simple card trick, with a lot of flourish. Silver selects a card, memorizes it, puts it back in the deck. 2 of clubs. Mirage is skilled making the cards seem to dance, shuffling and tossing them even pulling some from behind Silver.  She can’t help but laugh and shake her head as he ends each trick with some form of “this isn’t your card, right? Wait, hold on, I got it.” The audience loves it laughing along with Silver. He finally tosses all of the cards up in fake frustration and catches one in between two fingers.

“Is this your card?” He says with a self assured smile. It is the 2 of clubs, however, now that she’s close up and knows his ability the effect on her starts to wane. The 2 in the corner starts to fade and change-

“It sure looks like it!” Silver says, playing up her amazement and the audience applauds. Her choice in words doesn't go unnoticed by Mirage. He smiles, like he just learned a juicy secret, and gestures for Silver to return to her seat with a gleeful “thank you!”.

More passes her on his way back to the stage and gives her a smile similar to Mirage’s. She can’t help but feel she shouldn’t have done that. The enhanced who mess with minds are less effective using their ability on others. Revealing herself to them would maybe get her in their good graces, but she probably wouldn’t be able to use hers on them if the time came. Well they don’t know your ability yet.

“Our next act goes by Charlie. He doesn’t say much but he’s loads of fun!” More’s voice booms throughout the tent.

Silver immediately understands how the next act earned his name. Charlie dances out, encompassing Chaplin’s energy. He dons a similar top hat to More, and shirt except his is white instead. More comments on this with a laugh. “Clearly one of us has to change!” As corny as Silver finds More, she can’t say she’s not amused. Charlie looks More up and down, and then gets into a stance. He’s posed like a batter on home base and leans back and forth on his toes. He swings and More ducks, his top hat flying across the ring as if a real bat had hit it. The trick earns them impressed gasps and amused giggles from the audience. From Silver it earns a disbelieving stare. She’s never seen an enhanced like Charlie yet.

     Charlie continues his set like any traditional mime– tripping over objects that aren’t there, pushing invisible walls, overexaggerating his facial expressions. Except Silver thinks, knows, he isn’t faking anything. There is a wall the audience can’t see. He’s manifesting invisible objects. 

“Give it up for Charlie everyone!” More says shaking Silver from her thoughts. Charlie leaves the stage with the same comedic swagger and a wave.

“Now our next act is unfortunately our last. But we always go out with a bang! Please welcome to the ring, Star!”

With the snap of More’s fingers the lights go out. Another snap and they’re back, along with a woman sitting on a trapeze. It could be the lighting, or the slight shimmer she has, but she’s extremely captivating. Her hair is pulled into two puffs and her smile dazzles the audience. Silver is shocked that there is no apparent netting beneath her.

The music starts, a haunting melody punctuated by a bass that Silver feels in her chest. Star is flying above the audience on her trapeze. She hangs by her legs and lets her arms hang. If Silver focuses, she can see what looks like dust, her charisma spills off of her, entrancing the audience. 

Silver almost misses the end of Star’s performance. Star’s trapeze returns to the ring and she waves before letting go and falling to the ground. The audience gasps, bracing for an impact that never comes. Star vanishes in a puff of smoke that settles all over the ring. The audience stutters out an applause, both impressed and worried.

When the smoke clears the applause picks back up as all the performers are safe, in the center of the ring taking their bows.

“Thank you all for coming!” More says. The lights go out leaving the audience in pitch darkness. When the lights come back up, the group is gone. Well, that’s one way to end things. The audience cheers and starts to exit. commenting on the amazing show as the tent empties. Silver follows behind a group of older teens out the entrance and then doubles back around the tent, looking for tonight's performers.

They find her first. “Like the show?” A voice comes up from behind Silver. Silver doesn’t jump but she is taken aback. Star’s just as dazzling up close and Silver can see how she captivates the audience. The charisma wisps around her like smoke. She’s flanked by the girl from the booth, fake smile now dropped and eyeing Silver suspiciously as she counts the money they made.

“Sure did.” Silver admits, “Wasn’t expecting to be part of it though.”

“Yeah, More can be a bit impulsive,” Star says apologetically. She steps closer to whisper. “But his guess was right! You are like us.” 

“All of you? Special?”

“Yup!” Star says with an excited nod. All of them? Even the girl from the booth?

“What gave me away?” Silver asks genuinely curious. Two days in a row she’s been clocked as enhanced. Has she lost her sense of stealth in lock up? Is she that obvious?

Star spins, sending wisps of charisma everywhere. “You didn’t immediately fall for my charm.”

Silver deadpans. “…really?”

“That and More caught you using your gift to get a ticket.” Shit. Now she does have to worry about using her ability later.

“Also caught her struggling to order at the café,” More says, rounding on them. “We should stop meeting like this. Claire, would you stop glaring?” He says to the ticket booth girl.

“She didn’t pay.” Claire says simply, not taking her eyes off Silver making her uneasy. Just what is she looking for? She hopes she isn’t a mind reader. As confident as Silver is that she can protect herself from that ability, mind readers in general, suck. They have a weird superiority complex born of knowing things they shouldn’t.

“Technically speaking someone paid,” Silver says with a shrug, “and someone got a show.”

“Take it out of my cut. If it’s bothering you that much.” More insists. Claire rolls her eyes, and Silver truly feels for her having to deal with how frivolous he seems to be. 

“Whatever,” Claire finally loses the judgmental glare but it’s replaced with a distant stare. Silver is about to ask if anything is wrong when Claire says, very cryptically, “you came with purpose.”

Well, Silver doesn’t have a response to that. 

“Claire.” More says, gently shaking her shoulder.

She blinks, shakes her head as if to clear fog from her head. “Sorry, ignore that. Nice meeting you Silver. Mirage! Charlie! The tent please!” 

Visions? A psychic? That’s just as bad as a mind reader.

“It’s already gone Claire!” Mirage yells back, his arms wildly extended to show his handiwork. Sure enough, the tent is gone like it was never there. Silver’s pissed she missed that take-down.

“Perfect! Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I’ll see you around, right?” More questions. The rest of his little circus family already heading out

“I hope so.” Silver says, hoping she sounds genuine. I still need to know what your ability is.

-

“What did you see?” More questions later. It’s past midnight and Mirage, Charlie, and Star have crashed for the night after their extensive performances. 

“We cannot trust her,” Claire states, crossing her arms. “We’re damned if we do.”

“And if we don’t?”

“She’s damned if we don’t. A choice I can live with.”

“So, she needs help is what you’re saying.”

“Hey,” Claire stands to emphasize her point. “Nip whatever crush you have on her in the bud. I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

In More’s honest opinion, being able to see glimpses into the future has Claire living there and not the present. He’s always taken what Claire says about her cryptic visions with a grain of salt and teaspoon of sugar.

“Crush? We just met.” More says instead of agreeing.

–

It’s past midnight when Silver gets home. Before she allows herself to get comfortable, she jots down everything she learned tonight.

Fake circus. Civvies paid to see. NOT robbery.

Except it kinda is and Silver hates that. Maybe no one made the viewers pay to see magicians who are actually enhanced. 

Mirage: conjures up illusions

Charlie: manifests invisible objects

Star: charisma. Very potent

Claire: possible psychic. 85% sure

More?

Maybe she’s wrong about More being enhanced. Maybe Star lied, although Silver can’t help to believe her. More could just be the fall guy if this circus scam all goes to shit. Authorities like Warren wouldn’t keep a powerless civilian if More is one. It’s smart.

The doubt lingers. She knows what she felt.